I know, I know, it's 2013 by now. But before I get used to writing that, I figured it was time to take another look back. Last time I did this, at the end of 2011, I was under the impression that I was barely left standing on my feet in a world that was spinning too fast for comfort (but at the same time, in a slightly interesting manner). I had experienced so much that I barely had time to update the blog, and my life felt turned upside-down. Looking back it felt like the events of that year would be life- and personality altering, and that it wasn't the same Cruella waking up in the morning at the end of 2011 as had done so at the end of 2010.
Maybe it wasn't. But the Cruella waking up at the beginning of 2013 feels familiar. Like I know her. Like we've met before. In 2010, perhaps. Because, even though I believed my 2011 was going to change me for life, I am starting to believe I'm slowly drifting back to my old self. For better and for worse.
Let me explain (or at least try).
The past year I've probably met more challenges that I ever have at once before in my life, including the epicness that was 2011. If I hoped for a peaceful 2012 to get me back down after crazy 2011, I was disappointed. 2012 was the year of the new job (that nearly killed me), the new boyfriend (that kept me alive), 1 1/2 new living arrangements (don't ask), lots of new people (possibly matching that of 2011 too), of countless emotional rollercoasters, of the loss of a loved one and having several others falling ill, of having various heath problems myself (including my first ever ride in an ambulance), and - as a result of all of this - learning how to share both good and bad things (the latter being something I often prefer keeping to myself as to not seem "weak" - I'm still learning, obviously).
Basically, things happened in 2012 too!
But even though the events of 2012 in many ways were probably more life-altering for me than those of 2011, in retrospect, they still seem mellow in comparison. The 2012s were slow events. They built up over time. They didn't wake me up in the middle of the night and made me check a website if the impact was 5.0 or more on the Richter magnitude scale. I don't question the magnitude of falling in love or having a stressful job, but both of those things came to me gradually, with considerable "warnings" ahead.
Also, when I in 2011 occasionally felt I had so much to blog about I couldn't keep up with it (resulting in a somewhat uneven year blog wise), 2012 frequently left me feeling the opposite (which should explain the relatively even non-posting of the past twelve moons). Writing about living the exciting life in Tokyo is one thing, but how do you blog about everyday life at home without it turning into "Today I made dinner for my boyfriend. He said he enjoyed it"...?
Obviously I could blog about other things than everyday life - I've been known to do so in the past - but in that department too the inspiration seemed to fail me. Given that my job was so "mind consuming" in many ways, I had little space left after having read about popes and kings and important historians. And I had absolutely no urge to blog about said popes and kings and important historians.
So I didn't. Again and again I didn't.
Now, it's not like I have a goal of being the most prolific blogger. As such, the frequency of posts here is irrelevant. But having the material, inspiration and ability to blog is something I'd like to keep, thankyouverymuch. I'd rather have time being the constraint than anything else. "Excuse me, but I'm too fabulous and busy to blog" has a better ring to it than "Sorry, my job and everyday life is sort of uninteresting to write about".
(Mark the importance of the words "to write about" in the above sentence. My life isn't uninteresting, to me. But I am currently having a hard time translating the parts of it I find interesting into words and sentences I'd feel comfortable flying around the interwebs with my name tied to them...)
((I suppose the task ahead is to find a neat balance between making my life itty bit more interesting and figuring out how to write it in a way that makes it more interesting still...))
Anyway, the strangest thing is that in spite of this feeling of "why have I nothing interesting to write?" I find that I don't really mind all that much. It might be a well-known secret to most, but to me this came as news: boring isn't necessarily boring! I find that in real life I cherish these things I can't find an interesting angle for blog-wise. I like making dinner for my boyfriend when he says he enjoys it. I like having a job, and an income, even if I at times have wondered if it was too much (but then the achievement feels all the greater afterwards). I don't like grief and illness and emotional rollercoasters, but I realize that they are a part of life and perhaps they make you grow just as much (albeit in very different ways) as disaster and turmoil.
The lesson from 2011 was that I'd discovered a whole new side of myself. If anything I think 2012 has shown me how the new side fits with the old me, and made me realize that perhaps I didn't change so much after all.
At least, that is what I think now. Perhaps come the start of 2014 everything will be different, again.
In terms of resolutions I am still not making any (even if my old "fill in the blanks"-ones were handy). But there are things I'd like to do, goals I'd like to fulfill, as always. Still, a whole year feels like too big of a unit to digest at once. Maybe this year I should make it my goal to take one day at the time? Who knows, that might even make for a more interesting blog year too...
Showing posts with label earthquakes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label earthquakes. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Sunday, March 11, 2012
On one year (after after the quake)
One year has passed since an 9.0 earthquake hit Japan and caused the biggest disaster in the country since World War Two. One year since I was sitting under my desk, wondering if this would be my last hour; grateful that if it was, at least none of my family members would be killed or injured; mostly worried in the moment about the seasickness that threatened to overpower me. My Japanese colleague opened the door and the window. My Norwegian colleague frantically tried to get hold of her husband and their kids. People ran around in the hallways - contrary to all earthquake safety advises - trying to get out of the building. The building, croaking and screeching as its seams were working to hold tight against the powers from underneath. The waves in the pool, a gloomy forewarning of what we were about to see from the Tohoku region with live coverage of the tsunami waves flushing in over rice fields, buildings, cars, people.
When it finally stopped shaking, after what felt like much longer than what it actually must have been, we crawled out from under our desks and doorways, and gathered outside. The mood was that of uncertainty and worry, but also relief - the worst was over, or so we thought. It was as though an "all clear" signal had been issued. We were all still there, alive, intact. The building was standing. Nervous smiles, shaky legs, adrenalin and shoulders still tensely raised above normal levels.
The mobile system quickly fell out, but the iPhone earthquake apps didn't. I think the estimates started with 6 something. Quickly updated to 7 something. Someone got 8 something. When it reached 8.9 we realized that either the apps were wrong, or - what strangely enough hadn't occurred to me before someone voiced it: we might not be that close to the epicenter.
In Tokyo the 3/11 earthquake felt enormous. Huge. I am (or at least was) no expert on earthquakes, but the intensity of the shaking alone, plus the worried expressions on my Japanese coworkers' faces, equaled to me that this was big. The idea, though, that we only got the tail of a movement that had been rolling for miles and miles, was more terrifying than the actual quake. If we had felt it so strong this far away... How was it closer to the actual beast? More terrifying still was the confirmation of this beast, when we got back inside and turned the TV on.
The images went across the world like wildfire. Live coverage of a natural disaster. Awful and fascinating all at once. Personally I felt the effect of the images quite modestly compared to other, closer effects. Coworkers not able to get in touch with their families. The urgency in notifying my own family and friends. The discomfort - physical and otherwise - from the aftershocks and never knowing whether one of them might be another big quake.
