This is by far the hardest blog to that I’ve had to write on the race. It is hard because there are no words to explain what I experienced in Tacloban last week. There are vivid pictures and memories filling my mind that I want to share, but I just can’t come up with the words to truly express what happened.
I don’t know the words to describe the destruction and rubble that covers the entire island.
I don’t know how to share with you about the burning sensation in my fingers from chopping garlic and ginger. Or how hours of chopping meant feeding hundreds of hungry people.
I don’t know how to explain seeing the hurt in a woman’s eyes who lost her sister and best friend.
I can’t find the words to tell you about the man who hung from power lines as a 30ft storm surge rocked the Tacloban Bay.
I don’t know how to express the joy in a child’s face when you ask them to dance in the pouring rain. Or the excitement in a lady’s face when you tell her there is free rice for the taking.
There aren’t words to tell you the story of a man who swam through the streets, as water rose above two stories, just to stay alive.
I can’t fully explain the love I have for Jaeen, an 11 year old girl who called me big sister Sam.
So instead of trying to explain what happened and what I saw; I will use the words of the survivors that we met.
“We have no food. We have no house, but we praise God because we are all alive and together.”
“I praise Jesus because I am alive.”
“We are happy because our entire family is together.”
“Praise the Lord for keeping us alive.”
“I love you Ate Sam, and I will miss you.”
And then my favorite phrase, that comes with a little bit of backstory.
When we arrived in Tacloban, following a 40hr truck ride, we were allowed to rest and then 2 of us went out on a feeding. While on this feeding I carried a steaming hot bowl of lugaw(rice) home for a little boy. When I went to exit his home I was surrounded by at least 20 kids. They asked me lots of questions about myself and then I ask them to teach me some of their language. Despite my butchering of Taglog I learned how to say one phrase. It was all they wanted to teach me…
Mahal kita
which means:
i love you
those words alone describe my week in Tacloban.
Three little words carry so much meaning to me and to those people.
Mahal kita Tacloban. You have forever changed me.
with love and Merry Christmas!
sam
