ARCHIVE
2011.05.31
“I still have to raise my daughter! I can’t die yet! Not here, not now!”
As the magnitude 9.0 earthquake was hitting northern Japan, that thought crossed my by then nonfunctioning brain. This was an experience that made for an unforgettable welcome home to Japan for us. We had moved back from Hawaii just months before.
At the time, people wondered why we would swap paradise for busy, bustling Tokyo, but one morning, I just woke up and said, “That’s it! We’re going now!” That was in October 2010. I had been planning to move back to Japan in the summer of 2011 so it was just a matter of moving our departure date up. There were many reasons: I was not happy with U.S. medical and dental care. I was not happy with the education my daughter was getting in Hawaii, and the direction it was taking her. I missed the cold winters, colorful fall, and vibrant spring seasons. But most of all, I wanted to stay close to my aging grandmother, as well as aunts and uncles, to be able to see more of them at times like Mother’s Day, Seniors’ Day, Christmas, New Year’s, and their birthdays. Once a teenage girl who couldn’t wait to leave home and country, I couldn’t wait to get back: I had now grown to appreciate the importance of family connections and Japanese culture.
And what greeted us on our return? March 11, 2011. At 14:46 p.m. I was out shopping at a local department store close to my cousin’s house, where we were staying until our apartment was ready to move into, when the earthquake hit. I ran out into the street with visions of total devastation in mind, like that following the New Zealand earthquake just weeks before. It seemed like forever, yet the ground was still rumbling. For a second, I didn’t think the quake was going to stop, ever, and feared this might be the end of Japan. I could see trees and power lines swaying from side to side. Soon after the shaking from the main quake died down, the local koban (police box) sent out officers to assist anyone who was injured. Luckily, no one around me was hurt. Because the phone lines were jammed with people trying to call out, the cell phone was no use. Pay phones were no use. JR stopped running trains immediately after the quake to check the tracks; they then evacuated passengers and closed the stations. The only forms of transportation we had access to were public buses, cabs, cars, bikes, and our own two feet. At this time, Kanto residents, myself included, had absolutely no clue as to what was about to happen next.
My daughter, Erica, a ninth grader at the ASIJ Chofu campus, was stuck at school, and we could not get in touch with each other for a good hour after the earthquake. I hurried home on foot to check on my mother and my aunt. My aunt had gone to the theatre, and my mother was so paralyzed from fright that she could barely stand or walk. My cousin was in his office in downtown Tokyo, unable to return immediately because no trains were running. I grabbed Erica’s and my passports and whatever cash I could find. My plan was to take a cab out to ASIJ and bring her back. I walked back to the station, hoping to flag down a cab on the way or simply pick one up there, but when I arrived, my hopes were instantly crushed. There were over 100 people waiting in the taxi line with no empty cabs in sight.
(Photo, courtesy Hideki Den)
Worried sick about Erica, I heard my cell phone ring: Thank God, Buddha, and everyone else, it was she. She was physically fine, but obviously frightened as a result of the earthquake and also upset. She had no idea when she would see me or be able to get home. I wished I had wings and could fly out to Chofu. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. No one knew that at that point so I soothed her the best I could. I was powerless like everyone else. With no trains and horrific congestion building on the roads, I guessed it would be useless to try to drive a car. Sure enough, information was coming in from friends on SNS (social networking service) sites confirming that all roads heading out of Tokyo toward the residential outskirts resembled mall parking lots on Christmas Eve. There was no way I could get to Erica.
It turns out the school had by then decided that Erica, along with about two dozen other students who couldn’t make it home, were going to be farmed out for the night to various teachers who lived very close to campus. Imagine not being able to see your child for 20 hours after a devastating earthquake—I wanted to judge for myself that she was really all right. I was frantic! I ran around my cousin’s house in tears, feeling like a mother hen whose chick had walked into the street.