One image did stick, though. One of the very first I saw. A helicopter was flying over the affected areas, filming the tsunami as it advanced over a defenseless battlefield. The black, lava-like water, moving in what from air looked like a sluggish tempo, but in reality it was overwhelmingly fast. It swallowed everything in its way - people, houses, cars. One car was driving away from the wave. The car had a head start, but the wave attacked from two fronts. As the two flanks closed in on it, the car attempted a last, desperate maneuver: it abandoned the road and tried to run across a field. Useless. The wave had no mercy or respect for the brave. It gaped over its prey and swallowed this car along with all the others. The fate of those within the car we can only imagine.
I remember "the bringer of doom". A gold statue at the top of a nearby church. Its elevated position made it pick up the movements of aftershocks faster than those of us on ground. The sound of a dancing statue became the messenger of new scares. We had many that afternoon and evening. They kept coming all through the next day. At one point I could hardly distinguish between actual shakes, and my own stress and weariness causing me to shake.
All reports said that Tokyo was okay, but I still dreaded to go home. The house I was living in was an old wooden structure, with paper-thin walls and a tendency to jump even from the movement caused by passing cars on the nearby road. I imagined that there was an actual chance the whole building might have collapsed. Or perhaps the gas tank would have sprung leak, causing a fire. Who knew what mess we would find inside, assuming the house did still stand.
It did. And the mess was not worthy of a 9.0. Interestingly the damages in my room showed the movements of the earthquake very clearly. I had a bookcase where nothing had even fallen out, since the quake had moved in a parallel direction to it. My desk, though, was in a mess. Granted, it was usually a mess, but now the mess was less deliberate than my normal mix of breakfast remnants, make-up products, papers and pens. Things from atop of the otherwise untouched bookcase had fallen down. My laptop - thank Digressions in one piece - covered in cereals.
Apart from that, though, there was nothing other than my own fear of new quakes coming to finish off what it had started that kept me from sleeping in the building. Still, since I had an offer to stay in the embassy, I didn't care to stay. "I have to get back to work," I told my housemates, since the truth "I am too scared to sleep here" seemed unlikely to be of benefit to anyone. There was hardly any need to cause a panic.
I slept at the embassy for the rest of the week. Or "slept". Every time I drifted off, an aftershock of the real or imaginary kind pulled me back. A soft bed on the fourth floor picked up every movement of the earth; and every movement of the person in the bed became magnified. My first real sleep was when I sat down in my seat in the plane on my way home.
I remember everything and nothing. The terror I felt - I know I did, because I can read it in and between the lines of the blog posts I wrote during those days - it's gone. I thought it would stick for life, but life moved on. What has stuck, though, is the feeling of the quakes. One friend voiced it this way: an earthquake enters your body, but it never leaves. The 9.0 and the following aftershocks haven't left me. If I'm stressed or tired, I can still feel them. The brief moment of insecurity as to why I am shaking, before I remember that I'm in Norway and we don't have earthquakes here, is frightful every time. But it is not so very often anymore.
Details from those days will occasionally pop up in my head. Some are emotional, like most of those described above. Some are funny, surprisingly enough. I remember a lunch with some of my coworkers, a couple of days after the quake. We were all worn out from too little sleep, too much work, too much stress - too too. Somehow, this lead to a very entertaining conversation. I cannot remember at all what it was about, but I remember that it made me laugh at a time when I wondered if I'd ever laugh again. And it made me remember that I value such moments - hanging out with friends, simply - incredibly much. These were people I missed immensely when I got back home, and I still do.
One year. It feels longer. A lot has happened, and a lot of it happened because of the earthquake, directly or indirectly. These events changed me. Having felt life's fragility (even if I don't claim it was a near-death-experience) does something to you. To your perception of life, and what it should and should not include. I don't pretend that I've become aware in everything I do, or that I always live by these new insights I've acquired, but I understand more now. The idea of carpe diem makes sense in ways it didn't before, even if I then too knew life was short and you never know what will happen. I'm less scared, I think. Less concerned with consequences. More in favour of following my heart, and deal with the costs later.
It hasn't made my life easier. But I think perhaps it has made it richer. And it is for this that my thoughts about the events one year ago are not exclusively directed towards the tragedy of it all. It's terrible what happened, but since it did happen, I'm more and more starting to appreciate that I was there. That is not to say that I wish for bad things to happen, or that I wish to be near them when they do happen. But it means I have come to terms with my own minuscule part in it, and the anything-but-minuscule part it has played in my life.
When it finally stopped shaking, after what felt like much longer than what it actually must have been, we crawled out from under our desks and doorways, and gathered outside. The mood was that of uncertainty and worry, but also relief - the worst was over, or so we thought. It was as though an "all clear" signal had been issued. We were all still there, alive, intact. The building was standing. Nervous smiles, shaky legs, adrenalin and shoulders still tensely raised above normal levels.
The mobile system quickly fell out, but the iPhone earthquake apps didn't. I think the estimates started with 6 something. Quickly updated to 7 something. Someone got 8 something. When it reached 8.9 we realized that either the apps were wrong, or - what strangely enough hadn't occurred to me before someone voiced it: we might not be that close to the epicenter.
In Tokyo the 3/11 earthquake felt enormous. Huge. I am (or at least was) no expert on earthquakes, but the intensity of the shaking alone, plus the worried expressions on my Japanese coworkers' faces, equaled to me that this was big. The idea, though, that we only got the tail of a movement that had been rolling for miles and miles, was more terrifying than the actual quake. If we had felt it so strong this far away... How was it closer to the actual beast? More terrifying still was the confirmation of this beast, when we got back inside and turned the TV on.
The images went across the world like wildfire. Live coverage of a natural disaster. Awful and fascinating all at once. Personally I felt the effect of the images quite modestly compared to other, closer effects. Coworkers not able to get in touch with their families. The urgency in notifying my own family and friends. The discomfort - physical and otherwise - from the aftershocks and never knowing whether one of them might be another big quake.
One image did stick, though. One of the very first I saw. A helicopter was flying over the affected areas, filming the tsunami as it advanced over a defenseless battlefield. The black, lava-like water, moving in what from air looked like a sluggish tempo, but in reality it was overwhelmingly fast. It swallowed everything in its way - people, houses, cars. One car was driving away from the wave. The car had a head start, but the wave attacked from two fronts. As the two flanks closed in on it, the car attempted a last, desperate maneuver: it abandoned the road and tried to run across a field. Useless. The wave had no mercy or respect for the brave. It gaped over its prey and swallowed this car along with all the others. The fate of those within the car we can only imagine.
