Little Jolie wriggles around in his sleep, stretching and yawning and rubbing his face with his small hands, which are barely bigger than a soft-drink bottle cap. His mother wipes away tears as she watches over him, still overwhelmed by the fact they're both alive. She says he's her miracle.
Less than one year ago, typhoon Pablo struck the country. Between then and now, there were enough storms to use up names starting with letters P through Y. Then, this week, Zoraida made landfall. That was the last straw.
I wish you courage as you remind the world that no one wins a war declared against nature. I wish you a torch of light and truth as you fight those who will keep telling you that forgiveness can only be found in silence. I wish you a weapon called voice.