This time, baby, I'll be waterproof

I woke up at six this morning. Crap, I thought. I overslept. I rushed out of my room and saw all of our books on top of tables.

The water outside must've been this close to entering our house. And I didn't know it all happened. I slept through it.

I dropped Jeany a line or two, because she dropped me a couple of lines earlier. She just came from Boston, a trip for a couple of days or something. I was the only one awake, so I told her that, if she's online, I'll try to talk to her on FaceTime. We rarely talk on video, mostly because our schedules don't really meet.

You all know by now. It's been raining non-stop since last night. The visibility along SLEX last night was so bad, every car had their blinkers on. This morning, it was no longer raining in my place, but it hasn't stopped raining everywhere else. The same places got flooded, the same people got affected, the same issues were raised. Sure, we are more prepared now than three years ago, but still.

Jeany finally called at around half past eight. I was no longer the only one awake, and I felt awkward speaking in straight English (in a different, new accent, so my sister claims) but I had to explain to her how scary things are here. I live in the relative highlands - although we are at the lowest point - but elsewhere things are verging on grim. The Marikina River reaching spilling point, the La Mesa Dam overflowing, major highways having existential crises before deciding that they'd rather prepare for Australian summers and become swimming pools instead.

Mika's parents - I haven't met her, but I know she used to live on the other side of the city I live in, the coastal side, before entering UP - have resorted to bringing up the most sentimental items, in her words.

Moch's parents were stranded somewhere near SM Sucat. The district's main road is inundated with flood water again.

Krizia's stuck in her office, but she was able to wrap up some workshop and go home, I think.

Ale's doing fine, although there's some flood near her place in Cainta. I don't know about now. Cainta always gets flooded, but my aunt who lives there is surprised that the waters haven't entered her house yet. That was this morning.

Ranice, last I heard, was stuck in Eastwood, worried sick for her daughter Leighton, who's with her grandmother.

Jean - another Jean, the Cookista Jean, who I might as well call Jessica - Jessica's doing fine, but then again, she's in the highest spot in her town. "'Pag bumaha sa amin, apocalypse na sa buong Kawit," she said.

Me? I'll need some Dallas sunshine, thank you very much - gloomy weather literally makes me an opinionated, obnoxious monster.

It is, as I write this, worse than Ondoy. In a way, I mean. A lot of rain's been dumped over Luzon in the past twenty-four hours, more rain than the first six hours of Ondoy three years ago. We haven't lost electricity, thankfully, and the floods haven't entered our place, but I hate not being sure of what happens next. Do I have to return to work tomorrow? It'll still be very rainy tomorrow. Same situation until Thursday, apparently. Same rain, same depressing news, same uncertainty in everything but my Twitter timeline with people asking for rescue and people giving it like it's nobody's business.

"Yes," Ale told me, when I tossed this off-schedule question on whether we are really waterproof people. "Kasi kung hindi, nabura na ang mga Pilipino sa seven billion plus population ng mundo."

"That's scary," Jean said, apparently having just arrived at her Times Square apartment from Boston. I had her thumb through local news sites to see photos of the floods for herself - it's like Katrina, I told her, but without the hurricane - but I didn't correct her when she mispronounced Bacoor again. "I realize that my problems pale in comparison to this."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I wanted to go watch the xx, but why does it have to be in some shit place in the Bronx?"

"Yeah," I told her. "That does pale by comparison."

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