The Night When the Moon was Full

Dearest Lala and Abbie,

Tonight the moon is full, and as I gazed at it in wonder, it carried me back to a night in Palompon Leyte long ago. The moon was whole then too, the sky bright and watchful. Papu had returned from the district that evening, and I remember how happy I was in a way only a child can be, certain that joy have finally arrived even for a while.

The day had been filled with laughter. Papu and I ran around the house, turning the living room into a kind of joyful quicksand toys scattered everywhere, blankets piled high, boxes and buckets transformed into castles and hiding places. I did not often get to play with Papu the way you now play with your tatay and your papa. He was always away, traveling through the district to visit church members. But that day was different. That day, I had Papu all to myself.

After dinner, around a table filled with faces I loved dearly, the night slowly lulled us in. One by one, we surrendered to sleep, tucked into our places, drifting into dreams. Outside, the moon cast its fullness over the sleeping town of Palompon. Everything felt calm, held together by light.

Then there was a voice.

At first it was faint, almost mistaken for part of a dream. Then it grew nearer loud, clear, and frantic.

Fire.

I heard footsteps next. Running. Shouting. People carrying whatever their hands could hold. Mothers panicked, clutching crying babies. Toddlers stumbling beside them, frightened and confused. Papu and Mamu woke at once, alarmed, trying to understand the commotion. I stood up slowly, still half dreaming, dragging my old blanket behind me, clutching my favorite teddy bear.

At the window, I saw the sky burning orange and red with rage. It was the night hell broke loose.

Voices filled the air, thick with smoke and fear. A fire had broken out on the street next to ours. Papu and Mamu rushed through the house, trying to save what they could books, plates and pans, furniture what little we had. The piano. Mamu’s piano. Her wedding gift from her mommy and daddy. The piano that had helped feed us when Papu’s small stipend was not enough.

But the fire was moving fast. There was no time.

In the haste and terror of that moment, Papu reached for Mamu’s hand. I pressed myself between them, seeking safety. The three of us knelt together and prayed.

That night, under a bright and unyielding moon, Papu prayed for rain.

Then we heard the sound of firetrucks in the distance, their cries cutting through the night. The air was thick with smoke and sweat. People ran through the streets carrying buckets of water, fighting the fire with whatever strength they could gather, as if courage alone might be enough. But the fire was determined. It breathed, angry and consuming, certain of its power.

There was nothing else to do but wait.

The night seemed to stretch and thin, slowly fading towards oblivion. We stood there, emptied of choice, watching and listening, holding our breath. Then I felt it a single drop on my cheek. For a moment, I thought it was water flung from a firetruck, a stray splash carried by the wind.

Then another drop fell. And another.

Soon the drops multiplied, cool and unmistakable, turning into a steady pour. The sky, which had watched in silence, finally answered. Rain came down hard, as if summoned by prayer, washing the smoke from the air and breaking the fire’s grip. We stood soaked and trembling, soot smeared across our faces, realizing only then that the night had been returned to us. It was as if it had been borrowed for a moment taken by fire and fear and then gently placed back into our hands.

I have never forgotten that night. The night the heavens answered with rain beneath a full, majestic moon. Fire still smoldered, smoke still lingered, but something greater had arrived. In my memory, the rain did not simply fall it descended with purpose, with mercy. Even the moon, unbroken and luminous, watched over us as if to say that even in devastation, there are moments when grace finds its way through.