What is it really like here?
Scary! Last week started like any other week since I’ve been in Japan. Busy and filled with minor earthquakes, like the one on Wednesday the 9th. Friday was another ordinary day filled with preparations for Terra Nova testing the following Monday. The kids were excited for the weekend, and frankly, so was I. I had worked hard that week; staying at school for an average of 12 hours each day. I was in my room talking to a colleague when the shaking started around 2:40. In the beginning, there was nothing that set it apart from any other earthquake thus far. The blinds were swaying and smacking one another, the books on the book shelves were slapping back and forth, and the cabinets were banging against the frames. As the shaking kept going and going; for almost 5 minutes, that’s when we knew that something was different about this one. The power and shaking intensified. Jan glanced at me and mentioned something about evacuation. I stared back and jokingly asked if we should get under the tables. I didn’t have time to actually laugh, because the announcement came over the intercom to evacuate the building. Thankfully, I was a pro at (practice) evacuations, so I grabbed my purse and keys before heading out the door. As the shaking continued, we ran outside only to be joined with hundreds of children, many distressed parents, and other adults who could just stare in awe. Children stopped mid-stride to cry out for their parents. Parents wondered where their children were. As I went through the playground area away from the school building and apartment tower nearby, I grabbed crying children trying to talk about anything but the earthquake. As we walked toward the recess field, many were greeted tearfully by parents and some just felt comforted to be holding hands. During the next hour on the field, there were many strong aftershocks. Some so strong that people could no longer find the balance needed to stand, so they sat upon the ground. It felt like a playhouse at a carnival where the floor rolls up and down while you try to run across it. It made people nauseous and others hysterical. Then, there are people like me who run into fellow team members and a parent and decide to hold an incidental parent-teacher conference.
After what seemed like eternity, I made the decision to leave. I knew that the structures on base would soon be on lock-down and I feared that the entire base would soon follow suit. I didn’t fully understand the enormity of the situation, and I just wanted to get home. I snuck into the parking garage, where I was parked on the third deck. I drove to the post office: business as usual. Due to the fact that it was like Pleasantville on base during this time, I became a little concerned. Why wasn’t anyone reacting to what just happened? I drove around a bit more, tried to call some friends, but finally gave up. I headed home among many other drivers and pedestrians. I thought it was odd that the toll roads were closed. I found out later that was because they cross over water. I also noticed the structural engineers inspecting many of the tall structures in Yokosuka. The people outside of base also showed no emotion, just traveling to and from without much conversation.
My route home was eerily void of traffic, but I did notice extreme back-ups going toward Yokohama and Tokyo. I wondered if I missed something and needed to head back to base. I kept going and going. Things kept triggering thoughts in my mind. Why are the tunnels black? Why aren’t there any cars on the roads? Why aren’t the traffic lights working? Then, I rounded the bend to my neighborhood and saw many people lined up near the waterfront just staring out at sea. I wondered what I was missing. I came home to a home without electricity, which meant that I still had no idea what was really going on elsewhere. I did feel the impulse to pack a suitcase and prepare for emergency. While there was still daylight, I found candles, lighters, packable food, and refilled water bottles. The only form of communication with the English-speaking world was Facebook on my iPhone. There was no television, no radio, no cell phone service. I felt disconnected and scared. I knew that upon waking, my mother would see the news and freak out. So, I made sure to send her a message first before updating my profile. I only had that for about two hours before all phone services were dysfunctional. During this time, I was able to see that we had a tsunami warning and that others in my area were at an evacuation shelter. There was even a loud speaker message to go to the shelter. The only problem was that I didn’t know where it was. I assessed the situation and finally concluded that I should be safe in my home. After that, I was exhausted, so I fell asleep at about 8 pm fully clothed and freezing from the lack of heat. I slept so hard that I don’t even remember moving in my sleep.