I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing and decided I would have to walk to Chofu, regardless of the time and distance. I dug around for flashlights, crackers, and bottled water to take with me in case of blackouts. I was just getting ready to walk out the door when I got another call from Erica. She told me she was posting blurbs on Facebook and I could track her movements there.
***
Facebook? I thought. I was overjoyed. I had actually allowed her to create her own Facebook account two years ago even though lots of people have doubts about the wisdom of letting preteens do it. We tried to be careful. Out of the many SNS, we chose Facebook for security and reliability since it requires real names for all members, unlike many other SNS sites, which permit the use of aliases. Little did I know it, but that decision would provide me with a lifeline for the next 20 hours!
Believe it or not, keeping in contact on Facebook with Erica in the aftermath of the quake kept me sane. I was lucky to have an Internet connection at home, as well as water and electricity. Facebook helped us regain a degree of comfort and security at a very difficult time; we both knew the other was there and all right. And so began our all-night conversation on Facebook.*
“Mom, i know i am vrounded [grounded] from facebook but there was a pretty big earthquake in asij and this was the only way i could contact u and say that i am safe. My phone is in the. classroom and the school evacuated to the field. Luv u bye:)”
“no worries baby. i am now home. we are waiting to see if there’s a way we can drive out to get you. stay safe and remember i love you!”
“okay. im really sorry that im on here even though im grounded until tomorrow. im just really scared. gomen. dont worry, im fine :) just really scared.”
“mom, im gonna stay over at mr. and mrs. l’s house. they live a minute away from school.
“okay. seems like internet is the only thing that’s connecting us together...keep me posted on HOW to get to their house...stay safe and love you lots!”
“mom, can u go on my skype right now? i’m gonna try to use marie’s skype account to video call my skype account that is on ur computer. i’ll tell u the password for it through a message. please. i need to see u, safe.”
“cant go online. checking facebook from cell. dont waste cellbattery! mommy loves u!”
Facebook played a critical role in communication after the blackout that followed the devastating Higashi Kanto Earthquake. Before the earthquake, logging onto multiple SNS sites was just a part of my daily routine. I would look through them to find out how people I knew from near and far were doing. But what people soon discovered after the quake was that because the tsunami was so devastating, TV coverage focused mainly on the hard-hit Tohoku region and showed close to nothing of Tokyo. Facebook therefore soon became a bridge to those outside the country looking for friends and family in Japan. They could check on our status and be in constant and close touch.
Friends started posting on my Facebook wall immediately after they heard the news of the earthquake. Never in my life did I imagine that a time would come when short phrases of encouragement could give me so much comfort and hope. Aside from all the good wishes we received, friends offered to send us anything we needed, wanted to know about making donations to relief organizations, and invited us to come and stay. Here’s a sampling.
“Kathi just let us know if you and your daughter need anything at all, okay?”
“Obviously this disaster hits a little harder for me having lived in Japan before, and I know there is not much I can do from New Jersey, but if there is anything I can do, please let me know and I will do whatever you need.”
“My friends and I in Atlanta want to help by making a donation. Do you know of any reputable charities that we can make a donation to so that Japan will receive 100% of the proceeds?”
“Kathi, if anything happens, we’ll all live together at our house in Georgia.”
“You can always come stay with us in Washington if you need some where to go... I know it is far, but the offer stands...”
“Two beds, two sofas, two baths, wireless internet but no cable in Memphis. Don’t you just want to come stay with us for a couple weeks? Bring Mom, your daughter and whoever else you need to bring.”
“Just know that should things take turn for the worse (heaven forbid) you are all most welcome to come to Australia. Or you can even come NOW!”
By midnight the night of the eleventh, my aunt had reached home from Asakusa, where she had gone to see a play (the earthquake struck three-quarters of the way through), and my cousin had finally gotten back from Shimbashi. Each had had to walk about 23 km (14 miles); it had taken approximately six hours. My aunt was wearing a kimono, and my cousin was dressed in his regular business suit. People walked in whatever they came in that day. One of my friends walked 44 km (27 miles) home in high heels, which took about nine hours. Those were the kinds of distances people were covering on foot. It doesn’t seem so bad if you think of the distance as a number, but just try walking on congested major roads, not knowing the way, and it becomes more than just a pleasant stroll on a nice March day.
