The Saints of Tacloban

"You don't have to stay here. No one will blame you for going back home."

"Yeah, you're going to die out here. What would your parents think, then? How could you do that to them?"

"You're just a girl. How can you help anyone here by yourself?"

"Please... please come with us."

"You'll be all alone."

The cacophony of their yells and screams rushes around me like a raging river, but I am the calm stone at its center. I am too young to understand, some say, though they told me different in the interview I needed before coming here. I am too weak, some say, though they told me just a few days before that physical strength isn't all one needs to make a difference. I do not know what to do, some say, though they instructed me on first aid, Tagalog, survival skills, and a thousand other things for months before coming here.

I smile and say, "Don't worry about me."

After a few more minutes of rushed excuses, most of the volunteers leave for the plane. They have finally decided that I am too idealistic to leave this place. The sirens aren't going off yet, but we all know that the typhoon is coming within the next few days, and it's going to be devastating. It has already hit some of the cities further out. Only one woman remains. My teacher. The one who taught me everything I would use in the next several weeks. She looks at me with a conflicted expression, wrapping a lock of her blonde-brown hair around her finger and looking altogether very vulnerable.

"You should go, too, Jacqueline," I say, holding my messenger bag close. It is bulging with everything from medical supplies to packaged food. An emergency radio is looped around my neck by a thick strap. "If you don't hurry, the plane will leave without you."

She shakes her head as if she's going to refuse, but instead, she says, "I thought you were smarter than this, Aquarius."

"I suppose I'm going to let you down, then," I say, laughing a little.

"It's not a game!" she says, tears suddenly in her eyes.

I'd never seen Jacqueline like this before. She had always been strict and cool, not emotional at all. When I'd asked her if she wanted to have one dinner together- our last in the US- she had turned me down, saying that student and teacher should keep their relationship strictly professional. Now, she is a mess. Her face is starting to turn red, beginning with her nose. "How can you stay here, knowing what it's going to be like for the coming weeks? You could die!"

It seems like a foolish thing to say. We all volunteered to come here, knowing what would probably happen. We came here to help those who didn't have the skills or the physical capabilities to help themselves. Of course I know I could die.

"I know that. Actually, I am sure that I will die," I say, pausing as I think of why I came to the Philippines in the first place. A little pain inserts itself between my ribs and heart. "But I have my reasons for being here. I can't just leave."

"You don't even look scared," she says, wiping her eyes a little. "You're tougher than the other volunteers give you credit for."

"I'm scared, but that doesn't mean I have to give in to it," I say, smiling. She was the one who said that, when I asked her how she could operate under the conditions we were putting ourselves under.

She lets out a raspy sigh, like she would when I asked her a question that she had already said the answer to. "I don't understand you, but it's your life." She turns around like she's going to leave, but she stops at the door. "You were my favorite student, you know."

After she leaves and the jet engine revs to life, I smile. "Thanks, Jacqueline."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Aquarius!" someone calls. I turn. The local volunteers and some other international volunteers are still here. Like me, they refused to turn away from what was about to happen to Tacloban. The leader of the group is a man named Christian, a short Filipino man with a round and balding head. I have met him only once, but I remember him well. He calls out to me again. "If you're still here, then that means..."

"Yes. They left."

His face falls suddenly, but he quickly recovers. "It means the world to me and everyone that lives here. We are so grateful."

"I will do everything I can to help, Christian. Where will we stay?"

"I've talked to the mayor, and he's gotten the grocery store down the street to agree to let us stay there. If the hurricane passes without destroying the store, we can work from there."

I introduce myself to the other volunteers. There are not many of them, but they are quite diverse. Many of them are foreigners, but they seem well-trained and prepared to help when necessary. I hope there will be enough of us to make a difference.

Christian leads the group toward the store. On the way there, I can't help but notice the empty houses and the abandoned pets that wander the streets. Some people are huddled in their brick and cement homes with piles of blankets and what food they could gather. Most of them live in apartment buildings, with nowhere to hide from the typhoon. It tugs at my heart. It probably won't be enough to keep them alive, even for a few days, should the building fall and bury them.

I tighten my fist and harden my resolve. That is why I stayed.

The sky begins to take on a strange green-aqua color as we reach the grocery store. The aisles are clogged with people trying to stock up on non-perishable food and other supplies. The workers try to control the chaos, but it is impossible. Everyone is yelling to be heard and fighting over the last of whatever is on the shelves. Everyone is desperate and scared even though the typhoon has yet to hit the city.

The volunteers spread out through the store and make note of all the entrances and exits, do inventory, and memorize the layout of the building. It is shorter than the surrounding buildings, so there isn't much memorizing to do. Someone announces after taking a walk around the building that the store has a basement that had been used to hold the overstock, raising each of our hopes. Perhaps it will be possible to survive, if we can find enough space for all of us down there.

After talking to the others for a while, I feel a bit out of place. I am not the only American, nor am I the only mixed-race person. It's just that everyone talks about their homes as cozy places that they miss terribly, with family and friends that support and love them. One of the French volunteers tells me about the beauty of his city, Saint Paul au Vince. A Japanese volunteer tells me that his sister is expecting a son. He is worried that he will never get to meet the child. I comfort another American, a young woman who didn't choose to stay here. The plane was too full to take her, so she must wait for the next one. She tells me about her father and how he always protected her. I don't really know what any of that feels like.

When I think about why I stayed, I realize that part of it is because I have nothing to go back to. My parents are separated. Both of them are constantly away for work, so I have always lived alone. The babysitters and nannies came and went like the changing seasons. I was never close to any of them, and when I turned 13, they stopped coming. Allowance money started arriving in their place, most checks worth at least a thousand dollars.

I push the memories away. Now is not the time. I am tasked with cataloging the frozen goods, so I must spend several minutes in the walk-in freezer. I write down the number and name of each item. By the time I'm done, I have to sit by the heater in the back of the store for several minutes just to return to normal temperature.

All too soon, night falls. The wind is picking up leaves and trash. The workers leave at night, but not before handing off the keys to Christian. After that, we huddle in the basement next to piles of extra food and supplies, listening to the emergency radio hanging on my neck.

The typhoon is moving faster than expected. It will hit tomorrow.