I remember "the bringer of doom". A gold statue at the top of a nearby church. Its elevated position made it pick up the movements of aftershocks faster than those of us on ground. The sound of a dancing statue became the messenger of new scares. We had many that afternoon and evening. They kept coming all through the next day. At one point I could hardly distinguish between actual shakes, and my own stress and weariness causing me to shake.
All reports said that Tokyo was okay, but I still dreaded to go home. The house I was living in was an old wooden structure, with paper-thin walls and a tendency to jump even from the movement caused by passing cars on the nearby road. I imagined that there was an actual chance the whole building might have collapsed. Or perhaps the gas tank would have sprung leak, causing a fire. Who knew what mess we would find inside, assuming the house did still stand.
It did. And the mess was not worthy of a 9.0. Interestingly the damages in my room showed the movements of the earthquake very clearly. I had a bookcase where nothing had even fallen out, since the quake had moved in a parallel direction to it. My desk, though, was in a mess. Granted, it was usually a mess, but now the mess was less deliberate than my normal mix of breakfast remnants, make-up products, papers and pens. Things from atop of the otherwise untouched bookcase had fallen down. My laptop - thank Digressions in one piece - covered in cereals.
Apart from that, though, there was nothing other than my own fear of new quakes coming to finish off what it had started that kept me from sleeping in the building. Still, since I had an offer to stay in the embassy, I didn't care to stay. "I have to get back to work," I told my housemates, since the truth "I am too scared to sleep here" seemed unlikely to be of benefit to anyone. There was hardly any need to cause a panic.
I slept at the embassy for the rest of the week. Or "slept". Every time I drifted off, an aftershock of the real or imaginary kind pulled me back. A soft bed on the fourth floor picked up every movement of the earth; and every movement of the person in the bed became magnified. My first real sleep was when I sat down in my seat in the plane on my way home.
I remember everything and nothing. The terror I felt - I know I did, because I can read it in and between the lines of the blog posts I wrote during those days - it's gone. I thought it would stick for life, but life moved on. What has stuck, though, is the feeling of the quakes. One friend voiced it this way: an earthquake enters your body, but it never leaves. The 9.0 and the following aftershocks haven't left me. If I'm stressed or tired, I can still feel them. The brief moment of insecurity as to why I am shaking, before I remember that I'm in Norway and we don't have earthquakes here, is frightful every time. But it is not so very often anymore.
Details from those days will occasionally pop up in my head. Some are emotional, like most of those described above. Some are funny, surprisingly enough. I remember a lunch with some of my coworkers, a couple of days after the quake. We were all worn out from too little sleep, too much work, too much stress - too too. Somehow, this lead to a very entertaining conversation. I cannot remember at all what it was about, but I remember that it made me laugh at a time when I wondered if I'd ever laugh again. And it made me remember that I value such moments - hanging out with friends, simply - incredibly much. These were people I missed immensely when I got back home, and I still do.
One year. It feels longer. A lot has happened, and a lot of it happened because of the earthquake, directly or indirectly. These events changed me. Having felt life's fragility (even if I don't claim it was a near-death-experience) does something to you. To your perception of life, and what it should and should not include. I don't pretend that I've become aware in everything I do, or that I always live by these new insights I've acquired, but I understand more now. The idea of carpe diem makes sense in ways it didn't before, even if I then too knew life was short and you never know what will happen. I'm less scared, I think. Less concerned with consequences. More in favour of following my heart, and deal with the costs later.
It hasn't made my life easier. But I think perhaps it has made it richer. And it is for this that my thoughts about the events one year ago are not exclusively directed towards the tragedy of it all. It's terrible what happened, but since it did happen, I'm more and more starting to appreciate that I was there. That is not to say that I wish for bad things to happen, or that I wish to be near them when they do happen. But it means I have come to terms with my own minuscule part in it, and the anything-but-minuscule part it has played in my life.
Monday, May 23, 2011
On placebo
You know the feeling you get after having been aboard a boat for some time? When you get back on land, it feels like you're still rocking, back and forth, along with the waves. I had that exact feeling for two weeks after the Japan earthquakes on 11 March. Occasionally the earth really did move, of course, since we had heavy aftershocks several times a day, and aftershocks are still felt in the region. But about half the time I seemed to be the only one feeling the rocking, and when I still felt it when I got back to the seismically inactive Norway, it was apparent that these were my own, personal quakes. In short, my brain was playing tricks on me.
When I decided to return to Tokyo to finish my internship, one of the major worries were the aftershocks. Sure, a potential increase in radiation in the air, food or drinking water could be a threat, but for some reason that didn't bother me much. The effects are more long-term (depending on the level of radiation, of course), and radiation is a more subtle danger, which might both be reasons I'm not freaking out over it. In addition, it really does seem to have cooled down a bit in the Fukushima power plant - or at least the media has cooled down their coverage - both of which contributes to me being more calm.
The thought of aftershocks, however, was still terrifying to me, because I've felt real earthquakes now. Experienced what they can do. Many believe - and not in a "the rapture is upon us" kind of way, "many" in this case includes scientists in the field - Tokyo's big centennial quake is still to come, and with the increased seismic activity in the general area it doesn't seem unlikely this might happen now. Plus the fact that earthquakes make me physically ill. There is very little I hate as much as the seasickness the above mentioned rocking leads to.
So, then. Why would I want to go?
I decided - from safe, far-away Norway - that I wanted closure. That I enjoyed the job, the city, the people too much not to give it another chance. That I didn't want the earthquakes to win. That my fear of quakes after all could not be bigger than my fear of missing out of great experiences I'd treasure for the rest of my life.
My assessment was almost right. It did feel good to come back. I still love my job - perhaps even more now, since the quake ironically has created a whole lot of new, interesting perspectives in my work. I adored meeting all my friends here again, and I've also met a whole lot of new friends since I got back. And Tokyo has shown itself from its best side these past weeks. The weather is lovely; the city is its normal, crazy self; and everywhere I go, everything I do, really make me feel like I'm making memories for life.
But. Those quakes. We haven't had any major ones since I got back. I think I've felt five in two weeks, only one of which was strong enough to make me get out of bed, and one made me look around for my earthquake helmet. But in reality they have been minuscule compared to what I'm used to by now.
The worst part, though, aren't the real earthquakes. The placebo ones are. It's funny how I'm never in doubt when there is an actual quake, but whenever I have a placebo one, I'm all "was that a quake? Or was it me? Am I shaking? Or is it the ground?". As mentioned, they stopped after about a week or so in Norway. Two days before I left for Japan again, they were back. Thus there is absolutely no doubt that they are triggered by my own anxiety. It's a little scary, actually, that my mental state is capable of tricking me like that. I KNOW they are not real. But I'm still not sure (until there is a real one, that is). Placebo drugs have an effect because people believe they are real drugs. I tell myself over and over and over again that these aren't real quakes, but the results of this case study are still messed up. I feel them all the same.