Sleepless in Tokyo, I did the best I could to catch a couple of winks. Strong aftershocks kept waking us up once or twice an hour. Now that I think about it, it wasn’t the aftershocks that kept us awake. It was the shrill alert that came in on our cell phones warning us of the next possible tremor. (This has been standard service since 2008 for all cell phones with e-mail capability in Japan whose current location is in an earthquake warning zone. The inexplicable thing is that I did not hear those shrill alerts earlier in the day when the first four large quakes struck.
Finally, (thanks to my cousin for driving me to ASIJ!) Erica returned home the following day around 1:00pm: Almost 24 hours after the earthquake.
My cousin lives in a fairly quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo. In the 72 hours following the disaster, life changed. We saw no one walking dogs. No one was outside socializing. Not even a car would pass. The area was starting to look a lot like a ghost town. I walked into a convenience store for food, but the shelves and refrigerated cases were empty. Batteries were sold out. Lines at the local supermarket almost reached the other side of the store. No one was demanding or rude. People were patient as they quietly stood in line to purchase food and water.
(Photo, courtesy of Marianne White)
About 24 hours after the earthquake, multiple e-mails and phone calls started to arrive from my family living in the U.S., warning us to “get out of Tokyo” in case of a nuclear meltdown at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant. Just four days after the quake, my mother, my daughter, and I, no longer able to take any more of those 3 a.m. phone calls no matter how well meaning, or aftershocks, hopped on the next available shinkansen to Kobe. We needed a break.
As soon as I posted on Facebook that we were on our way to Kobe, a friend wrote back: “not to be inappropriate, but isn’t it a little ironic that after a huge earthquake, you went to take refuge in Kobe?” Yes. The Hanshin Awaji Earthquake devastated the city of Kobe in 1995, but I had multiple contacts there, and it was somewhat distanced from epicenter of the action this time—away from aftershocks, away from the buy-out frenzy, away from the possibility of radiation exposure, and away from cell phone alerts. We needed sleep—and a little space to try to think straight.
Once we arrived, we went to the local McDonald’s for breakfast. We sat down and were talking about what to do in the event of a “worst case scenario” at Fukushima. Out of nowhere, my mother said she wanted to call her sister to let her know we had arrived safely. Right after she finished her conversation, a lady who was sitting next to us started talking to us. “Your long distance bills can rack up, and I don’t mean to be intrusive, but this is all I can do to help you right now. I am so sorry,” she said and handed us a used calling card from her wallet. She had overheard our discussion and must have realized immediately we were in Kobe to take refuge. My mother and I broke down in tears at her kindness. We had no words to express our gratitude other than arigato gozaimasu. I keep that calling card in my wallet as a reminder of that deeply moving encounter.
At first, I was not sure why we were there, other than to get away from Tokyo, clear our heads, and forget the bad news for a few days. We stayed in a single story, one-bedroom house that had survived the war and the Hanshin Awaji Earthquake. The first three days it snowed. Seeing the white flakes fall from the sky from a somewhat warm room in Kobe at the same time I was seeing on TV evacuees in wintry Tohoku freezing cold and shivering in shelters made me realize how fortunate we were to have so much. Of course, we had our health, but also things like a roof over our heads, heaters to warm us, cozy futons, working bathrooms, and hot water. We had forgotten in our busy daily lives to be appreciative of the seemingly small things in life. The Kobe trip also made me realize what wonderful friends I had there. They made sure we were comfortable and had everything we needed. They wanted us to smile and relax.
