Aftermath

Whatta whopper of a storm.

Were it not for the devastation it wreaked and the lives it took - human and otherwise, including those great old acacias lining University Avenue - it was, all in all, a spectacular experience. I've always loved this kind of weather, especially when I'm safely indoors and above sea level (my QC neighborhood is fortunately high and dry in that aspect). It's always a good excuse to carbo load on hot arroz caldo and take marathon naps, to order out for lechon manok (apparently 10,000 other QC residents had the same idea) and to just idle around by candlelight until somnolence overcomes. And, when all else fails and it's 1:00 a.m. and sleeping in your own sweat is the furthest thing on your mind (marathon naps, remember), there's always the guitar to practice plucking on. Not to mention the Bakang, a nocturnal creature who is predictably up and at its prime in the wee hours, wheedling human beings into a hedonistic evening of wine, women, and song (actually beer, badings and bakangs, and Bogart).

And then there are always those conversations with God, in the quiet of the night with no one and nothing else to disturb the unspoken exchanges between your heart and His, with the reassurance of His steadfast love as the last thought before falling asleep. It's this time in the silence that the wisest of choices are made and the sincerest heart's desires offered up, and, in that solitary moment before slipping off into unconsciousness, true peace.

"When the oceans rise, and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm. Father, you are King over the flood; I will be still, and know you are God." - Reuben Morgan, Still