"Volcanic" Eruption

KA-BLAAAMMM!

The volcanic explosion was so loud it woke me up from my peaceful sleep, heart thumping wildly. I looked around, searching for my brothers who slept next to me in our bed but they were no longer in their places. I remembered my five-year-old brother Mans (I was six then) waking me up earlier but I just said okay then went back to sleep.

I smelled trouble. I just knew everyone was already engaged in productive activities. I started to make the bed, although a big part of me still wanted to go back to sleep. But sleeping in is against house rules; everyone is expected to wake up early. The last person to wake up makes the bed.

As I collected the strewn pillows, a thought hit me: how could there have been a volcanic explosion when there was no volcano near us? I searched my mind what made me think that what I heard was a volcanic explosion. Then I remembered: just last week I asked Dad about volcanoes and asked him to describe how strong their explosions were.

Feeling very silly, I decided that the explosion I heard was just a part of a dream. Then cries from outside brought me back from my reverie. They were calling out to me to go down at once.

I looked out the window and saw only my then four-year-old brother, Ogie, standing near the window, half-crying as he was desperately calling out to me. “Manang Jing! Manang Jing! Bumabakan a! Mananngggg!”

My heartbeat doubled. I was really in trouble, I thought. I had woken up an hour later than our scheduled wake-up time. I searched my mind which of my duties should have been done at that hour.

“Agkupinak pay!” I answered back and ignored what he was saying. What everyone else was saying, which I could not comprehend. I just knew they were telling me to get down at once. I wondered what the rush was. I searched my mind: “Ania ngata ti basolko, Apo?” I asked myself.

I continued fixing the beddings, thinking I would be in more trouble if I leave the beddings unfolded. Then all of a sudden, Ogie was already in the room. He took me by the hand and forcefully dragged me and together we got out of the house. Then he pushed me down.

My body ached at the contact with earth. I swirled around, deeply annoyed at my brother, but then he was down, too. He was madder than I was.

“Nagtangken ta ulom. Bumabakan kunak ket!” he said, crying still.

“Agkupinak pay, kunak met!”

He answered back, but his voice was drowned by the noise that suddenly erupted.

BRATATATATATATTATATATATATATATAT!

I stared at my brother, shocked. We were in the middle of gunfight!

I began to understand him, to be overwhelmed with gratitude for my brother for bravely coming to the house to get me to safety. But he told me to keep quiet and motioned for me to crawl to the other members of the family.

It was then that I started to worry about them.

We crawled for a few minutes, until we got to where my five-year-old brother, Mans, who was protecting our youngest brother, Ryan, then one year old. My cousins, Benmar (3), Manong Boyet (7), Manang Babet (9), and Manang Nanet (10) were also there. Inang was also holding Ryan. And Amang was not far ahead, holding Benmar. Mans was both annoyed and deeply relieved seeing me.

“Ditoytayo pay laeng, Annakko,” I heard Inang’s whisper. “Nataltalged ditoy, uray no mapuruakan ti granada dayta balay.”

It was then that I started to cry, realizing my stupidity; how worried I made everyone, and how much danger Ogie put himself just to get me to safety. But Ogie and Iding hushed me. “Shhhh… mayaten Manang. Safe kan. Saankan nga agsangit.”

But I cried harder, until my brothers hugged me.

We waited for hours until the shootings stopped. Then Uncle Nestor, Dad’s youngest brother who has gone out early to check our pagay and was with our nearest neighbors, about 100 meters away, started shouting instructions to us. He told us we should try to go to where he was as it was safer there.

We didn’t know which way to go. Should we cross the ricefields? Or walk on the street? He signaled we use the street to let the shooters know we were civilians. Amang carried my one-year-old brother while Inang held Benmar and beckoned us to go with them.

IT WAS ALREADY way past lunch time when it was decided that we could go back to our place, but not to go inside the house yet. We were to stay only at the front yard.

So that’s what he did. Amang settled under a mango tree, and made banban. Inang helped him. Uncle Nestor was the only one who dared go inside the house and brought out food. We kids played, the horror of the morning almost forgotten by our young minds.

Caught in our game, we did not notice anyone approaching. But as I was about to lift something, we heard a hoarse voice, shouting: “Ni Kapitan?”

Five or more armed men were standing in front of Amang and Inang, their long guns aimed at us.

“Siak, Apo,” Amang replied.

I did not know what I expected Amang to do, cannot even remember what he did and what passed between him and the men, but soon we were serving them food. I remember that even as they ate, their guns were still pointed at us.


IT WAS ALREADY LATE afternoon, and we were still not daring to get near the house when Dad, Mom and Aunts and Uncles arrived, white-faced. They broke down with joy when they saw us, still alive. They were afraid, and almost sure we were all dead. They were extremely happy it was our smiling faces that greeted them, not the carnage they feared they’d see. They relayed they rushed to us the moment they heard news of the “encounter” on our hill, but authorities barricaded the entrance to our barrio. They pleaded the authorities to let them pass, saying all their kids were there, vacationing, but they weren’t let through. “Too dangerous,” they were told.
Hugs and words of love were exchanged. My waking up very late that morning was even forgotten. Everyone was just so happy that we were alive.

But I cannot forget the guns. I look back to that part of my young life and I can see clearly those long barrels aimed at us.

I realize that episode represents my first memory of fear.