Following the disasters, volunteers and rescue workers from overseas started pouring into the country to assist those in need in Tohoku. A feeling of generosity was in the air that infected everyone. The people we came across were just delighted if they could do anything for us. Even though we were not actual victims of the tsunami, we became surrogates for them for the people we encountered in Kobe. This was the Kobe citizen’s way of saying thank you for all the aid and assistance their city had received in the aftermath of the Kobe disaster. My family and I will never forget their kindness and generosity.
***
Ironically, Facebook played an important role at Nishimachi too. Right before the earthquake, Nishimachi had created its own official Facebook page, the purpose of which was to celebrate alumni accomplishments, post updates of the school, and just simply “keep in touch” with alumni scattered all over the world. Immediately after the quake, words of concern were e-mailed directly to the faculty and staff at Nishimachi; those who did not have personal e-mail addresses posted their concerns on Nishimachi’s wall. By way of response, the Nishimachi staff started putting up informational posts to let alumni, former staff, and friends know that Nishimachi and Tokyo were well.
It has been over two months since the triple disaster. For the most part, the aftershocks are dying down, although they continue in some areas. The nuclear plant situation has not yet been 100% settled. Many people in the afflicted areas are still living in shelters. But on the other hand, new lives are born every day. Nothing stopped the cherry trees from blooming. Kids go to school every day in the Kanto Plain. People still go to work in Tokyo. Factories are coming back to life and manufacturing goods again. Slowly but surely, things are moving forward. Even young Japanese, who have appeared so standoffish in recent years, have rallied to the cause and are going out to help out in the devastated areas.
Tohoku is known for its long winters. Residents have to wait longer there than they do in other parts of Japan for spring to come. Perhaps, because of that, the people of Tohoku have developed patience, endurance, and perseverance. I firmly believe that, in no time, Tohoku will be back to where it was before the earthquake: no, I take that back. I see it rising above and beyond. Gambaro, Tohoku, and thank you, Facebook.
Oh, and by the way, March 11 and its aftermath notwithstanding, it is good to be back in Japan and be part of a recovery!
*Please note the excerpts that follow are taken directly from my Facebook wall and are reproduced here with no editing.
The Earthquake, Facebook, and Me
by Mayumi Kathi Nakayama ‘90
As the magnitude 9.0 earthquake was hitting northern Japan, that thought crossed my by then nonfunctioning brain. This was an experience that made for an unforgettable welcome home to Japan for us. We had moved back from Hawaii just months before.
At the time, people wondered why we would swap paradise for busy, bustling Tokyo, but one morning, I just woke up and said, “That’s it! We’re going now!” That was in October 2010. I had been planning to move back to Japan in the summer of 2011 so it was just a matter of moving our departure date up. There were many reasons: I was not happy with U.S. medical and dental care. I was not happy with the education my daughter was getting in Hawaii, and the direction it was taking her. I missed the cold winters, colorful fall, and vibrant spring seasons. But most of all, I wanted to stay close to my aging grandmother, as well as aunts and uncles, to be able to see more of them at times like Mother’s Day, Seniors’ Day, Christmas, New Year’s, and their birthdays. Once a teenage girl who couldn’t wait to leave home and country, I couldn’t wait to get back: I had now grown to appreciate the importance of family connections and Japanese culture.
And what greeted us on our return? March 11, 2011. At 14:46 p.m. I was out shopping at a local department store close to my cousin’s house, where we were staying until our apartment was ready to move into, when the earthquake hit. I ran out into the street with visions of total devastation in mind, like that following the New Zealand earthquake just weeks before. It seemed like forever, yet the ground was still rumbling. For a second, I didn’t think the quake was going to stop, ever, and feared this might be the end of Japan. I could see trees and power lines swaying from side to side. Soon after the shaking from the main quake died down, the local koban (police box) sent out officers to assist anyone who was injured. Luckily, no one around me was hurt. Because the phone lines were jammed with people trying to call out, the cell phone was no use. Pay phones were no use. JR stopped running trains immediately after the quake to check the tracks; they then evacuated passengers and closed the stations. The only forms of transportation we had access to were public buses, cabs, cars, bikes, and our own two feet. At this time, Kanto residents, myself included, had absolutely no clue as to what was about to happen next.
