Girl Finds Dead Dog

By Raoul Pascual

Raoul’s Two Cents: October 11, 2024

Hurricane Season

WARNING: Slightly religious topic. Move on to the jokes if you’re not interested.

Over 6 million Floridians evacuated their homes to escape the wrath of Hurricane Milton this week. Fortunately, what was expected to be a category 5 storm downgraded to only a category 3. One can imagine how agonizing it must be. A friend of mine was headed for Georgia but the mass exodus birthed traffic congestion and gasoline shortages so he only made it halfway. A million homes are without power. The happiest place on earth, Disney World, may not be too happy today. What a nightmare!

Growing up in Manila, I’ve had my share of natural disasters. My earliest memory of a storm was of Typhoon Dading. In the Philippines they call them typhoons and the female names are alphabetically assigned and the Philippine names are independent of their international names.

We lived in a simple 2 storey, 3 bedroom home. Except for the foundation and the bathroom, the rest of the structure was made of wood. Instead of glass, the sliding wooden windows were made of checkered capiz shells.

We kids were delighted that class had been suspended. In those days, we depended on Mr. Weatherman to declare what grade level (grade school, high school, college or work) should stay home. It’s rather comical for situations where only grade school kids would be exempt from the daily buzz while all the older denizens were expected to tread their way to the school or office: “Goodbye children, stay home and be safe with Mama while Papa goes out to face the storm. Pray that I come back in one piece.”

Often, Mr. Weatherman, an underpaid malnourished government employee, would declare who was exempted too late in the day. So (often) half-drenched souls would arrive at their empty school or workplace only to realize they should have stayed home. I always wondered if Mr. Weatherman should have upgraded his crystal ball. Of course this was before satellites helped predict the weather.

During the night of Typhoon Dading, the electricity went down. Candles and weak flashlights helped us move about. Battery operated radios were our only connection to the outside. All of us kids were tucked in our warm double deck beds. Dad was moving around with the houseboy securing the windows and anything outside that would fly. Mom was scampering with pans and buckets with the housemaid to catch the water dripping down from the holes of the galvanized roof. My grandmother, Lola Nene, was visiting and she was praying her rosary nonstop. Everything was damp. I was reading my DC comic books of Batman, Superman, Doom Patrol and Metal Men (I remember them well) using one of the precious white wax candles until Mom told me to conserve the candle.

It was actually fun. It was like camping. The only time I got scared was during the peak of the storm, when the wind rattled and whistled through the holes of the capiz shells like an invisible demon taunting us of its power. The rickety wooden walls shook but stubbornly held on. Eventually, the constant sound of the deafening wind tunnel accompanied by water splashes lulled us to sleep.

In the morning the storm had passed through. Our outside fish pond overflowed and many of our goldfishes had escaped to the street canals outside. Excited neighborhood kids were catching our colorful fishes and placed their prizes in their jar containers. The streets were immaculately clean of debris. The dark trunks of the surviving trees were drenched. All the banana trees were mangled. Men were walking with their plastic rain coats and rubber slippers checking out the place. Other men were removing galvanized roofing materials that had flown into their properties. It was surreal — someone was playing “The Rite of Spring” in the background — no, just kidding.

Strange as this may sound to Western ears, this is a regular occurrence in South East Asia. It’s a given that several monsoon rains and storms visit every year. The only difference would be the intensity. Every storm steals a hundred souls and abandon cars in the middle of the flooded streets. There would be new stories of people working their way to the top of their roofs and local heroes would emerge to rescue the stranded.

LESSONS
In a rat race lost in pursuit of worldly dreams, hurricanes remind us of our human frailty. Our confidence should never be on our wealth but in our Lord. He controls our ultimate destiny. Shirley McLaine once wrote a book proclaiming that we are all gods. Quite laughable really. Imagine God looking down at the earth and laughing because He spots tiny Shirley McLaine facing a storm declaring in her little high pitched voice: “I am god! I am god! I am god!” What silly arrogance!

No my friends. We are created beings of an amazing, all powerful, yet loving God. You can read all about Him in the Bible. And if you’re too lazy to read, you just have to look at a hurricane to know who’s the boss of us all.

Of course, this is just me. TGIF people!

“’What shall we do to you, that the sea may quiet down for us?’ For the sea grew more and more tempestuous. He said to them, ‘Pick me up and hurl me into the sea; then the sea will quiet down for you, for I know it is because of me that this great tempest has come upon you.’ … Therefore they called out to the Lord, ‘O Lord, let us not perish for this man’s life, and lay not on us innocent blood, for you, O Lord, have done as it pleased you.’ So they picked up Jonah and hurled him into the sea, and the sea ceased from its raging. Then the men feared the Lord exceedingly, and they offered a sacrifice to the Lord and made vows.” — The book of Jonah 1:11-16

“True intimacy with God always brings humility.” — Beth Moore