Japan has had several thousands of quakes since the 11th of March. I've had about twice that amount. Frankly I am fed up. Despite everything I love about being back, I am counting the days till I can get off this boat.
When I decided to return to Tokyo to finish my internship, one of the major worries were the aftershocks. Sure, a potential increase in radiation in the air, food or drinking water could be a threat, but for some reason that didn't bother me much. The effects are more long-term (depending on the level of radiation, of course), and radiation is a more subtle danger, which might both be reasons I'm not freaking out over it. In addition, it really does seem to have cooled down a bit in the Fukushima power plant - or at least the media has cooled down their coverage - both of which contributes to me being more calm.
The thought of aftershocks, however, was still terrifying to me, because I've felt real earthquakes now. Experienced what they can do. Many believe - and not in a "the rapture is upon us" kind of way, "many" in this case includes scientists in the field - Tokyo's big centennial quake is still to come, and with the increased seismic activity in the general area it doesn't seem unlikely this might happen now. Plus the fact that earthquakes make me physically ill. There is very little I hate as much as the seasickness the above mentioned rocking leads to.
So, then. Why would I want to go?
I decided - from safe, far-away Norway - that I wanted closure. That I enjoyed the job, the city, the people too much not to give it another chance. That I didn't want the earthquakes to win. That my fear of quakes after all could not be bigger than my fear of missing out of great experiences I'd treasure for the rest of my life.
My assessment was almost right. It did feel good to come back. I still love my job - perhaps even more now, since the quake ironically has created a whole lot of new, interesting perspectives in my work. I adored meeting all my friends here again, and I've also met a whole lot of new friends since I got back. And Tokyo has shown itself from its best side these past weeks. The weather is lovely; the city is its normal, crazy self; and everywhere I go, everything I do, really make me feel like I'm making memories for life.
But. Those quakes. We haven't had any major ones since I got back. I think I've felt five in two weeks, only one of which was strong enough to make me get out of bed, and one made me look around for my earthquake helmet. But in reality they have been minuscule compared to what I'm used to by now.
The worst part, though, aren't the real earthquakes. The placebo ones are. It's funny how I'm never in doubt when there is an actual quake, but whenever I have a placebo one, I'm all "was that a quake? Or was it me? Am I shaking? Or is it the ground?". As mentioned, they stopped after about a week or so in Norway. Two days before I left for Japan again, they were back. Thus there is absolutely no doubt that they are triggered by my own anxiety. It's a little scary, actually, that my mental state is capable of tricking me like that. I KNOW they are not real. But I'm still not sure (until there is a real one, that is). Placebo drugs have an effect because people believe they are real drugs. I tell myself over and over and over again that these aren't real quakes, but the results of this case study are still messed up. I feel them all the same.
Japan has had several thousands of quakes since the 11th of March. I've had about twice that amount. Frankly I am fed up. Despite everything I love about being back, I am counting the days till I can get off this boat.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
On emoticolonialism
 |
| An imprint of the flower I smelled this morning |
Either way, compare those emotions. The extreme sad/scare/rage to the extreme happy/thrilled/enthusiastic. They are powerful ends to the same emotional spectrum. If you did as I told you - picked the very worst and very happiest memories you have - these emotions most likely represent the strongest sentiments you have ever felt. It's a little frightening, actually, just how strong these feelings are.
It struck me today, how we sometimes - not too often, fortunately - are overpowered with emotions so strong that they leave a lasting memory for the rest of our lives. By mentioning the thing that triggered these emotions, we can feel a version of the same emotion, even years after. When I asked you to think back, I might have triggered intense grief you almost had forgotten you had in you, but then it is there after all, like an imprint of the original feeling. Or a tingling sensation in your stomach region, reminding you of how you really felt that first time your boyfriend kissed you.
Imagine now that instead of having an aftertaste of an emotion already felt, you had a preview. The same imprint - a mellower version of the original - but before the actual event and your reaction to it. Would you be able to bear it? If it was a happy preview - wouldn't the expectations of the real thing lessen the actual feeling? And worse - if it was a sad preview - wouldn't the premature grief weaken your ability to handle the real thing?
One of the impossible questions I have asked myself after the earthquake in Japan in March is whether I'd gone if I had known. It's an impossible question because it doesn't really matter. I didn't know, and I did go. Plus, I think the answer is given. Had I known for sure that there would be an earthquake, a tsunami, a nuclear crisis, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near it - even though I wasn't injured or directly affected. Still, there might have been a part of me that would still have wanted to go - not to play hero per se - but perhaps in a misguided "solidarity" with Japan? Or to prove to myself that I wasn't scared? (Which would be wrong, by the way.) Well, that part would have been convinced if I had had a "preview" of any of the emotions I've been dealing with, during and after the earthquake.
I think it is good that we don't know.
Somewhat related, I'm writing about nuclearism over at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash today. I guess the same questions is relevant there - if we had known, would we have acted differently?
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
On Tokyo, part two
"Thank you so much for visiting our store. Please come back soon."
The staff in Japanese stores have always been polite. But now, some of them are polite to the point of ridicule. Please visit our store again. Thank you very much for stepping inside these doors even if you didn't buy anything. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but it seems as the politeness covers up relief that even foreigners are starting to return to normal life in Tokyo.
Well, some foreigners. Living in one of the parts of Tokyo most densely populated with gaijins, it is noticeable that many of us have left the city. Almost two months after disaster hit Japan, it seems unlikely that all those who left will return. Most diplomatic missions either temporarily closed shop in Tokyo, or cut down considerably in their service. Some established offices elsewhere, some simply left. But those who meant to come back, largely will have done so by now.
It's not just the diplomats, though. The ex-pat community seems smaller. Some of those who left might not be able to return. I've heard stories of foreigners losing their jobs in Japanese companies after having chosen to leave Japan after the earthquake. It seems harsh, but at the same time I can see where the companies are coming from. If their employers cannot handle earthquakes, there is very little for them in Japan. If you want to live here, you have to accept the fact that there will be quakes, and some of them might be big.
As a consequence of the foreigner-drain from Tokyo, though, certain businesses are struggling. Guest houses for foreigners, grocery stores specialized in imported food, the many lunch places in the embassy area - they have all had to live with next to no demand for more than a month, and now that it is picking up again, it might be too late. Some have closed shop already, and from the look of the (lack of) traffic, others might follow. This is only a small part of the economicl and otherwise problems Japan is facing post-crisis, and in the long run not the most important one. But it illustrates the magnitude of the crisis when businesses not directly affected by the crisis, in a city not directly affected by the crisis, are struggling.
