Exactly one year ago, the
island of Bohol snapped from beneath, rocking the very foundations of our faith
and fate as a people.
In less than a minute, I saw
our stone churches reduced into rubble, homes crumbled and toppled, lives lost,
families shattered, dreams interrupted.
While today, I shiver still,
as I remember the people we lost – the kids crushed by a falling wall (the only concrete wall of
their house), the farmer pinned down by a falling debris from a chocolate hill, the churchgoers buried under
centuries-old rubble , fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, friends,
classmates, colleagues, neighbors, strangers – and I shudder still, as I
remember the earthquake, the 7.2 magnitude swaying of the ground, the eerie
crackle of breaking earth, the raging groan of the tumbling hillside, the
fierce seething of the sea waters, and the uneasy trembling of our hearts – I quiver
more in rapture of the spirited humanity that engulfed the whole of Bohol
during those most trying of times.
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