When-Abouts Wednesday: July 16, 1990: When the Earth Shook and We Never Stopped Preparing
I was four years old when the ground split in Baguio City. I had just watched the 1989 San Francisco earthquake on TV a year ago, the disaster was ours. I’ve been living in survival mode ever since.
I. The Earthquake Before the Earthquake
In October 1989, the world watched in horror as San Francisco trembled. The Loma Prieta earthquake struck during a live broadcast of the World Series, collapsing a portion of the Bay Bridge and killing 63 people. I was too young to understand what was happening, but like many Filipino families, mine had the news on in the background. I remember the dramatic footage — flattened highways, panicked faces, and the raw sound of sirens echoing through the screen.
It felt like something far away. A disaster in another country. A television tragedy.
What we didn’t know then was that less than a year later, our own ground would betray us — in the very place I called home.
II. July 16, 1990 — Baguio City, 4:26 PM
At exactly 4:26 PM, a 7.8-magnitude earthquake struck Luzon. The epicenter was recorded in Nueva Ecija, but its devastation rippled far and wide — collapsing buildings in Manila, causing landslides in La Union, and completely devastating my beloved hometown of Baguio City.
I was four years old, napping in the safety of our family home. My parents later told me they didn’t wake me during the main shock. “You slept through it,” they said. But what I remember — what etched itself into my bones — were the aftershocks.
The endless trembling. The way walls seemed to sigh before shaking again. The fear in every adult’s face. The haunting silence between each jolt.
And for some reason, even as a small child, I began to prepare. I would grab my favorite toy, a few clothes, and whatever snacks I could find and stuff them into a small bag. I didn’t have a name for it then, but I was building a go-bag. I was building a response.
III. Our Own Hurricane Sandy
When Americans think of natural disasters, they might mention Hurricane Katrina or Hurricane Sandy. For us in the Philippines — especially those of us from Baguio — July 16 is our Sandy. The day when everything normal was suspended. When grief mingled with dust and debris. When helicopters flew overhead for rescue missions, and the streets we walked daily became impassable.
In the days that followed, Baguio was cut off from the rest of Luzon. Roads were destroyed. Power and communication lines were down. My parents told me that the only way they knew what was happening outside the city was through military broadcasts and limited AM radio updates.
We had to line up for water. Helicopters dropped off relief goods. A neighbor’s home collapsed. A hotel nearby was flattened. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the Hyatt Terraces — one of the symbols of our city — reduced to rubble in seconds.
IV. Childhood in a City That Broke
I’ve often wondered what it means to be a child in a disaster zone. I didn’t understand death yet, but I understood fear. I understood the need to be ready. That instinct never left me.
Every time I hear a loud bang or feel a subway train rumble beneath my feet here in Toronto, my body snaps into motion. Put everything in one bag. Water. Passport. Phone. Snacks. Loungewear. Always loungewear.
It’s almost comical — except it’s not. It’s the leftover programming of a child who once saw adults cry, buildings fall, and the world shift under her feet.
And this fear didn’t just stay in Baguio. It followed me — all the way to Los Angeles.
In 2010, I stayed in LA for five whole months. Alone. And in those five months, I felt no less than 20 to 30 little shocks — tiny earthquakes that most people shrugged off. But I didn’t. Every jolt reactivated something deep inside me. I made sure all my clothes were always neatly packed or folded, ready to go. I didn’t care if it was obsessive. I needed that sense of control. I needed to know I could leave at a moment’s notice, just like that four-year-old girl I used to be.
V. Carrying the Cracks
They say that trauma reshapes the brain. But I think it also reshapes memory, culture, and the stories we pass on. I was four years old when the earth split in Baguio. I was too young to understand fault lines and epicenters, but old enough to remember what it feels like when safety disappears.
In a way, that earthquake shaped the way I view life, risk, and even beauty. I am always half-prepared for something to collapse. But I am also always ready to rebuild. That, too, is part of being Filipino. We carry the cracks with us, but we keep going.
VI. To the Children of July 16
To every child who survived the quake, who learned too early how fragile the world could be — this story is for you.
We didn’t just survive. We adapted. We grew. And though our hearts may still shake, we’ve learned how to steady others.
Because when the world cracks open, we know what to do:
Put everything in one bag.
Grab what matters.
And carry it forward.
References:
CNN Philippines. (2020, July 16). 30 years later: Remembering the 1990 Luzon earthquake. https://www.cnnphilippines.com/news/2020/7/16/1990-Luzon-earthquake-Baguio.html
Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology. (1990). The July 16, 1990 Luzon Earthquake. http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph
Ramos, C. P. (1990, July 17). Massive quake hits Luzon; hundreds feared dead. Philippine Daily Inquirer.
United States Geological Survey. (n.d.). The Loma Prieta, California, Earthquake of October 17, 1989. https://pubs.usgs.gov/dds/dds-29/
National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC). (1990). Damage Assessment Report of the July 16, 1990 Luzon Earthquake.