Thus I'd be lying if I said that everything is as it was in Tokyo. It isn't. Much is back to normal - radiation levels included - but there is still a certain gloomy mood hanging over the city. The news are still largely centered around the catastrophe and its aftermath. Closed escalators, dark buildings and other power-saving efforts to compensate for the shut down nuclear plants are constant reminders that the city and the country are still in crisis mode. And despite putting on brave faces there is no doubt that many of us still feel that its uncomfortable with all the aftershocks (fortunately, we haven't had any major ones since I returned. I've only felt one I was certain was a quake, and then several fquakes - fake quakes triggered by anxiety or by injury to your balance, both of whom I've experience frequently since the first big earthquakes in March).
Despite this, people seem intent on staying positive. And once you start looking for it, it is easy to find bright spots in the gloom. I've had the great fortune to spend most of my time back with wonderful friends - some old, some new. Getting back to normal life here - as normal as possible - has been good for me. I've come across things I didn't even realize I'd missed, and I've discovered new loves about Tokyo. Ironically, one of them was born out of the only thing that's really been bothering me since I got back: the heaviest jet lag I've suffered yet. I haven't been able to sleep much at all, and definitely not at night. So several mornings I've been out walking, discovering a (to me) new side to this wonderful city. Before the city wakes up, there is a strange freshness to it, unspoiled by traffic or people. The few that are out are either on their way home from a party or perhaps the night shift, or they are on their way to work. Shops are being cleaned or the shelves are restocked, and you might pass a stray jogger or two. But there is a completely different pace than Tokyo normally can allow. I didn't realize how calm a city of this size could become.
And so, despite the anxiety I felt before coming, the overall impression after having arrived is a good one. Japan found its place in my heart a long time ago; Tokyo has now reclaimed it on behalf of the entire country. A few weeks ago I wrote in my status update on Facebook : "Nothing has changed. Everything is different." Coming back to Tokyo, I think it is now more appropriate to say: "Everything has changed. But nothing is different."
 |
| Tokyo Tower is dark. Changed, but not different. |
Thursday, March 24, 2011
On FAQ
I really should start writing about something else than earthquakes soon. I have started speaking and thinking about other things. But in interaction with other people it is difficult, because everyone else (too) is so immersed in the tragedy in Japan. I become their link to the disaster; I might be able to provide new information or at least a new perspective. So they ask. And I feel compelled to answer. Partly because I've been told it is good for me - a way of coping with what happened. But also partly because I am too polite to say I would rather like to talk about something else. I should also add that half the time I don't want to talk about anything else. In fact, I have something of a love-hate relationship to what is currently happening in Libya. That came out wrong. I don't like what is happening in Libya, period. The rational me feel this way. But. There is an irrational (and lately strangely vocal) part of me that feel that Libya is stealing focus from Japan, at the same time as I appreciate that something is taking my and everyone else's mind off earthquake/tsunami/nuclear power plants for a while. I told you I was irrational.
What all my "parts" have in common, though, is that they feel it is time to provide a sort of "FAQ" - frequently asked questions about the earthquake. That way, I can just refer people to this post when they ask too much...
1) How does an earthquake feel?
This question mostly comes from people here at home, where we are blessed with close to zero earthquakes (and the ones we do get, every 50 years or so, are generally quite small).
The truth is I have a hard time explaining this. First of all, it is difficult to explain a physical feeling. I try to liken it to being on a boat on a very volatile sea, which falls well in tune with my personal experience during the major quake, where I was battling sea sickness while listening to the waves of the pool just outside the window. But it still feels different. I'm not sure I'd be able to explain the actual, physical feeling, mixed with the sounds of the building croaking, the silence of everything else, and the fear in your stomach that you don't know if this is the big one, or if more will follow.
Secondly, I think my body is starting to rebel. Whenever I try to remember exactly how it feels, I cannot. And when I try to push it, I get a physical reaction much alike the aforementioned sea sickness. Which is another very good reason why I should try to avoid talking more about it.
2) Did your house fall down? Did anything break?
No and no. Well, technically, my phone broke, or rather the SIM card inside it. I've had it replaced, and it works now.
While I understand this questions, it also sort of riles me. I get that my personal belongings and their potential breakage makes the whole thing more real to people observing from far away. But at the same time, it feels very careless. Even if my entire house had fallen down and all my things had been destroyed, it wouldn't have mattered as long as no one were hurt. No one I know were hurt, thankfully. I saw absolutely no destruction in Tokyo (though I know some happened - like a caved in roof and some burning buildings).
In the areas where the tsunami hit, however, there is nothing left. All buildings have been crushed. Thousands of people have been killed, are injured, or they are still missing (which by now probably means they are dead too). This is what should concern us, not my broken SIM card.
3) Were you scared?
Yes.
4) Will you be going back?
I have no idea. Here is what I know of my future: today I am baking a cake. Tomorrow I am going to the library. On Sunday I am visiting a friend. After that - blank.
If the situation resolves in Japan, I might be able to go back before my position ends. At the moment the embassy have been temporarily relocated, so my old office isn't there anymore. Many of my colleagues have left, some of my non-work friends too. Tokyo feels different to me now than it did before the earthquake.
At the same time, I really, really miss it. I miss everything the way it was, of course. And I regret all the things I didn't get to do. If possible, I'd like to make up for that.
Before I make that decision, however - assuming I get to make it - I need to consider my options here. Right now I don't have any plans. It feels incredibly weird. But I will soon start applying for jobs (I would have done this anyway, since I'd at any rate would have to plan for a post-Japan life, only now I don't know if post-Japan has already started or if it still means July). If I end up having to chose between going back and taking a job here at home, I might not be able to afford the former.
Thus, I just don't know.
5) Are you experiencing nightmares?
Not as far as I can tell. Though the other night there was a weird one with my trying frantically to get a decent shot of the "supermoon" while some guys in uniforms were chasing me to make me eat cake... Not sure if this is related...
Seriously, though, I'm not really traumatized. At least not here, at home, where I am safe. But I do get slightly jumpy whenever I feel shakiness akin to that of an earthquake...
6) Will you write about this?
Well, I have, haven't I? In length, right here, on this very blog. And apparently I still am. But will I write a novel/short story/poem/song/drabble/whatnot about the earthquake? Never say never. It's still too fresh. Also, I don't have a story about this. I have a million impressions, but no story. At the moment it feels more likely that I will take those impressions into another story rather than writing it as it was, but I can't say for sure. I might.
7) Can I interview you about the earthquake for my newspaper/radio show/blog?
It might be a stretch to say this is a frequently asked question, but it's been asked. I feel incredibly uncomfortable about this. First of all, I hate the focus on me personally. Not just because I don't want to be a local (or otherwise) celebrity, but also because I don't want to be one over this. People died. People are suffering. People lost their lives. I lost my SIM card. I should not be the center of attention here!
