Earthquake

I am writing this from my desk at school on Monday, March 14, 2011. The teachers are going about their daily routines, even though the TV in the staff room has been on all day, showing us the now-familiar scenes of destruction from the northeast area of Japan. It’s all in Japanese and my desk doesn’t face it, so all I can hear are the serious voices of the newscasters and the occasional list of JR lines that are closed: Takasaki-sen, Joho-sen, Joetsu-sen. . . A little while ago we got a memo from the heads of school telling us that the students will go home at 2:40 in preparation for the 3:20-7:00 p.m. blackout scheduled for Takasaki. Mr. J just now handed me another paper, too, but I don’t know enough kanji to know what it’s about. When Ms. N gets back from class, she’ll explain it to me.


During second period today we had another earthquake/aftershock. It wasn’t bad and only lasted for 30 or 45 seconds, but it was bigger than any of the latest aftershocks we’ve had. I can’t get used to them; my heart leaps up in my throat every time the floor starts to shake and my hands tremble for 15 minutes after it’s over. All the students immediately ducked under their desks until it was over, but afterwards, the teacher continued with the lesson as usual as if nothing had happened. It was surreal.

As most of you probably know already, I made it through Friday’s big earthquake in one piece. Gunma is so far from Fukushima (about 250 kilometers) and Miyagi (about 350 kilometers) that we escaped relatively unscathed from the massive damage that happened up north. Still, we had about a magnitude 6 quake that lasted for about minute and a half.


Friday started out as such a normal day! It was the school’s graduation, the last day for the third graders, so all the teachers and students were in a good mood. The ceremony was beautiful, the students were proud, and the teachers were looking forward to their end-of-year party that night. At 1:30, there was early dismissal and all of the students, together with their parents, went home. The teachers stayed at school to take down the decorations in the gym and do some last-minute paperwork. After helping clean up the gym, I sat at my desk, wondering what to do next. After sitting idly for a few minutes, I decided to clean out the cabinet behind me that was full of the third graders’ name cards and assignments that they wouldn’t be needing any more.

The staff room is divided into thirds by a large bookshelf/cabinet that stands in the middle of the floor, with about a meter and a half on each side to walk around it. Two thirds of the room house the teachers’ desks; behind the bookshelf are the copier, shredder, computer, and a couch. Ms. I and I went behind the cabinet and started shredding papers at the large shredder. All of a sudden, things started shaking. We looked at each other confusedly for a second before we joined the rest of the teachers on the other side of the staff room. Everyone was standing or sitting by their desks, seemingly calm, as the rumble grew louder and louder. “It’s an earthquake,” Mr. T told me. He didn’t seem perturbed, and I think everyone thought it would be over soon, in this earthquake-prone country. The quaking got worse, though. The lights dangling from their cords swayed back and forth, the floor was shaking, everything was trembling. The pool outside was sloshing water back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. “Get under your desk,” Mr. T said calmly, and proceeded to do the same.

I crouched under my desk, trying to stay calm, as the whole building moved back and forth like a giant was shaking it. I kept my eyes open and my hands over my head, staring at the floor in a daze, alternately thinking Oh God don’t let me die don’t let me die and Earthquakes don’t last long. It’ll be over soon. Just hang on. It’ll be over soon. When it was over, I shakily stood up, thinking I would be strong, it was just a little earthquake, everyone else was OK, but as soon as I got up I collapsed in my chair, flew my hand to my mouth, and started hyperventilating then crying. One teacher immediately turned the television on, and we saw that there had been a huge earthquake in the north (that’s what we had just felt) and that a tsunami was predicted for a few minutes later. While we were watching TV, we felt another shock that send me clutching at Ms. S’s arm like she would save me. “Daijoubu, daijoubu,” Ms. S, beside us, told me. It’s amazing how everyone could be calm and smile when I was feeling so flustered! Mr. T told me, smiling, “That was the strongest earthquake I’ve felt in my life,” but he seemed all right. Out of all the teachers, I seemed to be the only one with tears running down my face and my heart racing. I will admit it was reassuring to see that no one was panicking; even during the next wave of aftershocks they were OK. All of us crowded around the television as we watched the tsunami advance on the shore. It was incredible to know that we were watching it happen live, just a few hundred kilometers away. I had never been so happy that Gunma was so far from the coast, but I was terrified for my friends in Hokkaido and Chiba.


