My life would never be the same because of December 8, 2002. Super Typhoon Pongsona damaged my friary home that had stood solid for fifty years; through Typhoons Karen, Pamela, Omar, Paka and all the rest. But the wear and tear of those fifty years enabled Pongsona to tear off a third of our asbestos tile roof. Water poured in; there was not a dry spot in the entire friary, which was large enough to house thirty residents. For hours, we looked for any tiny space where dripping water was not falling. The worst thing for me about Pongsona was its unrelenting, unending battering. The winds never died down; we never experienced an eye. It lasted for about ten hours. The pressure in the air ringed in your ears. It was mental torture.