Secondly, this focus on the "wrong" thing reminds me strongly of the coverage of the disaster in (certain parts of) the media. I left Japan feeling that the reports were fairly balanced, and that the focus there was on the "right" thing - the people suffering as a result of the tsunami. I came home to find a news-coverage in love with radiation and meltdowns and other terms carelessly employed to spread fear and sell papers.
Finally, I still am quite emotional about what happened. I don't feel ready to share these emotions with the world, especially not random strangers. If and when I will, I'd like it to be on my own terms, and not the media's.
I'm sure there are more questions, and my list of answers is not exhaustive. I will of course still answer questions when asked. I do want my friends and family to feel they can ask me anything about this. But I also hope that by trying to close the case here, I might be able to close it a little in regular conversation as well.
What all my "parts" have in common, though, is that they feel it is time to provide a sort of "FAQ" - frequently asked questions about the earthquake. That way, I can just refer people to this post when they ask too much...
1) How does an earthquake feel?
This question mostly comes from people here at home, where we are blessed with close to zero earthquakes (and the ones we do get, every 50 years or so, are generally quite small).
The truth is I have a hard time explaining this. First of all, it is difficult to explain a physical feeling. I try to liken it to being on a boat on a very volatile sea, which falls well in tune with my personal experience during the major quake, where I was battling sea sickness while listening to the waves of the pool just outside the window. But it still feels different. I'm not sure I'd be able to explain the actual, physical feeling, mixed with the sounds of the building croaking, the silence of everything else, and the fear in your stomach that you don't know if this is the big one, or if more will follow.
Secondly, I think my body is starting to rebel. Whenever I try to remember exactly how it feels, I cannot. And when I try to push it, I get a physical reaction much alike the aforementioned sea sickness. Which is another very good reason why I should try to avoid talking more about it.
2) Did your house fall down? Did anything break?
No and no. Well, technically, my phone broke, or rather the SIM card inside it. I've had it replaced, and it works now.
While I understand this questions, it also sort of riles me. I get that my personal belongings and their potential breakage makes the whole thing more real to people observing from far away. But at the same time, it feels very careless. Even if my entire house had fallen down and all my things had been destroyed, it wouldn't have mattered as long as no one were hurt. No one I know were hurt, thankfully. I saw absolutely no destruction in Tokyo (though I know some happened - like a caved in roof and some burning buildings).
In the areas where the tsunami hit, however, there is nothing left. All buildings have been crushed. Thousands of people have been killed, are injured, or they are still missing (which by now probably means they are dead too). This is what should concern us, not my broken SIM card.
3) Were you scared?
Yes.
4) Will you be going back?
I have no idea. Here is what I know of my future: today I am baking a cake. Tomorrow I am going to the library. On Sunday I am visiting a friend. After that - blank.
If the situation resolves in Japan, I might be able to go back before my position ends. At the moment the embassy have been temporarily relocated, so my old office isn't there anymore. Many of my colleagues have left, some of my non-work friends too. Tokyo feels different to me now than it did before the earthquake.
At the same time, I really, really miss it. I miss everything the way it was, of course. And I regret all the things I didn't get to do. If possible, I'd like to make up for that.
Before I make that decision, however - assuming I get to make it - I need to consider my options here. Right now I don't have any plans. It feels incredibly weird. But I will soon start applying for jobs (I would have done this anyway, since I'd at any rate would have to plan for a post-Japan life, only now I don't know if post-Japan has already started or if it still means July). If I end up having to chose between going back and taking a job here at home, I might not be able to afford the former.
Thus, I just don't know.
5) Are you experiencing nightmares?
Not as far as I can tell. Though the other night there was a weird one with my trying frantically to get a decent shot of the "supermoon" while some guys in uniforms were chasing me to make me eat cake... Not sure if this is related...
Seriously, though, I'm not really traumatized. At least not here, at home, where I am safe. But I do get slightly jumpy whenever I feel shakiness akin to that of an earthquake...
6) Will you write about this?
Well, I have, haven't I? In length, right here, on this very blog. And apparently I still am. But will I write a novel/short story/poem/song/drabble/whatnot about the earthquake? Never say never. It's still too fresh. Also, I don't have a story about this. I have a million impressions, but no story. At the moment it feels more likely that I will take those impressions into another story rather than writing it as it was, but I can't say for sure. I might.
7) Can I interview you about the earthquake for my newspaper/radio show/blog?
It might be a stretch to say this is a frequently asked question, but it's been asked. I feel incredibly uncomfortable about this. First of all, I hate the focus on me personally. Not just because I don't want to be a local (or otherwise) celebrity, but also because I don't want to be one over this. People died. People are suffering. People lost their lives. I lost my SIM card. I should not be the center of attention here!
Secondly, this focus on the "wrong" thing reminds me strongly of the coverage of the disaster in (certain parts of) the media. I left Japan feeling that the reports were fairly balanced, and that the focus there was on the "right" thing - the people suffering as a result of the tsunami. I came home to find a news-coverage in love with radiation and meltdowns and other terms carelessly employed to spread fear and sell papers.
Finally, I still am quite emotional about what happened. I don't feel ready to share these emotions with the world, especially not random strangers. If and when I will, I'd like it to be on my own terms, and not the media's.
I'm sure there are more questions, and my list of answers is not exhaustive. I will of course still answer questions when asked. I do want my friends and family to feel they can ask me anything about this. But I also hope that by trying to close the case here, I might be able to close it a little in regular conversation as well.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
On survivor's guilt
I'm home.
It feels positively surreal. If I felt uprooted when I arrived in Japan, it was nothing compared to my departure. Within 40 hours of having decided to leave, I arrived at the airport in Norway. I feel as one of those toys in the arcade claw game machines where a metal hand pulls them up and dumps them into a slot from which they emerge on the other side of the glass as if in another world. This new world I've come into should be familiar - it is after all where I was born and grew up - but it is as though I haven't actually arrived properly, and my mind definitely hasn't shifted back to this reality.
It's funny how in all of this the people I communicate with seem to be divided into two very distinct camps: those who assume I will return to Japan as soon as I get the chance, and those who assume I most certainly will never want to do so.
The truth is, I am torn. That is, "never" isn't really among the options I consider. I already loved Japan as it was, and the last week have only strengthened my feelings. I feel as though I packed in such a hurry that I forgot to take my heart back home.
But even if I know I one day will go back, I don't know when. Right now, there are practical issues. I have to wait for the situation to be clarified. I have to rest. I have to stay home long enough to warrant having gone at all. I have to figure out if and when my employer wants me to return, and what use I can be there then.