My daughter, Erica, a ninth grader at the ASIJ Chofu campus, was stuck at school, and we could not get in touch with each other for a good hour after the earthquake. I hurried home on foot to check on my mother and my aunt. My aunt had gone to the theatre, and my mother was so paralyzed from fright that she could barely stand or walk. My cousin was in his office in downtown Tokyo, unable to return immediately because no trains were running. I grabbed Erica’s and my passports and whatever cash I could find. My plan was to take a cab out to ASIJ and bring her back. I walked back to the station, hoping to flag down a cab on the way or simply pick one up there, but when I arrived, my hopes were instantly crushed. There were over 100 people waiting in the taxi line with no empty cabs in sight.
(Photo, courtesy Hideki Den)
Worried sick about Erica, I heard my cell phone ring: Thank God, Buddha, and everyone else, it was she. She was physically fine, but obviously frightened as a result of the earthquake and also upset. She had no idea when she would see me or be able to get home. I wished I had wings and could fly out to Chofu. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. No one knew that at that point so I soothed her the best I could. I was powerless like everyone else. With no trains and horrific congestion building on the roads, I guessed it would be useless to try to drive a car. Sure enough, information was coming in from friends on SNS (social networking service) sites confirming that all roads heading out of Tokyo toward the residential outskirts resembled mall parking lots on Christmas Eve. There was no way I could get to Erica.
It turns out the school had by then decided that Erica, along with about two dozen other students who couldn’t make it home, were going to be farmed out for the night to various teachers who lived very close to campus. Imagine not being able to see your child for 20 hours after a devastating earthquake—I wanted to judge for myself that she was really all right. I was frantic! I ran around my cousin’s house in tears, feeling like a mother hen whose chick had walked into the street.
I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing and decided I would have to walk to Chofu, regardless of the time and distance. I dug around for flashlights, crackers, and bottled water to take with me in case of blackouts. I was just getting ready to walk out the door when I got another call from Erica. She told me she was posting blurbs on Facebook and I could track her movements there.
***
Facebook? I thought. I was overjoyed. I had actually allowed her to create her own Facebook account two years ago even though lots of people have doubts about the wisdom of letting preteens do it. We tried to be careful. Out of the many SNS, we chose Facebook for security and reliability since it requires real names for all members, unlike many other SNS sites, which permit the use of aliases. Little did I know it, but that decision would provide me with a lifeline for the next 20 hours!
Believe it or not, keeping in contact on Facebook with Erica in the aftermath of the quake kept me sane. I was lucky to have an Internet connection at home, as well as water and electricity. Facebook helped us regain a degree of comfort and security at a very difficult time; we both knew the other was there and all right. And so began our all-night conversation on Facebook.*
“Mom, i know i am vrounded [grounded] from facebook but there was a pretty big earthquake in asij and this was the only way i could contact u and say that i am safe. My phone is in the. classroom and the school evacuated to the field. Luv u bye:)”
“no worries baby. i am now home. we are waiting to see if there’s a way we can drive out to get you. stay safe and remember i love you!”
“okay. im really sorry that im on here even though im grounded until tomorrow. im just really scared. gomen. dont worry, im fine :) just really scared.”
“mom, im gonna stay over at mr. and mrs. l’s house. they live a minute away from school.
“okay. seems like internet is the only thing that’s connecting us together...keep me posted on HOW to get to their house...stay safe and love you lots!”
“mom, can u go on my skype right now? i’m gonna try to use marie’s skype account to video call my skype account that is on ur computer. i’ll tell u the password for it through a message. please. i need to see u, safe.”
“cant go online. checking facebook from cell. dont waste cellbattery! mommy loves u!”
