10/11/2025
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November 4, 2025 was the day I understood why scriptures spoke of howling winds and rattling trees. This storm was unlike anything I had ever experiencedโan event that left a scar in the hearts of countless Sugbuanons.
It began in the early hours of November 3. Rain poured relentlessly as each drop carried a silent warning. My neighbors have already begun cutting down trees and packing bags for evacuation. Similarly, our family also made preparations, restocking our pantry and having us gather all important documents in one file.
When evening fell, the winds got stronger as our living room filled with weather report noises and occassional buzzes from NDRRMC. We were getting worried, the wind howled like a hungry beast, taunting to destroy our home. And to make matters worse, water poured from our ceiling and windows, keeping us on edge as we did our best to prevent water from flooding inside.
Sleeping was barely an option. My mother stayed up all night in fear of what dangers the storm may bring. I watched her stand by the stairway, praying to every saint she could remember to keep us safe.
As the clock ticked 3, the rattling became louder, as if the storm wanted to lift our house away. I couldn't help but tear up in fear, looking at the tender sleeping form of my younger brother, unaware of the terrors outside.
With a sponge and tub in hand, I sat by the glass sliding doors of our terrace, soaking as much water as I could to keep our house dry. I muttered prayers as the wind blew louder, my nerves shaking at the sound of our roof rattling.
Then, at the peak of the storm's tenacity, I held on to our glass panes as the wind threatened to push it open. Prayers were my last flick of hope, tears streaming down my face as I prayed for the safety of all the people I could mention.
Roofs were teared and appliances were drowned. I watched through the windows as my neighbors braved the storm in the break of dawn, rescuing pigs and cows on their backsโa scene I never once thought would unfold.
After long hours of endurance, wiping every leak and moving away furniture, it was finally 8 a.m., the estimated time of the storm's passing. The winds were still strong, but at least less ferocious. The sky then became a lot brighter, revealing the destruction the storm has brought.
And when we thought it was the end of our devastation, water levels continued to rise as the remaining rain poured. The green fields of our backyard filled with water. What was once a rice field fostering crops, turned into a seemingly endless ocean of mud and broken tree fragments.
By the time the rain weakened, our neighbors then came out, busy collecting and looking for missing roofs, appliances, shoes, and even farm animals. Debris was everywhere, and electricity was out, but somehow the smiling faces and passing greeetings of my neighbors taught me a lesson of perseverance and resillience.
It wasn't the storm they feared, it was the loss of loved ones and meaningful people in their lives. So being safe, complete, and together with family is something already worth being grateful for.
But not all stories of this wretched storm ended like mine. Others were pure tragedy.
A quick scroll on social media emulates a silence of empathy, grief, and loss. Houses were buried in neck-deep waters, as rivers overflow and drag away nearby houses. Help was on the way, but even rescuers couldn't do much against nature's lashing. Some of my friends lost their homes entirely, left with nothing but shattered foundations and agonizing mud.
Who would have thought that the roofs that sheltered us, the beds we found comfort in, and the walls that kept us warm, could disappear in a single night?
As death tolls continously rise, the people of Cebu are left in a state of loss. Those people now lifeless and cold were once someone's parent; someone's child, someone's lover, and someone's friend. It all feels far too unfair.
As the storm ends, the aftermath carries a new burden upon everyone's shoulders. The loss must be filled and renewed. Houses must be rebuilt, streets must be cleared, and mud must be scrubbed.
People laughed to cope, prayed to stay hopeful, and leaned on each other to keep going. But beneath every joke and smile are memories we quietly carry with us.
Tino was not just a storm. It was a story written in resilience, grief, loss, and survival.
Words by: Asia Centillas
Layout by: Chael Angelo Nortiza