On top of this, however, are my own feelings. The notion that I somehow "deserted" is hard to fight. The sadness for what has happened is overwhelming - perhaps even more so when I no longer have my own security in mind. The fear for what might still happen - now only provided to me through the media (I am more than a little disgusted with some of the angles they are using) - is all-consuming. Only a very little seed of happiness to be safe, at home, with family, closer to friends, is pushing through all the gloom.
I notice that today - for the first time since Friday - I have laughed a little at other things than earthquake-related gallow humour. I caught myself "liking" a few status updates on Facebook that had absolutely nothing to do with Japan. I enjoyed walking outside today, even if I didn't enjoy the snow and cold (for someone who has had spring for weeks, Norwegian "spring" was difficult to readjust to). And I'm sure I'll gradually start to appreciate being home again.
My friend Tami has been talking about survivor's guilt, and I guess it is similar to what I am experiencing. While I don't feel "guilty" for surviving, I guess I do feel guilt - or, more accurately, shame - for having this reaction at all, when others are so much worse off. My experiences were not traumatic enough to warrant leaving, my safety was not sufficiently compromised, my hands could still have been needed to help. It isn't survivor's guilt, but rather, "abandoner's shame". Everyone - including myself - explains all the very good arguments why I have no reason to feel this way. Unfortunately, my feelings aren't inclined to listen to reason.
One of my friends suggested I let this rest for a while and allow Japan to recover from the immediate shock and start to rebuild. Then they might need me, and then I can consider returning, to look for my heart among the debris, as she put it.
Thus I have decided not to decide whether to return, at least not for a while. It depends. It depends on so many things - most of them out of my control. My primary focus is to rest, to recover, to not drown in all my mixed feelings.
It feels positively surreal. If I felt uprooted when I arrived in Japan, it was nothing compared to my departure. Within 40 hours of having decided to leave, I arrived at the airport in Norway. I feel as one of those toys in the arcade claw game machines where a metal hand pulls them up and dumps them into a slot from which they emerge on the other side of the glass as if in another world. This new world I've come into should be familiar - it is after all where I was born and grew up - but it is as though I haven't actually arrived properly, and my mind definitely hasn't shifted back to this reality.
It's funny how in all of this the people I communicate with seem to be divided into two very distinct camps: those who assume I will return to Japan as soon as I get the chance, and those who assume I most certainly will never want to do so.
The truth is, I am torn. That is, "never" isn't really among the options I consider. I already loved Japan as it was, and the last week have only strengthened my feelings. I feel as though I packed in such a hurry that I forgot to take my heart back home.
But even if I know I one day will go back, I don't know when. Right now, there are practical issues. I have to wait for the situation to be clarified. I have to rest. I have to stay home long enough to warrant having gone at all. I have to figure out if and when my employer wants me to return, and what use I can be there then.
On top of this, however, are my own feelings. The notion that I somehow "deserted" is hard to fight. The sadness for what has happened is overwhelming - perhaps even more so when I no longer have my own security in mind. The fear for what might still happen - now only provided to me through the media (I am more than a little disgusted with some of the angles they are using) - is all-consuming. Only a very little seed of happiness to be safe, at home, with family, closer to friends, is pushing through all the gloom.
I notice that today - for the first time since Friday - I have laughed a little at other things than earthquake-related gallow humour. I caught myself "liking" a few status updates on Facebook that had absolutely nothing to do with Japan. I enjoyed walking outside today, even if I didn't enjoy the snow and cold (for someone who has had spring for weeks, Norwegian "spring" was difficult to readjust to). And I'm sure I'll gradually start to appreciate being home again.
My friend Tami has been talking about survivor's guilt, and I guess it is similar to what I am experiencing. While I don't feel "guilty" for surviving, I guess I do feel guilt - or, more accurately, shame - for having this reaction at all, when others are so much worse off. My experiences were not traumatic enough to warrant leaving, my safety was not sufficiently compromised, my hands could still have been needed to help. It isn't survivor's guilt, but rather, "abandoner's shame". Everyone - including myself - explains all the very good arguments why I have no reason to feel this way. Unfortunately, my feelings aren't inclined to listen to reason.
One of my friends suggested I let this rest for a while and allow Japan to recover from the immediate shock and start to rebuild. Then they might need me, and then I can consider returning, to look for my heart among the debris, as she put it.
Thus I have decided not to decide whether to return, at least not for a while. It depends. It depends on so many things - most of them out of my control. My primary focus is to rest, to recover, to not drown in all my mixed feelings.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
On leaving after all
Since I last reported there has been several developments. More nuclear stuff. More earthquakes. More panic. More everything. But most importantly for my situation, the option of leaving.
The offer was perhaps always implied, but certainly never highlighted. And because of this, perhaps, I didn't feel the need to leave either. But then all our house mates started leaving. Foreigners in general are scarse in an area of Tokyo usually packed with them. The shops are raided, leaving nothing but barren shelves everywhere. People are starting to look scared.
It gets to you after a while. The mood, the panic. The stress, the tiredness. And all of a sudden I find myself unable to function properly, and my presense in the city and at the embassy feels more like a liability than a resource.
Speaking of resources. They are scarse. I feel that you should be pretty darned sure as a foreigner right now that the resources you produce are larger than those you consume. I started out feeling that leaving sounded selfish, but by now I feel selfish for considering not leaving.
Still, it was very much an emotional decision. I had to figure out what I wanted - and needed - before consulting my family at home. I knew they would want me to come home. Consulting others at the embassy also felt difficult, because they are in the same situation, and their personal experience is similar but not equal to mine. Some are coping better than others.
In the end I decided that it was better for me, my family, Japan, and possibly the embassy if I left. Thus I am now struggling to stay awake so that I won't miss my flight in the morning. I do feel like the rat deserting a sinking ship, but it makes me feel better to think that the ship might be able to stay afloat longer if it doesn't have to carry my weight.
I have no idea if I am leaving for good or temporarily. Right now I allow myself to look forward to sleeping in my own bed again, and once I am properly rested I will make another difficult decision together with my employer: to return or not return.
Japan - forever in my heart.
The offer was perhaps always implied, but certainly never highlighted. And because of this, perhaps, I didn't feel the need to leave either. But then all our house mates started leaving. Foreigners in general are scarse in an area of Tokyo usually packed with them. The shops are raided, leaving nothing but barren shelves everywhere. People are starting to look scared.
It gets to you after a while. The mood, the panic. The stress, the tiredness. And all of a sudden I find myself unable to function properly, and my presense in the city and at the embassy feels more like a liability than a resource.
Speaking of resources. They are scarse. I feel that you should be pretty darned sure as a foreigner right now that the resources you produce are larger than those you consume. I started out feeling that leaving sounded selfish, but by now I feel selfish for considering not leaving.
