Typhoon Sendong’s death toll has risen to a thousand, and still thousands of people are missing. It seems that it’s becoming an annual thing, the rise in number of calamities that our country has to endure. We’re a pretty resilient bunch of people, but I swear that it doesn’t get easier for anyone to experience, or to even watch.
I’ve been saving up for traveling this Christmas break to various provinces. I’ve had books dated to leave with friends, and have been looking forward to it for weeks. Especially the last few weeks, where I could do nothing but look ahead. But as I saw more and more photos of the people who had gone through so much the past few days, it didn’t feel right to party everyday on a beach having such a good time, when I know in my heart that I had countrymen who had lost all they had, including family, friends and the things that matter the most.
It was hard at first. I did work hard for what little I had. Graphing designing stints, essay contests, days cutting back on my meals, lessening the times I go out with my friends. I could have other chances. I told myself. I could raise this money again in a few weeks if I set my mind to it. I didn’t have to leave now. My wanderlust could wait. My heart can bear to be away from the big world a little longer, there was someone else who needed it more.
I know what I gave is not much. It’s hardly a dent in the large amount of supplies CDO needs to gather for all the people who the storm hit. There are probably lots of other people who gave tons more than I did without a blink. But I know in my heart what I did was personally a very difficult thing to do.
I came home with an empty wallet, and after packing a few boxes with a few clothes to spare I had to sit down and take a deep breathe. It was hard. It was really hard to let go of the idea that all I’ve saved up for won’t go to my travel fund, because of all the dark days that only thing I had looked forward to was to be able to go to all those places. But I looked at the picture of a man holding the body of his dead child and I knew I was doing the right thing. I was doing the right thing.
And maybe I’ll never get to see the faces of the people who get the bottles of water, or the clothes, or the noodles. I’ll never hear a thank you. I’ll never actually see it being given to the people who’ll line up for hours for a few supplies. But maybe, it’s not about being thanked, or given recognition, or being told it was the right thing to do.
Maybe it’s the act of doing it, even when it hurts. Maybe that’s the real spirit of giving, when it doesn’t come easy. When you realize how maybe it’s okay to be selfish every now and then, but sometimes, it’s okay if you put other first too.
