You never forget a calamity like Super Typhoon Haiyan,
one of the strongest ever recorded in history.
The 300 kph winds that screamed.
The eerie silence that followed.
Families spending nights on rooftops amid raging storms.
Homes built from life savings swallowed by floodwaters.
Faces searching for loved ones who never made it home.
Children seeing bodies lined along the streets,
death normalized overnight.
Thousands left homeless.
Orphaned.
Hungry.
Traumatized.
And yet, only days later, life went on.
Another disaster.
Another headline.
In a nation so used to calamity,
heartbreak can begin to feel routine.
But what never becomes routine
is how we rise.
Ordinary people became rescuers.
Strangers became family.
Those safe at home found ways to help,
through donations, messages, shared posts,
and quiet acts of comfort.
I witnessed this spirit firsthand
when I volunteered at Villamor Air Base.
Families kept arriving,
tired, hungry, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring.
Some spoke of returning to Tacloban
once it was rebuilt.
Many worried about food, jobs,
and their children’s schooling.
I lost count of how many times
I tried to hold back my tears.
You could see the exhaustion in their eyes,
but also a quiet strength that refused to give up.
I watched children play at the activity center,
too young to fully understand the devastation they had survived,
yet laughing anyway.
The volunteers worked tirelessly.
The leaders stayed calm and steady,
giving clear direction despite the chaos.
For a brief moment,
I saw what unity truly looked like.
And in the middle of it all,
I knew one thing for sure:
My faith in humanity is intact.
I saw it in tired eyes that still hoped.
In hands that kept helping.
In hearts that refused to harden.
Together, we shall overcome.