Last Monday was a typical Monday except that in the afternoon the earth shook. I was on a UV Express pulling out of the Megamall terminal when it happened. I was watching the latest Game of Thrones episode on my tablet, and wondering why the lady beside me was all bundled up, had an oversized bag, and reeking of efficascent oil. In short, I didn’t feel the tremor. I was a million miles away — in Westeros, in fact.

I only learned about the earthquake when I checked on my phone midway into Game of Thrones, and saw a message from my wife, terrified and worried in her Makati City office. I checked Facebook and there it was, the news spreading like wildfire. Earthquake! Magnitude 6.1! Emergency evacuation! I regard people on Facebook as a hopelessly hysterical bunch, so I dismissed their posts, put my phone on silent, and went back to Game of Thrones. It was a good episode. Twists, turns, and Podrick Payne’s eerie, haunting song that didn’t bode well. I couldn’t wait for the next episode!

At home, I flipped on the TV and was greeted with news of devastation. In Porac, Pampanga, a four-storey grocery store collapsed, burying dozens of people. In Manila, a college building tilted on its side. Elsewhere, damaged roads and bridges and condominiums. It was one nasty earthquake, it turned out. I felt guilty for dismissing it. I realized I didn’t even ask friends and family if they were OK after the quake. I felt rotten, guilty. Shame on me.

I blame Game of Thrones.