I started texting everyone I knew, but no one responded. “All right, everyone,” the principal said, “You can all go home. Go home and be safe.” “I don’t want to go home,” I whined to Mr. T. “I don’t want to be by myself.” “It’s all right,” he reassured me. “The first one is the worst. From here on they’ll get smaller. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.” Thus reassured, but not really at all calm, I followed the other teachers to the parking lot and we all went to our separate homes.

I threw my bags on the floor, checked my phone for the thousandth time (still no replies from anyone), saw that some things had fallen off the shelf in the kitchen, and felt my eyes well up with tears again in delayed shock. I couldn’t get anyone on the phone—every time I tried a “Call Failed” message came on—so I got on Facebook instead. Almost all the other ALTs were online, too, and Facebook was swarming with earthquake messages. I talked with some friends in Gunma; everyone was all right but none of us knew what to do or what would happen next. K, A, L, and I decided to meet for dinner and then spend the night together because none of us wanted to be alone.


So at 7:00 I went to K’s house and we met the other girls at a Turkish restaurant downtown. The television was on, and as we watched we began to understand exactly how much devastation was happening around us. We keep feeling aftershocks, too; some big, some small, but none like that first one that knocked the bravery out of me. That night, lying on K’s couch, I responded to the hundreds of emails I was getting from friends and family around the world and tried to get some sleep. We were jolted awake twice: once by a pretty hefty shock around 12:30, and again at 4:00 a.m. by another one. Angela checked her Earthquake App she has on her phone (thank you, Apple) and saw that the second quake had occurred in Nagano, just one prefecture over. Even though it was frightening to think what might happen if one hit Gunma, I felt better being with people.

Of course none of us slept much that night. In the morning I woke up to enjoy more of the lulling aftershocks (sarcasm), before heading home in the early afternoon. I didn’t know what else to do so I cleaned my apartment. Luckily, too, Softbank was working again, and I managed to get in contact with everyone I was worried about (except M in Chiba; but we talked on Sunday and he was OK). Saturday evening, in an effort to forget the chaos around us, eight of my friends and I went to karaoke, which might have been heartless, but gave us a refreshing feeling of normality, at least for a while.

Sunday morning was absolutely beautiful; warm, 70-degree weather, bright sunny skies, and a fresh breeze. I took a walk in Mitsudera Park, trying to forget there might be higher levels of radiation in the air from the Fukushima explosion (I don’t think there were, though), and instead just enjoyed the warm sun. My friend N came over around 12:30. After a bit of discussion—he was more afraid of radiation levels than I was—I convinced him that it was OK to go outside since Gunma is so far from the nuclear plant. Even so, as we passed the gas stations on the way to Kannon Yama Park in northeast Takasaki, we saw that everyone was preparing for more disaster: the lines spilled out onto the street in people’s hurries to fill up their tanks before the gas ran out.


It almost seemed wrong to enjoy the sweet scent of early pink cherry blossoms, the hot sun, the sound of the breeze in the pines and cedars, knowing that just a few hundred miles north people were cold and hungry with their cities in tatters. I tried to explain my feeling to N, but in my limited Japanese, all I could manage was: “It’s a really nice day in Takasaki. It’s not a nice day in Fukushima and Miyagi.” I’d like to think he understood—he’s usually patient with my stumbling, slow sentences.

Now, back at school, I still haven’t shredded those papers from Friday. I feel a certain kind of Pavlovian response inside of me; that if I stand in front of the shredder, the whole building is going to shake again. I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling that way. I might just rip them up and put them in the trash can instead.

Also, for those of you who think I’m going insane (from having read my last post) please rest assured that I was just having a terrible couple of days and wanted to sort out into words what was bothering me. I’m sorry if I worried anyone. I don’t hate Japan; I just find learning more about its culture to be difficult sometimes.

I have no plans to leave the country any time soon; I’m going to stick it out until July when I take a three-week vacation back at home before returning for another year. In the meantime, I will just roll with the punches, the aftershocks, the blackouts, and all the rest. I’ll let you know if anything changes.

Thanks for keeping track of me and I will be in contact again soon.