Doomsday Prepper | Act 1

It took just a single temblor to awaken the instinct: self-preservation in a catastrophic event befalling a city caught flat-footed. The seismic head bang slammed the hips of the archipelago. It did little damage. Taking with it a careless soul and dozens of flimsy houses in its ripples' deadly wake. 

The metropolis up north escaped unscathed. It's towering homes and offices didn't sway, its denizens slept as past-midnight aftershocks continue to put fear in the hearts of men, women and children of Tacloban. An earthquake of that magnitude, grinding instead the tectonic plates of the Valley Fault in Rizal is beyond imagination.

Little now do we remember of that great samba of July 1990.

As the city and its leaders insist on some form of readiness - assembling heavy equipment to be used to dig under collapsed buildings under road intersection flyovers - one must remember that disaster preparedness starts at home. It was a lesson learned after Habagat sunk a third of the metropolis. While essentials are full at that time, and helpers were willing to wade across knee-deep flood waters to source supplies, none would be available had buildings and bridges fell down.

Not even medicines.

roll of paper tape

gauge pads
mediplast plastic strips
betadine ointment
isoprophyl alcohol
hydrogen peroxide
cotton
surgical gloves
efficascent oil 

the emergency kit should be positioned close to accessible locations.

supplies must be used only for emergencies. never for convenience

Duality pervades over the emergency kit's very existence; as a first aid provision, and soon-to-be repository of over-the-counter medicines, and as reassurance that a means of survival is there when none is present elsewhere. A disused medicine cabinet used to sit across the staircase. Hidden behind iconic images of saints and virgins, the cabinet's contents were barely useful. It was moved to its new location this afternoon - halfway between the two floors of the house - to make sure its life-saving properties are readily available.

It sits there, untouched, with a red cross on its surface. It speaks of its cornerstone position. As it waits, the freshly-supplied medicine cabinet fervently hopes it would never be opened for reasons no one wishes to happen.

It sits there, like a guardian. Reminding me every time I go into my room at night, that much work still needs to be done for my loved ones' very survival.