A Colour Fuqued Vista

We found ourselves bathed in the first moments of daylight, the sun barely hovering over the horizon, yet we were already met with a grim landscape. It felt like that disorienting state of consciousness we get upon waking, though we have already been up for hours. To our left was the tranquil view of the ocean so wide that its farthest point looked like the edge of the world. To our right was what we could only describe as heart-breaking.

When you think of trees, you usually think of life. Nature has always been the arbiter for the human race. But what we saw was close to death. Looking at those disheveled coconut trees and their fallen counterparts, I couldn't help but think of rag dolls left behind by a nuclear explosion. They had their own version of hell. They lined up the mountainside, like scarecrows left there to tell the story because its people couldn't do it.

"Were you here when Typhoon Yolanda hit?" I carefully asked.

We were on the first floor of their house, which was devoid of anything except for the colorful products that they displayed in the effort of bringing the business back to its momentum. Most of the buildings in the neighborhood were now just carcasses, all leaning in awkward angles. In place of their homes were the white tents brought there by the UN groups.

"No, my family took shelter in a house uphill. But we lost everything."

She didn't have to mention the people that they had also lost. Her gaze shifted to the floor, as did everyone else in the room.

I was naive to think that she'd be eager to tell me the whole story. It was a shame that we in the metropolis didn't suffer anything more than torn roofs and, even worse, our fear was mixed with a sick sense of excitement for all the hype that blanketed the city moments before the typhoon hit.

I couldn't just accept that this was all there is to it. I needed to see beyond the broken land. So I sought its people.

What I found then was a miracle.

Everywhere I looked, there was life. There was happiness. A girl riding her bicycle. A guitar filling the air with acquired Western taste. People stretching their smiles for the camera. Greetings that flew at us as we walked along the streets.

None of them brought up their misery, but they were instead so eager to hear our story, where we came from and why we visited.

And that was the reason. To find the miracle of the human condition.