I woke up to power. I turned on the computer to reassure my mother that I was in fact alive and to get myself updated. I had over 100 messages in my inbox. I couldn’t believe that so many people were worried about me. The thought made me feel nice since I had been homesick some since my visit at Christmas. Then, I watched the news on the internet. I couldn’t believe the devastation. It reminded me of September 11th when I couldn’t keep my eyes off the television and my mind off the victims. I wasn’t worried for my safety, just for the people in Sendai who were homeless, cold, hungry, and injured. Frankly, I went about the weekend fairly normal. I had some frantic friends, both here and back home who needed some attention. My mother also needed much reassurance. I spent time at a friend’s house with her family, went to see a movie, went out to dinner, and then dropped by another friend’s house all before Monday morning. There were small tremors and aftershocks, but nothing that made me alarmed. This week is another story. I think the stress of the situation is catching up with me. I have spent much of my time calming others. My mother, my family, my friends in the US, my friends here, and the students. Yesterday was the first time I felt the knots in my shoulders and realized that, I too, am stressed. During school on Tuesday, the principal announced that teachers need to check our email. He also stated that it was to be an indoor recess. Imagine our surprise when we were told that the levels of radiation were increased in Yokosuka and that we should stay inside, minimize commutes, close windows, and turn off outside air sources such as heat. What do you tell children who look outside and wonder why, if it’s not raining, are we having indoor recess. The panic ensued. Teachers wanted to leave. Parents took their children and left. Some just went home. Others left the country. Iodine tablets are sold out, but not by people in Japan. Instead, the Californians are buying it up worrying about radiation floating across the ocean. If they are that worried, should I be more alarmed? My solution: rely on internet research and thoroughly clean both my clothes and my body upon getting home. Just as I think that it can’t keep going on like this, another bump in the road turns into a pothole. That night after Skyping with family and friends, I got ready for bed. I put on pajamas, took out my contacts, took one last smell of the handkerchiefs that my mother sent me from my grandmother’s house, and dove under the covers of my bed. Not 30 seconds after that, another, large earthquake hit. This one was on my side of the island and much closer to me. It was recorded as a 6.5 on the scale. It was the first time that I cried from being frightened.
For the most part, I am keeping it together. I feel much like a duck on the water. From the surface, I appear calm and collected, but underneath my feet are paddling frantically. The result of the continued aftershocks, tsunami warnings, blackouts, nuclear disasters, increased radiation, supply shortages, gas rations, rumors, rumors, and more rumors is that I am exhausted, jumpy, and emotionally needy. I jump when I hear everyday sounds like trucks going down the road and the click of the dryer when it finishes. I constantly feel like the ground is moving and the walls are shaking, even when we aren’t having an aftershock. I am nauseous often and can’t keep down food during the day, probably from the stress of taking care of the students. I am extremely sad for the people of Japan, who are kind, thoughtful, and generous not only to their own, but to foreigners as well. I dread the dark, when I’m alone in my house and the earth shakes. I dread the morning when I drag myself out of bed to get ready before the blackouts begin. I sleep in my clothes with my shoes next to the bed in case another earthquake happens during the night. I am afraid to take out my contacts for fear of evacuation. I have stocked up on water and food to make sure I can survive with shortages. Everyday when I get home I strip down, throw my clothes in the washer, and take a shower to avoid overdoses of radiation from the nuclear power plants. I have unplugged all things that I don’t use constantly. I have turned off the heat; both to avoid increased radiation and to decrease my use of electricity. I have sat in the dark, straining to read in order to pass the time. I have stood in line for hours for a couple gallons of milk, peanut butter, jelly, and tortilla wraps since they were out of bread. I have rationed gas and watched another teachers classroom as she sprinted to her car in hopes of getting her share of fuel. I pause at random times during the day and hold my breath...Is the room shaking? Is that the sound of another earthquake? Does it smell sweet outside or I am imagining it? Why do I itch? Are they going to evacuate us? Can I trust that the US government has our best interest in mind? Is this it for me? Am I completely satisfied with my life? I can’t even keep up with the questions as they run through my mind.
Without trying to sound like a martyr, I have to admit that this week has been terrifying and tiring and rough. However, as teachers, we are holding it together as much as possible. We are surviving on little food, no sleep, nerves, and instinct. The hallways and classrooms are kept dark to conserve power. At first glance, you might think that school is not in session. Instead, the classrooms are filled with children who crave calm and knowledge and control over this situation; not unlike the rest of us. The children are lucky to have such a talented group of educators who are dedicated to making their lives less stressful. I have researched many topics this week trying to find answers to their questions. My students and I have talked candidly about death, life, and everything in between. My classroom door opens into a safe zone where we are calm and collected. By allowing them to read this week, I hope they are transported to magical worlds beyond fear, disaster and death. We have hugged, some have cried, but we’ve all learned a lesson that doesn’t appear in any textbook.
I never dreamed that I would live through a disaster such as this...I don’t think anyone ever does. I know that I am handling it much better than most people, but it isn’t without lasting effects. People ask what to do. I’m not sure. In fact, I would like an answer to the same question. I haven’t lost perspective though. I know that I am lucky and I am thankful. I know that there is no other place where I would feel safer during a time such as this, than Japan. The reports on the news are correct. There isn’t looting or hoarding by the Japanese people. In fact, the only people hoarding food and other supplies are Americans on base. There is much to be learned from this culture. I only hope that I can continue to learn and change my lifestyle to become a better person and community member. Here it really is “All for one and one for all.”
