remembering the 7.8 Philippine earthquake of 1990

It is eighteen years to this day when it happened, 4:26 PM on July 16, 1990 to be exact, the most devastating earthquake that our country has experienced. It registered 7.8 on the Richter scale with the epicenter in the northmen part of the country, somewhere in the province of Nueva Ecija, where it produced a 125 kilometer long ground rupture that stretched northwards to its neighboring provinces.

I distinctly remember July 16, 1990. It started as an ordinary day for me as well as for millions of other Filipinos, unaware of the devastation that was to happen late that afternoon. I had gone to the mall just right after lunch and returned with some knickknacks as usual. One of my finds was a set of brass street numbers that I planned to install on our gate, something to replace the weathered aluminum ones we had. After a few minutes of rest, I went about to do my task. With power drill in hand, I proceeded. Just as I was drilling the holes for the second number I noticed that the electric cables from the post across the street shaking. Thinking nothing of it as
mere effects of the wind, I continued with my drilling. A few seconds later I heard the same cables shaking quite violently. That's weird, I thought, just when the wind has died down. And then I felt it. The ground started moving, sideways at first and getting stronger every second, followed by what seemed like up and down waves that almost knocked me off my feet. At first I thought it would immediately stop, like previous minor earthquakes I've experienced. However, as I felt it getting stronger I could hear the cement walls cracking from the stress and I knew that it was no ordinary earthquake. I quickly dropped the drill (good thing it didn't hit my feet) and carefully waked inside the house. My brother was already shouting when I entered, "Stay clear of the chandelier!" I looked to my left and found the living room chandelier swaying violently, threatening to snap free from the ceiling. Vases and picture frames on the piano started falling, breaking into pieces as they hit the floor. And then I saw mom's china cabinet, shaking violently and threatening to topple over. My brother rushed to it and leaned against it with all his might. Still, I could hear the china and crystals inside shaking violently. Then I remembered mom and carefully proceeded to the bedrooms. I found her crawling to the hallway alter in prayer, in tears. After what seemed like an hour of agony, the earthquake stopped. Mom was still in tears as she continued her prayers, while my brother and I checked the rest of the house.

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We found no major damage (thank God). Just a few small cracks and a broken window. We were lucky. As news of the incident started pouring in through the radio (power was out so no TV, for two days), we found out that thousands were not as lucky. A hotel and several buildings collapsed in Baguio City, the country's summer capital, and a school crashed in Nueva Ecija, killing hundreds of high school students. Many more towns, cities and villages were devastated, and more than a thousand lost their lives. And for the survivors, the trauma of experiencing the force of such a devastation lingered.

I never want to go through a similar experience. Storms and typhoons are similarly scary but earthquakes are different. No matter how strong a typhoon is, you know that it will pass. However, during the earthquake I never had that feeling. Somehow, as the ground shook violently and wave after wave passed, I got the feeling that it might be the end, that no one would live through it. And I am sure thousands felt the same. Now I've realized why many people have taken the Jucelino Nobrega earthquake prediction seriously.

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