Several institutions have announced a suspension of face-to-face classes for this week. Many students have expressed their worry and anxiety as the tremors continue as aftershocks to major earthquakes that recently hit the country these past two weeks. I must have detached myself too much from the real scenario, as every little movement comes off as normal. Perhaps because I’ve grown used to them, or because it’s easier to believe everything is fine. Officials from the Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (PHIVOLCS) have confirmed that these tremors are indeed aftershocks. It’s my way of coping, to ward off negative thoughts and to block my imagination from wandering off to worst-case scenarios.
The feelings of the students are valid. I understand how some of them, especially those who aren’t from Cebu, may feel the need to be nearer to their families as the ground continues to tremble. Others may still carry trauma from the 7.2-magnitude earthquake that devastated Bohol and parts of Cebu in 2013. This remains vivid in the memories of those who witnessed collapsed churches, cracked roads, and homes turned into rubble. There are many reasons why physically going to school now can feel draining, especially when these old yet sturdy buildings suddenly feel fragile. The horrific images we see on social media like toppled houses, frightened children, and rescue operations only magnify fear, regardless of how much science tries to explain it away.
However, few have ever asked about the welfare of the adults who are also enduring the same fear while being expected to remain calm. The narrative always centers on the students or the public. The teachers who are looked upon for reassurance continue to grapple with their own unease. In the morning, they put on a brave face, steady their voice, and pretend things are normal. They hold the space for anxious students. But when the last one leaves the room and the echoes of conversation fade, the teacher becomes human again. The teacher sits in silence, letting emotions sink in, sometimes shaking not from the aftershock but exhaustion.
As for me, every tremor reminds me of the traumatic images up north, of cracked walls and frightened faces. It makes me pause and reflect on how fragile everything is. Life, after all, can change in seconds. No matter how many ‘go bags’ the local government units prepare, or how many drills we conduct, nobody is ever truly ready for an earthquake. Preparedness goes beyond supplies as it’s a mindset, a calmness that comes from knowing how to respond, and an empathy that binds communities together.
The earth may move beneath us and in many ways. It could be a quake or a volcano steam emission or anything else. However, I hope our compassion doesn’t. Our mind is the most powerful tool that we have, let’s use it wisely for the benefit of those who need it the most.