Haiyan Story, Survivor

When silence speaks

Many demand it. It is mostly destroyed in courts. Some post it on walls, letting it speak. It is a word that conveys lots of meanings, torturing those who are responded with it — silence. Perhaps it is essential and rare in a country where people called each other frauds and lunatics after the strongest typhoon recorded in the history, landed on them. And so everybody joined the blaming game, making a marketplace of rotten promises no one is going to buy.

It has been eleven months since our land got a glimpse of the Apocalypse. Some said everything’s fine now, as if seeing a newly-built shanty makes the word “fine”. Posters of smiling faces hang in places to grab people’s attention. Everything’s fine according to politicians whose faces are stamped on plastic bags given to the survivors. They smile as if the bags were from their own pockets. They look straight into the rolling cameras and say that the land will carry on. “They” will, of course, carry on as long as the survivors will stay in character and “they” will take care of the coins pouring in.

The truth is, nothing is fine yet. A couple will celebrate Christmas with an extra plate for their daughter who drowned, a man will keep waiting for his missing wife and child, a bride will get married without her childhood photos on their prenup video, and lots of families will watch the fireworks display outside their foreign tents.

This is a country which considers these things normal, and later on will burn a huge paper maché of their king’s face. This narrative’s purpose is not to speak ill against this yellow nation. It is even an honor to be alive in this land. Otherwise, this narrative wouldn’t be as it is. This is a country where a father eats his dinner in his tricycle at midnight because he should not go home without his son’s new school shoes. He should spend the night on the road hiring commuters who have different stories to tell. This is a nation where a tricycle driver sees what a king cannot. This is a nation of the enduring.

This article, again, may be disagreeable since this merely came from a bias of an 18 year old aspiring writer, living in a country she speaks a lot about. Where the title is the reason for the entire narrative, and she has to respond to it by letting the voices inside her head be alive by typing them on the external keyboard of her broken netbook which survived the Apocalypse she has been talking about. She wrote this because this country is her beloved.

Writing this might give hope and might make somebody listen, and eventually think. Some would say, this is pathetic and very unlikely but this is far better than just taking selfies and just be contented with being juvenile. The silence is talking and this article seems to be the response since shoving a middle finger to those stamping on packs of donated goods is just very unbecoming, because this is the country of the morally upright.