People pay too much attention to 'the calm before the storm,' as if one has to savor what is there of the much-accustomed present before it falls into disarray. Or, preparations have to be made (the furniture to be moved to the highest place in the house, doors and windows that needed to be boarded up) before the catastrophe. Or, simply, to hold one's breath to withstand maximum impact and survive the onslaught with minimum damage.

I am more interested in the 'calm after the storm.' True, there's the task of assessing the damage and clean-up operations and making the inventory of what went missing (if any). Most of all, there's the bewilderment creeping up at you like that unexpected cold draft in the house while you're at the dinner table in the middle of deboning tilapia.

Why pay attention to the 'calm after the storm?'

While the storm rages, there is only one thing to do - withstand it.

Before the storm, you only have the security of preparation; you don't really know what is to happen, despite warnings, despite tell-tale signs.

It is only after the storm where most constructive work can take place. The constructive work I am referring to is the postmortem that has to be carried out. It is not to lament what has transpired because oftentimes, these are events beyond your control. It is not to revel in the pathology of how the storm affected everything that lay on its path.

After the storm, there is silence. Eerie silence. There is no left-over wind to summon leaves, no foundations to be rocked, no strengths and endurances to be tested.

And yes, it is silent all around. Silence turns to calm. Calm turns to peace.

(To be continued)