05/10/2025
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝗴𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗖𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀: 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝗥𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀, 𝗛𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗗𝗼𝗲𝘀
In the aftermath of the September 30 quake, a small group of volunteers from different walks of life took a more than twelve-hour journey north— not just to give, but to listen, to feel, and to see the unseen.
Yesterday, I had the privilege to be in touch with humanity, the kind that humbles, breaks, and heals you all at once. It opened my eyes to a double reflection: the raw reality of disaster and the unspoken failures that shadow it. With the help of generous private individuals, we managed to bring relief goods to the farthest corners of Northern Cebu— places where help rarely reaches, and hope often comes late.
The journey itself was a test of endurance. We woke up long before sunrise, surviving on barely two hours of sleep. Inside the car, it was "siksikan", bodies pressed against boxes of goods, backpacks, and exhaustion. The road stretched endlessly under the scorching sun, each kilometer testing our patience. We left early, yet somehow, after nearly twelve hours of winding roads, bumpy rides, and countless stops, we arrived late. Our bodies ached, but our hearts were steady. Every discomfort reminded us that comfort is a privilege, and service often begins where comfort ends.
One of the barangays we visited was Barangay Lapaz in Bogo City, specifically near the landfill area. From a geographic lens, the place is isolated and far from the mainland of Bogo. The trip going there was frightening. The land was uneven, and even the car struggled to climb the steep paths. After minutes of hardship and mixed emotions, we finally arrived. We first talked to the locals, asking about their experiences during the continuous shaking and the wrath of the earthquake. They said it was unbearable, both during and after the calamity. We then prepared the goods and started distributing them. The people received them with grateful hearts. I’m not even exaggerating one bit; their eyes were glistening with tears. It was heartbreaking to see them scavenging among piles of trash scattered across the wide landfill, searching for something to eat or still useful. And yet, in that wasteland of broken things, their gratitude shone like light piercing through debris.
The drive back to the mainland was quieter. Along the road, we saw groups of people, weary but hopeful, standing still as if waiting for something unseen. When we stopped and told them to line up, they did so with quiet obedience. No pushing, no loud words, just patience. In their silence, there was grace. We handed out the remaining goods, and they handed us their smiles — genuine, unfiltered, enough to silence any complaint about the long, exhausting day.
This experience made me reflect on two truths: the harsh reality and wrath of the calamity, and the visible lapses of the government. The reality is that disasters expose the fragility of life and the inequality that persists in our society. Many communities, especially those in remote areas, remain unseen and unheard until tragedy strikes, even after it. The government’s lapses, on the other hand, lie in its slow and uneven distribution of aid, poor infrastructure, and lack of preparedness. It shouldn’t take private citizens or student volunteers to reach those in dire need. Yet, it often does.
Empathy must live beyond donation drives and fleeting posts. It must breathe in the actions of leaders who move before the spotlight and in communities that prepare not out of fear but out of care. The quake may have stilled, but its echo remains, reminding us that humanity should not only rise when the ground shakes, but stand firm long after. Because rebuilding does not begin with cement or cash; it begins with compassion, with the quiet courage to care when no one else will.
—feature story by: JM Abrenica