Facebook played a critical role in communication after the blackout that followed the devastating Higashi Kanto Earthquake. Before the earthquake, logging onto multiple SNS sites was just a part of my daily routine. I would look through them to find out how people I knew from near and far were doing. But what people soon discovered after the quake was that because the tsunami was so devastating, TV coverage focused mainly on the hard-hit Tohoku region and showed close to nothing of Tokyo. Facebook therefore soon became a bridge to those outside the country looking for friends and family in Japan. They could check on our status and be in constant and close touch.
Friends started posting on my Facebook wall immediately after they heard the news of the earthquake. Never in my life did I imagine that a time would come when short phrases of encouragement could give me so much comfort and hope. Aside from all the good wishes we received, friends offered to send us anything we needed, wanted to know about making donations to relief organizations, and invited us to come and stay. Here’s a sampling.
“Kathi just let us know if you and your daughter need anything at all, okay?”
“Obviously this disaster hits a little harder for me having lived in Japan before, and I know there is not much I can do from New Jersey, but if there is anything I can do, please let me know and I will do whatever you need.”
“My friends and I in Atlanta want to help by making a donation. Do you know of any reputable charities that we can make a donation to so that Japan will receive 100% of the proceeds?”
“Kathi, if anything happens, we’ll all live together at our house in Georgia.”
“You can always come stay with us in Washington if you need some where to go... I know it is far, but the offer stands...”
“Two beds, two sofas, two baths, wireless internet but no cable in Memphis. Don’t you just want to come stay with us for a couple weeks? Bring Mom, your daughter and whoever else you need to bring.”
“Just know that should things take turn for the worse (heaven forbid) you are all most welcome to come to Australia. Or you can even come NOW!”
By midnight the night of the eleventh, my aunt had reached home from Asakusa, where she had gone to see a play (the earthquake struck three-quarters of the way through), and my cousin had finally gotten back from Shimbashi. Each had had to walk about 23 km (14 miles); it had taken approximately six hours. My aunt was wearing a kimono, and my cousin was dressed in his regular business suit. People walked in whatever they came in that day. One of my friends walked 44 km (27 miles) home in high heels, which took about nine hours. Those were the kinds of distances people were covering on foot. It doesn’t seem so bad if you think of the distance as a number, but just try walking on congested major roads, not knowing the way, and it becomes more than just a pleasant stroll on a nice March day.
Sleepless in Tokyo, I did the best I could to catch a couple of winks. Strong aftershocks kept waking us up once or twice an hour. Now that I think about it, it wasn’t the aftershocks that kept us awake. It was the shrill alert that came in on our cell phones warning us of the next possible tremor. (This has been standard service since 2008 for all cell phones with e-mail capability in Japan whose current location is in an earthquake warning zone. The inexplicable thing is that I did not hear those shrill alerts earlier in the day when the first four large quakes struck.
Finally, (thanks to my cousin for driving me to ASIJ!) Erica returned home the following day around 1:00pm: Almost 24 hours after the earthquake.
My cousin lives in a fairly quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo. In the 72 hours following the disaster, life changed. We saw no one walking dogs. No one was outside socializing. Not even a car would pass. The area was starting to look a lot like a ghost town. I walked into a convenience store for food, but the shelves and refrigerated cases were empty. Batteries were sold out. Lines at the local supermarket almost reached the other side of the store. No one was demanding or rude. People were patient as they quietly stood in line to purchase food and water.
(Photo, courtesy of Marianne White)
About 24 hours after the earthquake, multiple e-mails and phone calls started to arrive from my family living in the U.S., warning us to “get out of Tokyo” in case of a nuclear meltdown at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant. Just four days after the quake, my mother, my daughter, and I, no longer able to take any more of those 3 a.m. phone calls no matter how well meaning, or aftershocks, hopped on the next available shinkansen to Kobe. We needed a break.
