And There Was Light

I didn’t feel much like celebrating Christmas this year. I’d spent the last few months a little dejected, a little bit adrift and unsure of where I was supposed to be, and the holidays are always difficult when I’m away from my family. I haven’t seen them since June 2019, and my mom had recently told me that she and my dad would probably need to cancel their planned visit in January 2022 because of the COVID situation.

Then, on the 16th of December, Supertyphoon Rai (local name Odette) made landfall in the Philippines, devastating a large part of the country, including my hometown, Cebu. The storm was much stronger than had been initially reported (it intensified to Category 5 just before it hit) and majority were extremely unprepared. I watched uselessly from afar as updates came on social media in real-time: Facebook posts of roofs flying off homes, of trees crashing into windows, of calls for help, of desperate prayers for protection and comfort.

In the aftermath, the ones who were fortunate enough to not have their entire homes and villages completely destroyed were left without telecommunications, electricity, or even water. Despite intermittent cell service, I was able to get in touch with my sisters the day after the typhoon, and was relieved to find out that everyone in my family was safe.

If there’s anything I’ve learned after surviving several major storms and participating in relief operations in the past is that the first few days after a typhoon are critical in mobilizing relief and rescue efforts, before people start to run out of food and water. As both local and international news were underreporting the extent of the damage, many of us who were outside of the affected areas (whether in the Philippines or in other countries) posted appeals for help and did what little we could to contribute. It became apparent, however, that most people really didn’t care about what was happening.

I spent three days unable to sleep, lying awake on a tear-stained pillow, overcome with frustration and disbelief at people’s apathy. Different thoughts ran through my head, over and over.

More people cared about the koalas in the Australian bushfires than this.
More people posted about how awful it was when Notre Dame de Paris was burning.
Why are all the climate justice warriors so quiet?
It’s because we’re just a bunch of brown people on some poor islands.
Why has no one asked if my family is ok?
Why has no one asked how they can help?
Why has no one messaged me that they’re praying for us?
No one cares.

Finally on the third day, when my mental health was at its lowest, emotionally exhausted and racked with guilt that I myself couldn’t help much (and was still enjoying my basic needs and comforts from far away) I lashed out at God.

Do YOU even care? Where are YOU?

I prayed long and hard that night, until I finally fell asleep.

The following days were a bit better. My boyfriend, Jesse, was a steady source of support, despite the fact that I had somewhat used him as an emotional punching bag. Slowly, a handful of friends from near and far came forward and offered comfort and prayer. A few asked how they could help. I was able to chat with my parents whenever their data was working. I read mostly hopeful thoughts from friends who themselves had been affected by the storm, some were even making jokes about politicians using the tragedy for their campaigns and unscrupulous characters hoarding and hiking prices on basic necessities. I even watched the online Christmas Eve service at my church.

This afternoon, as I started preparing Christmas dinner for me and Jesse for tonight, I played a Christmas playlist on Spotify. I absent-mindedly sang along to the usual fluffy songs, until Lauren Daigle’s version of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas came on. I sang the following lines, and started choking up with tears:

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on
Your troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
From now on
Your troubles will be miles away

I thought about all the now-homeless people back home who, while still suffering the effects of the ongoing pandemic, would go without food or water or light this Christmas…and I couldn’t sing anymore. Let your heart be light? How? I started crying as I put a dish in the oven.

Then another Lauren Daigle song started. It was one called Light of the World. I started crying some more, but for a different reason this time.

No, troubles are not out of sight or miles away just because it’s Christmastime. We live in a broken world. It’s unfair and awful that people are suffering and that evil people are using this suffering for their own gain.

But I thank God that 2,000 years ago, he sent a savior to save us from our own brokenness. We don’t need to look to others for comfort or peace. He is in the business of changing hearts, the same way he is still changing mine. I’m grateful for many things, but mostly for the fact that in him, there is so much more than this world to look forward to. Until the time he calls me home, I’ll continue to walk towards his light in the middle of the darkness.