Wish I’d stayed in the mountains but years ago moved to the coast and became a fisherman and usually did pretty well and survived countless typhoons, annual curses in the Philippines, by grabbing my family and rushing into mountains which weren’t always hospitable flooding down toward us but we’d always dodged. This time, before we could respond, winds two hundred miles an hour whipped seawater loaded with destroyed buildings and trees and God knows what else into our homes and faces, flattening everything, crushing us where we were, leaving us there or adding our bodies and homes to the waves. Maybe I was lucky to go fast. I hope the people killed by electrocution and flying trees also didn’t linger. Some of the ten thousand dead lay critically wounded before passing on. All these typhoons and looters and the seven point two quake in October seem like too much, so more than ever I now understand why my nine brothers and sisters waited and applied and for years maneuvered to move to the United States, Canada, and Europe. They’ve been calling and sending money. I’m sure they have. But they’ll never know where we are.