Ashfall and Rainfall

Last Friday, a friend sent out an invitation to other friends to drive all the way to Legazpi to find a best spot for spectators of a breathtaking scene of Mayon lava flow. I have to admit, if I had been a lot younger, I might have taken him up to his offer, and hitched the ride and maybe stayed there for a few days until I realize that I have depleted my allowance. I understand that the sight could be a spectacle to behold especially at night. I imagine that thick, deep, bright orange exploding against pitch black nightscape. It could even open a market for tourism. My entrepreneurial mind thinks of hotels, motels, air b and b’s, 24-hour food shops, souvenir shops and shirts that say “I Lava U in 2026”. (If anyone really decides to print that on shirts, I won’t be charging for intellectual property.)

But then, I’m conflicted in the concern that this volcano viewing might get in the way of the emergency of this serious calamity. Around Mayon, the stability of normal routine life is shaken , pushing residents to become evacuees, clogging evacuation centers, creating breeding grounds for disease. Work is disrupted. Business is disrupted. School is disrupted. Local governments have to brace themselves to sustain supplies for evacuees.

I’m not too sure how volcano viewing tourism would work in the middle of the dire disaster that suspends sense of security. Would not standing around as audience be somewhat or downright insensitive and less supportive of the state of emergency that alerts the air. Would not travelers with snacks and water bottles, taking selfies and groupies get in the way of actual efforts of reducing risk of casualties of the calamity? In a safe distance, maybe not. Maybe, to some extent, it would even help the economy. But, I imagine, I could feel uneasy and disrespected if onlookers crowd along our streets while firefighters stop a fire further down the neighborhood.

Since we’re talking about calamities, by the time this paper gets released, rains could be ravaging again down city streets and provincial highways, threatening floods to invade shops and shelters. In my head, I hear the song, “Here Comes the Rain Again” again and again. I remember the first Monday of the year. Torrents tore through the atmosphere crashing down the streets all over. Every ride we waved passed us by. Yes, those included jeepneys and tricycles with vacant seats. For some incomprehensible reason, they wouldn’t stop. We tried to book a Grab repeatedly for a number of times. No driver would accept all those number of times. We thought walking would just make us wet, but we didn’t have much of a choice. Waiting for a ride or walking would drench us anyway. So, we walked and reached downtown where we finally managed to convince a tricycle driver to give us a ride in exchange for a desperate amount of more than thrice the regular fare. We would have given more, just to go home. When I finally did, I was soaked to my boxers, and my bag was drenched to the last piece of receipt inside it. The days after, I would learn that other people also trudged that same tragedy. A mother and child had to wade through flood to reach home while clasping umbrellas rendered useless. A motorcycle rider was sodden to his briefs while dashing under the downpour. Employees who were tired from a long day’s work waited the rain in convenience stores until a cab accepted to take them home. What is this? Did we just blindly and helplessly find ourselves trapped under this torrential rains that we were left with nothing to do to have prevented the ruin that rained on us? I think we are sufficiently intelligent to thwart the threat of being thrashed by ash or rain (or are we?). I believe that’s what warning signals are for. Yellow rainfall warning threatens flood on low areas. Orange rainfall warning heralds heavier rains that increase the chance of floods, and alerts residents for probable evacuation. Red rainfall warning wakes you up to go to a safer place. We even have information on the millimeters of the coming rain. Yet, some authorities have it in their minds that that despite the colors, the rains could stop anytime, and normal life could go on because we could not waste precious work and school hours. I don’t get it. I still don’t get it. I don’t understand why we draw too close to the fire and realize that it burns when we’re already burning. I don’t understand why we stay out in the rain for too long before realizing that the rains are really heavy.

Proverbs 16:16: "How much better to get wisdom than gold, to get insight rather than silver!"