I was having lunch in Glorietta 2 yesterday when the explosion occured. I thought the 'thing' that literally shook the walls of our restaurant was an earthquake. But then the crew from the kitchen started running out with cement debris on their faces, the lady in front of me started crying, and the security guards began ushering us out of the building, at which point I figured, "Now is a good time to leave."
We half-walked, half-ran through the crowd, passing two injured men on the way, until we reached the office space where one of us parked his car. All the while, my office mates were calling people (their loved ones, I suppose) to ask where they were and/or tell them that we're fine. I, on the other hand, casually strolled along and, while everyone was short of panicking, found myself saying, "Ibig sabihin ba nito walang court ngayon?".
I texted (not called) my dad and Pao about it, but only 10 mins. after arriving at the office. I had a cup of coffee shortly afterwards and then got back to my research on "grounds to discharge a patient from a hospital".
It is, of course, true that I was sitting less than than a hundred feet away from the center of the explosion and could very well have DIED yesterday. But the interesting, and quite disturbing, point about all of this is, I seem to not care. Yesterday to me was just another day. Perhaps something to blog about, but really no big deal.
On our way back to the office, my boss observed that my reaction to the whole thing could either be a sign of good mental health or of an impending mental illness. Eitherway, I lost the ability to empathize and I'm just afraid I permanently lost my heart.
(Image taken from the Associated Press at :http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5hfI-vN143x2FEYBNkx8wmihK1eJQD8SCBQI80)