As soon as I posted on Facebook that we were on our way to Kobe, a friend wrote back: “not to be inappropriate, but isn’t it a little ironic that after a huge earthquake, you went to take refuge in Kobe?” Yes. The Hanshin Awaji Earthquake devastated the city of Kobe in 1995, but I had multiple contacts there, and it was somewhat distanced from epicenter of the action this time—away from aftershocks, away from the buy-out frenzy, away from the possibility of radiation exposure, and away from cell phone alerts. We needed sleep—and a little space to try to think straight.
Once we arrived, we went to the local McDonald’s for breakfast. We sat down and were talking about what to do in the event of a “worst case scenario” at Fukushima. Out of nowhere, my mother said she wanted to call her sister to let her know we had arrived safely. Right after she finished her conversation, a lady who was sitting next to us started talking to us. “Your long distance bills can rack up, and I don’t mean to be intrusive, but this is all I can do to help you right now. I am so sorry,” she said and handed us a used calling card from her wallet. She had overheard our discussion and must have realized immediately we were in Kobe to take refuge. My mother and I broke down in tears at her kindness. We had no words to express our gratitude other than arigato gozaimasu. I keep that calling card in my wallet as a reminder of that deeply moving encounter.
At first, I was not sure why we were there, other than to get away from Tokyo, clear our heads, and forget the bad news for a few days. We stayed in a single story, one-bedroom house that had survived the war and the Hanshin Awaji Earthquake. The first three days it snowed. Seeing the white flakes fall from the sky from a somewhat warm room in Kobe at the same time I was seeing on TV evacuees in wintry Tohoku freezing cold and shivering in shelters made me realize how fortunate we were to have so much. Of course, we had our health, but also things like a roof over our heads, heaters to warm us, cozy futons, working bathrooms, and hot water. We had forgotten in our busy daily lives to be appreciative of the seemingly small things in life. The Kobe trip also made me realize what wonderful friends I had there. They made sure we were comfortable and had everything we needed. They wanted us to smile and relax.
Following the disasters, volunteers and rescue workers from overseas started pouring into the country to assist those in need in Tohoku. A feeling of generosity was in the air that infected everyone. The people we came across were just delighted if they could do anything for us. Even though we were not actual victims of the tsunami, we became surrogates for them for the people we encountered in Kobe. This was the Kobe citizen’s way of saying thank you for all the aid and assistance their city had received in the aftermath of the Kobe disaster. My family and I will never forget their kindness and generosity.
***
Ironically, Facebook played an important role at Nishimachi too. Right before the earthquake, Nishimachi had created its own official Facebook page, the purpose of which was to celebrate alumni accomplishments, post updates of the school, and just simply “keep in touch” with alumni scattered all over the world. Immediately after the quake, words of concern were e-mailed directly to the faculty and staff at Nishimachi; those who did not have personal e-mail addresses posted their concerns on Nishimachi’s wall. By way of response, the Nishimachi staff started putting up informational posts to let alumni, former staff, and friends know that Nishimachi and Tokyo were well.
It has been over two months since the triple disaster. For the most part, the aftershocks are dying down, although they continue in some areas. The nuclear plant situation has not yet been 100% settled. Many people in the afflicted areas are still living in shelters. But on the other hand, new lives are born every day. Nothing stopped the cherry trees from blooming. Kids go to school every day in the Kanto Plain. People still go to work in Tokyo. Factories are coming back to life and manufacturing goods again. Slowly but surely, things are moving forward. Even young Japanese, who have appeared so standoffish in recent years, have rallied to the cause and are going out to help out in the devastated areas.
Tohoku is known for its long winters. Residents have to wait longer there than they do in other parts of Japan for spring to come. Perhaps, because of that, the people of Tohoku have developed patience, endurance, and perseverance. I firmly believe that, in no time, Tohoku will be back to where it was before the earthquake: no, I take that back. I see it rising above and beyond. Gambaro, Tohoku, and thank you, Facebook.
Oh, and by the way, March 11 and its aftermath notwithstanding, it is good to be back in Japan and be part of a recovery!
*Please note the excerpts that follow are taken directly from my Facebook wall and are reproduced here with no editing.