When my older sister came to my house to take refuge, she was alone. "Sister, where is your children?" I asked her. "I don't know," she answered first. I asked her again. Her answer was as follows:
My older sister's house collapsed and her two children were crushed under it. Her little boy cried, "mommy, I'm here, please help me." His younger sister cried, "mommy, I'm with him, help me,please." But my sister was also under the fallen house.
Soon, the house caught fire. "It got hot," her children cried. She said, "I guess they was burned to death."
After my father listened to her, he went to her burned house. Pushing his way through the ruins of her house, he gathered small ashes.
My older sister died on the 15th of that month. Until she dies, she said only that she couldn't save her own children. "Mommy, it got hot. It's hot! Hot!" I think their voice stuck in her and she couldn't stand as a mother. She died, saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
After time passed, I had my own child. I felt like I could understand my then older sister. She died, doing keep saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."