Today marks one year since the catastrophic magnitude 6.9 earthquake that shook my hometown, Bogo City.
A year has passed, but I don’t think everyone who experienced that day left it behind when the ground stopped moving.
Even now, there are moments when I still get episodes of that shaking. Sometimes it’s the sensation itself. Sometimes it’s a sound, a movement, a place, or a memory that suddenly brings me back to those first terrifying moments. And for a few seconds, it feels like I’m there again.
I remember going back to work almost immediately after the earthquake. Everything was happening so quickly. People were being brought in. Emergency responders were moving from one situation to another. Everyone was trying to do what they could with whatever strength they had left.
There is one particular scene from that day that I still carry with me. Someone was brought in by an emergency responder from a neighboring town, and what happened to him was something I don’t think I will ever be able to completely put into words.
I don’t want to narrate that scene.
Some memories don’t need to be described to be remembered.
They simply stay somewhere inside you.
Being a nurse has taught me that there are wounds you can see and wounds you can’t. We know how to assess the visible ones. We know how to dress them, monitor them, treat them. But there are things that happen to people during disasters that don’t show up on any chart or examination.
The fear.
The helplessness.
The sound of the ground moving beneath you.
The people you couldn’t reach.
The things you witnessed.
The people you lost.
The feeling of wondering whether the next second would bring another wave of destruction.
A year later, I think about all of that differently.
I don’t think healing means forgetting what happened. Maybe healing means being able to remember without being completely consumed by the memory. Maybe it means accepting that some days will still be difficult. Maybe it means allowing yourself to admit that something affected you, even when everyone around you has already moved on.
Bogo has rebuilt so much since that day. Buildings can be repaired. Roads can be restored. Homes can be reconstructed. Life, somehow, finds a way to continue.
But people need time too.
So today, I’m remembering not only the earthquake, but everyone who lived through it. The families who lost someone. The people who lost their homes. The responders who ran toward danger while everyone else was trying to get away. The healthcare workers who went back to work while they were frightened themselves. And the people who are still carrying memories they rarely talk about.
A year later, I hope we continue to take care of one another.
And if you’re still affected by that day, if you still feel the shaking sometimes, if certain memories still hurt, please know that you’re not weak for that.
You survived something enormous.
I hope everyone heals. I hope you heal from the wounds nobody could see.
And I hope that, little by little, the ground beneath us continues to feel like home again.