Just last week I heard over the news that a magnitude-eight-earthquake devastated the province of Sichuan in China. As is usual with me listening to the news in the car, the information came and went without much fuss. This is not the first time a town is crushed by an earthquake. In my own lifetime, I have seen, felt and heard what a ‘big one’ feels like, having been at the top floor of Palma Hall (as a green, clueless freshman in college) when the earthquake of 1990 hit Luzon without warning.

The feeling of impending doom I felt while attempting to run down several plights of stairs that swayed from left to right is a sensation I will never forget… not one I will want to revisit soon either. Minutes later we were relieved to see ourselves out of that tall building, and all its Romanesque beauty. The structure still stands to this day though… a testament to the miracle of excellent planning, and sturdy construction.

Baguio took the brunt of that 1990 quake, my 15 year old mind at that time was unable to comprehend how the loss of life and property must have felt for my Ilocano/Igorot kababayans. I can remember watching in awe of the power of nature, as it topples businesses and edifices down within seconds... taking sweet and dear life in the process. It gave me a quick lesson on not messing up with Mother Nature.

The stories from China trickled down day by day though. The horror of schools crumbling down, killing thousands of children in its wake, were just too morbid to hear. Expensive condominium towers were rumored to have withstood the tremors, but public school buildings were flattened within minutes.  Stories from children who survived by running in panic, looking back to see their classmates caught in a crumbling school tower. How does a pediatric nurse (such as myself) deny the power of that experience to the children of Sichuan?

Many people may take one look at me and mistakenly assume that my tiny frame speaks of very limited experience – of an incapacity to understand and empathize. But I am no stranger to grief, no stranger to heartbreak, and definitely no stranger to loss. The streets of Binondo and Divisoria are known to eat its young. Manila has a peculiar way of exorcising naiveté out of people.

A nice little congregation in Nagtahan made sure that my pain and heartbreak was balanced with hope and faith. Since then I have been blest with a life that became a bit more affluent than the one I was born with… something I attribute to Divine Providence. People and time has taught me that poverty, as much as tragedy, is universal. As far removed as we are from China, we can relate to their struggles, their miseries, and their sense of injustice. We can also gain from their resilience, be hopeful for their recovery and send help – both in prayer and resources.

It is indeed a small world we live in. We may at times be tempted to feel alone in our struggles, triumphs and temptations. Then disaster strikes and we realize we are not very different … all of us. We hurt, laugh and cry over the same things. We forget the color of each other’s skin, the shape of the other’s eye, the accent that the other carries. It reminds us of who and what we really are… each of us is but human.