By Salve Nasol Pakson

The clouds were forebodingly gray that day. But it didn’t bother me. I was just a kid – about five years old-and, all I knew, this was going to be another fun day with my Papa. He was a driver for ALATCO Pantranco Bus Company, daily plying the Ligao – Albay route surrounding scenic Mayon Volcano, winding along the seashore. Papa often brought me along because I suffered asthma and the breeze from the sea did wonders for my lungs.

So there I was, sitting next to Papa. Enjoying the breathtaking view while behind us his passengers-about 30 people or so-also gazed at majestic Mayon, remarking now and again how, indeed, so perfect is it cone! But as we cruised along, the clouds turned darker, rudely covering the volcano until, we could hardly see it anymore. And then, as we approached a bridge, a flashflood swooshed all around us, angrily pummeling the bridge, until to our horror, it collapsed!

Instinctively, Papa grabbed my hands as the bus plunged headlong into the raging torrent. The passengers shrieked in terror, some of them jumping out into the murky water, others just clinging tightly to the bus that now bode up and down like a little paper boat amid the furious waves. Then in the next second, it began to sink. I held on to Papa’s hands, as I felt the water fast rising up to my neck.

“Papa! Papa!” I screamed as my father desperately tried to keep me above water. I held tightly to him, but another wave hit us, separating us Papa swam back and grabbed my hands, again.

“Salve!” he cried, tightening his grip. “Hold on! Hold on!” As the rains continued to pour down on us, I held on to Papas hand but again, another wave hit us and I slipped out from his grasp. Again, Papa reached out to me. I caught his hands once more, even as the waters swooshed and swirled violently between us. Again, I slipped out and began to sink, the cold, dark waters beginning to claim me. In a last desperate plunge, Papa grabbed my hands again. I held on, as tightly as I could, but cruelly, the waters hit us once more. This time it seemed my arms began to freeze; my hands had turned so numb, I could no longer feel my father’s grip. I sank into the dark river, terror now enveloping me. I failed my arms desperately, trying to find my father’s hands in the dark. But alas, I couldn’t see anything anymore. I slipped into a black void, until the last thing I felt, I was being carried by waters – or by some Strong Force – away, away...

The next thing I knew, I was lying on a dry, warm bed. I was in my cousin’s house –alive! I turned out, people living near the riverbanks saw our bus plunge into the river and immediately set out to rescue the passengers. Miraculously, every single one of us, including my father was saved. I t happened that a cousin lived along the riverbanks and he was among the first to come to our rescue.

But the passengers blamed my father for the accident, charged him with negligence and brought him to court. The judge, however, ruled by father’s favor, stating that he wouldn’t have jeopardized his own daughter’s life.

Yes, my father wouldn’t have let me die. He struggled three times to save me. He would not have abandoned me – as my Father above never did. When my Papa could no longer hold me, I know, for sure, it was the Lord who took over and swiftly carried me to safety.

Salamat sa Kerygma