Death remains to be the most frightening occurrence in a human being’s life. Unwilled and unconsented death is one freak occurrence they say. Probably, this comes from the fear of the unknown. For the rational and the worldly, dying is always the end of his or her current pursuits; nothing comes after.
The recent tragedy in my country, in certain places, that have wrecked-havoc lives after lives and have not merely caused collateral damage alone, has made people see dimensions of life when pressed upon unprecedented situations of dying, uncontrolled devastation, and the hopelessness to live again. Tacloban was a clear scenario all in all of the end of everything. It was the end of the city. “The city does not exist anymore,” a mayor of another city did say. But just that statement implicated no hope to live again. It was rather darker than I thought. Death was darker and never appealing at all even in the most human of all interpretations. The end was there.
But suddenly, after the struggle to bring life again, the criticisms, the questions on the system and the government, the prolonging of the agonizing of the people, came a streak of hope, one that anybody can see on a person’s face, more like a smirk verging a simple smile. Inside these people who survived was the grip of hope and chance to live. They are happy now they have survived. To those who have carried their loved ones, dead, cold, and mortifyingly hardened of death, still stood and walked for the grace of paying respect to the departed ones, and for the strength to live once again. To the mother who have searched the wrecked city for her children, to an adult who have tirelessly looked for her aged mother, and to the kid who carried his dead father to the side, it was all bewildering, hurtful, and unfair. But in their minds, they have to live. They have gotten over things, though not totally. Everything will haunt them every now and then. But they have to live. To those who have found each other, yet still seeking for food and shelter, for water to end thirst, and for that speck of hope to live again, they have withstood the test of time.
But, where does this light from? How does it begin? How is hope established despite the tragedy? Should religiosity, God, and evil be put to question? Ironically, these people continue to pray and look up to God. For these people, to question is not important anymore. To question is such a waste of time. To question is causing even more devastation. To look up, to hope, to consider life was a gift and not a right, and to start over again and consider living as real LIVING is essential. It may still be hazy how these people have managed to enjoy what they have right now. To those who have not known the Filipino spirit, it is a question. The resilience is unthinkable. But to those who are getting hold of their lives right now, to live is a gift, and to make the most out of it just makes it wonderful. In the end, it’s precisely what they have left, something they are thankful for, something that the rest in the world should be grateful for.