Unfinished business, pt. 1

At the top of my list is a promise I made to my mom when I moved out years ago.

A particularly strong, historically catastrophic typhoon hit the area where our family house was, and this was at a time when we weren’t doing so well in life. (In fact, we never really did well. I do now, though, and while I’ve been able to lift my family up in recent years, for more than a decade, I wouldn’t call our lives comfortable.) Years before that were the hardest. Not only were we unable to keep the family home from falling apart more and more, but the disaster struck when I was considering leaving my current place of employment. Being the eldest of three, earning more every month than my father ever did in a quarter, it was all on me to keep things going, and the last thing I wanted to happen did, in fact, happen to us.

We did know it would be the strongest weather disturbance we’d had the misfortune of encountering, but it even went beyond that. My family started bracing for the strong winds and the expected flood of water to follow soon after really early in the day, but almost a full day in, the winds never abated. By midnight, my father and I were on the rooftop, bracing ourselves in case anything came loose. But despite our best efforts, a segment of the house caved in, and the first and only out-of-body experience of my life happened before my eyes.

I fell back inside beside my father as the roof twirled into the air before slamming back down onto us. My father dove beside a particularly sturdy cabinet, while I jumped under a nearby bed frame, and we stared at each other in shock for minutes before the worried cries of the rest of our family members came ringing from downstairs, waking us up from that wet stupor.

We crawled under the caved-in section and into the stairs, and as the water flooded in, it was only then that I realized how lucky we were. My father and I were holding on tightly to a long stretch of rope, trying to hold onto everything. If we hadn’t let go or dodged when the house collapsed, we would’ve been hurt. With the rush of water coming in, getting help or medical attention would have been impossible. Roads were impassable with waist-high waters for days around us, and bodies were being found, brought in by the nearby river when it overflowed.

We left in a hurry to seek refuge some meters away, where my grandmother’s house sat. The rest of that floor collapsed further, leaving only the ground floor of the house intact and barely safe to navigate. I lost everything I owned right then and there, only salvaging a laptop I used for work and some clothes.

I still remember that day vividly, as if it happened to us yesterday.

As if the universe was rubbing salt in our wounds, my relationship with the company I was working for continued to rapidly deteriorate, and I was unable to handle the stress of keeping our family sane after such a disaster and the pressures and expectations my work placed upon me. I left shortly after, having moved away from that place. I spent months fighting through depression as I upskilled until I managed to land my first international client as a freelance gig. Since then, I’ve continued to move through life with the thought I wouldn’t stop until I’ve erected a larger home where our family house once stood.

I’m getting paid now around ten times what I earned back then, but due to some distractions and detours, I haven’t really gone back in full to finish what I started. The new house, built with the intent to house the rest of my family members who are still renting a place in the aftermath of that disaster, is steadily progressing, but it can’t be finished soon enough. Until that day, I will keep seeing that falling section of the house in my dreams, along with the tears of my mom who wished things didn’t have to happen to us.

But things do happen, with or without our consent and preparation. I can’t say I’m perfectly better because it happened to us, but everyone needs a little taste of tragedy in their lives to see past what’s there before it’s gone and too late to appreciate it.

I guess I’m here writing again after two years, having thrown away the rest of the essays I wrote for this site. I don’t exactly understand what’s compelling me to write again. Maybe it’s the fact that sitting here, surrounded by family in a rare moment of connection when I don’t see them anymore for months at a time, is making me reflect on what remains to be done despite all the progress I’ve made in recent years.

Maybe it’s the fact that there’s a tsunami of changes that will wash over me with certainty in the weeks and months to come. I’m still as lost and foolish as I was at that time, still as afraid of change despite proving myself to be quite competent at handling it.

I know that there are more things to life than getting past all this unfinished business. I need to start living, stop putting off what I’ve been holding back on. But I can’t move on—not until I’ve settled the score with my past self. I just can’t help but feel anxious—when the day finally comes and the nightmares stop, what’s the next thing I’m going to be waking up in a cold sweat for? I get the feeling I won’t like the answer, but I need to know as soon as possible.