Hard Rain
by rick olivares
I was watching the New York Yankees play the Boston Red Sox in the first match of a three-game series at the New Yankee Stadium. The Red Sox tacked in two runs when David Ortiz smacked a Joba Chamberlain pitch to the left stands to bring the score to 5-3 still in favor of the Yankees when I became distracted with the downpour that intensified. All I knew was that it began to rain at 4am and the heavy rains were hardly anything new.
I peered out of my door to look outside. Nothing our neighborhood drainage system can handle I thought to myself so I went back inside.
The Yankees got two runs back in the bottom of the inning when Alex Rodriguez came through with a runner in scoring position. Just when I let out a cry of triumph I heard some shouting. I thought that my neighbor had joined me in early celebration but I immediately dismissed that because I was the only baseball fan in the compound. I cheered because what was at stake was New York’s magic number of four wins before they could clinch the American League East division title; their first in the House that George (Steinbrenner) Built. It was more than a win because it was also at the expense of the Red Sox who owned them since their victory over the Yankees in 2004 that spurred them to a World Series title that year and in 2007.
Except that my neighbors’ cries weren’t the celebratory kind but ones of horror.
I quickly ran out to find out the cause and it was my turn to let out a yelp of shock. The water had quickly risen to alarming levels. My first action was to call up my parents who lived some 20 minutes away for help. Then I began to grab valuables and important papers.
It had rained hard before and area flooded a bit but it was nothing like this.
I live far from any river or lake but the street where I live in Quezon City is like a catch basin and in hindsight it doesn’t seem like a good idea to be living in such a place.
I quickly gathered more of my belongings and placed them atop tables, cabinets, and the kitchen sink. My dog barked nervously and retreated inside my room for higher ground.
As I nervously gathered precious belongings, I glanced at my television that showed the Yankees tacking on one more run for insurance to go up at 8-3. I quickly pulled the plug and placed the television set on top of the higher work desk where my computers were.
By now the water had climbed up and seeped into my room. My father called and reminded me to shut down the electrical power. “Oh, yeah,” I sheepishly but nervously replied.”
I looked out once more out of the window and saw that the waters rose to hip level. And I’m already somewhat tall at 5’11” and the last time I had to wade floodwaters this deep was to carry a former girlfriend as we left UST during one particularly bad downpour.
I said a quick prayer for help from above. Not one of my family could reach me because all roads from Katipunan Avenue if not flooded were clogged with cars unable to pass through the side roads.
I didn’t panic because I could swim. The concern was more for a few of my belongings – those valuables and my extensive body of work that had taken me years to put together – that I wanted to save. I waded the waters for about 300 meters first to bring my dog and then my immediate valuables to a neighbor’s van. Some of my neighbors who lived in the higher areas helped out; some didn’t. Why they didn’t help out I have no idea. I was able to make several trips but after a while the water was up to my chest and the rest of my belongings were all floating around in my room.
I put my hands to my head and broke down. It was so insane. I had seen this in movies from Christian Slater’s Hard Rain and Titanic. Scenes from a flooded New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina flashed through my head. I knew that this wasn’t some isolated incident and that other areas were probably just as affected or maybe even worse.
Shivering in the cold, I waved the white flag of surrender. I took one last look at the apartment that I had called home for two years with all my books, papers, and appliances floating about. I wiped the tears from my eyes -- not that it was obvious that I cried -- and swam out.
I sought shelter inside my neighbor’s van. His own home was under water and he still offered to bring me over to my parents’ place. But we had to wait a couple of hours for the rains to subside and the traffic to loosen up.
Twelve hours after the first rains well, I was back in my parents’ house near Ateneo. I sat down and tried to make sense of what just happened. I showered first and changed into warm clothes. I looked at the things I managed to salvage. Some of the things I thought I saved by handing over to neighbors for help never found their way to the van. That made me even feel worse.
In nearby Olandes, I heard that the whole community was nearly wiped out. I put on a raincoat and went out with my brother to find out how we could be of help.
I spoke with a few Philippine Marines who used a pump boat to rescue an elderly woman who could not move and was trapped on the roof of her home. People could not enter because the road leading to the community was under six feet of water. The amphibious vehicles could not enter without further damaging the houses in the area.
It was one huge disaster area and the rains though lesser in intensity was still falling. Then before my cellphone – that had its signal fluctuating all throughout – conked out, I received a text message from a friend in New York. It read: “Theeeee Yaaaankeeees wiiiiiiiiinnn!!!”
I laughed out loud and my brother and neighbors looked at me quizzically.
“That’s the first bit of good news I received all day,” I said cryptically without bothering to explain.
The rain fell and covered the tears in my eyes.