Still, it was very much an emotional decision. I had to figure out what I wanted - and needed - before consulting my family at home. I knew they would want me to come home. Consulting others at the embassy also felt difficult, because they are in the same situation, and their personal experience is similar but not equal to mine. Some are coping better than others.
In the end I decided that it was better for me, my family, Japan, and possibly the embassy if I left. Thus I am now struggling to stay awake so that I won't miss my flight in the morning. I do feel like the rat deserting a sinking ship, but it makes me feel better to think that the ship might be able to stay afloat longer if it doesn't have to carry my weight.
I have no idea if I am leaving for good or temporarily. Right now I allow myself to look forward to sleeping in my own bed again, and once I am properly rested I will make another difficult decision together with my employer: to return or not return.
Japan - forever in my heart.
Monday, March 14, 2011
On nuclear scares
Let me say this once and for all: Fukushima will not be a Chernobyl 2.
And I'm not just saying this to make you (or me) feel better. I say it based on information provided to me by Japanese authorities, and analyses of this info from specialists from several diplomatic missions in Tokyo. I learned more abour nuclear physics (chemistry?) yesterday than I ever wanted to. Let me try to put it in layman's terms, as it has been explained to me.
First of all, the Fukushima reactors do not contain burnable material. The problem in Chernobyl was that the reactor overheated, started a fire which burned for days, and the smoke from the fire spread radioactive material over vast areas. In Fukushima, no such fire is possible.
Secondly, the explosions that have occurred were scary, but not as dramatical as certain news channels (and Twitter) claimed. It was not - I repeat not - a nuclear explosion, and it did not take place in the actual reactor. During a controlled venting of the containment vessel for the reactor in Unit 1 of the Fukushima power plant, hydrogen gas leaked. This gas is explosive when in contact with oxygen. Thus when it leaked further into the operational floor of the unit, it came in contact with the air there, and exploded. This is what blew the roof off the building. Four people were injured, and some (but very little) radioactive material was released, in amounts so small that it amounts to no more than what you are exposed to during a regular x-ray. Also, the containment vessel of the reactor is intact and suffered no major damage, and there is no indication that the actual nuclear core is damaged. It does appear that the second explosion (Unit 3) was similar (and this time expected, although obviously still not wanted) to the first one, and we have received no indication that the situation is more severe as a result of the second explosion.
Both the reactors have also been cooled down, by use of seawater. This means two things: first of all, the reactor is forever ruined, and cannot be put to further use. This is doubtlessly a tough decision to make, not only because of the value of the reactor itself, but also because the temporary termination of the nuclear power plants have created a power shortage here, and that in turn affects the reactors that depend on pumps to cool it down.
Secondly, it poses challenges because there now will be contaminated sea water that cannot be returned to the sea. Japanese authorites have confirmed they will not do that.
These are severe problems, and Japanese authorities are aware of them - but they are still not in the Chernobyl range. We have all seen disaster movies. It is easy to imagine a "worst case scenario" much more bleak than what actually is likely, or even possible. I have asked our expert all sorts of questions, ranging from what the actual (as opposed to media) worst case scenario is; how likely this is; (selfishly) whether this would affect Tokyo; and so on.
His answers have been reassuring. He does not believe an actual meltdown will happen, based on the current information we have available. It seems that the reactors have been cooled down, and they are monitoring further activity. The sea water that has been used to cool down the reactors have been infused with borom, which kills nuclear reactions. Both of these things are good news, since it decreases the likelyhood of a meltown.
Even if a meltdown were to happen, though, the effect would be much smaller than Chernobyl. At the moment the emissions we should worry the most about are probably the contaminated sea water and how it is being handled.
Because of the nuclear power plant shut-downs Japan is facing an energy crisis. We are urged to save power, and the energy company has organized "brownouts" - rotating blackouts to ration power. This is inconvenient, but again I am fortunate to be at the embassy where we have a generator so that we can keep contact with the world. For the time being, I have no plans of leaving Tokyo.
As you may have noticed, I've returned to my regular "on"-titles today. Not because I don't believe we are still very much in a state of emergency - we are - but we still have to try to move towards some sort of normalcy, or we wouldn't be able to cope. The last few days I've had very little sleep, I've been eating irregularly, and I've been under more stress than I've experienced in my lifetime. The combination is not the best; like everyone else here I am exhausted. I try to look at the Japanese. They are worried too - obviously - but they are handing this very well. They go about with their usual business if possible, and listen to authorities for advice. Training since primary school and an orderly nature helps. The only people I've seen freaking out over any of this, have been foreigners. I believe the rest of the world has much to learn from Japan when it comes to coping with crisis.
And yet. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. No, I don't believe we face nuclear meltdown. But yes, it is a grim situation. Despite my rational explanation above, I cannot pretend that I am not affected. It feels oddly like living in the aforementioned disaster movie. I feel that we by now have come to the stage where either a superhero or a rescue team of astronauts or something should arrive and save the day. I'm about ready for the end credits.
And I'm not just saying this to make you (or me) feel better. I say it based on information provided to me by Japanese authorities, and analyses of this info from specialists from several diplomatic missions in Tokyo. I learned more abour nuclear physics (chemistry?) yesterday than I ever wanted to. Let me try to put it in layman's terms, as it has been explained to me.
First of all, the Fukushima reactors do not contain burnable material. The problem in Chernobyl was that the reactor overheated, started a fire which burned for days, and the smoke from the fire spread radioactive material over vast areas. In Fukushima, no such fire is possible.
Secondly, the explosions that have occurred were scary, but not as dramatical as certain news channels (and Twitter) claimed. It was not - I repeat not - a nuclear explosion, and it did not take place in the actual reactor. During a controlled venting of the containment vessel for the reactor in Unit 1 of the Fukushima power plant, hydrogen gas leaked. This gas is explosive when in contact with oxygen. Thus when it leaked further into the operational floor of the unit, it came in contact with the air there, and exploded. This is what blew the roof off the building. Four people were injured, and some (but very little) radioactive material was released, in amounts so small that it amounts to no more than what you are exposed to during a regular x-ray. Also, the containment vessel of the reactor is intact and suffered no major damage, and there is no indication that the actual nuclear core is damaged. It does appear that the second explosion (Unit 3) was similar (and this time expected, although obviously still not wanted) to the first one, and we have received no indication that the situation is more severe as a result of the second explosion.
Both the reactors have also been cooled down, by use of seawater. This means two things: first of all, the reactor is forever ruined, and cannot be put to further use. This is doubtlessly a tough decision to make, not only because of the value of the reactor itself, but also because the temporary termination of the nuclear power plants have created a power shortage here, and that in turn affects the reactors that depend on pumps to cool it down.
Secondly, it poses challenges because there now will be contaminated sea water that cannot be returned to the sea. Japanese authorites have confirmed they will not do that.
These are severe problems, and Japanese authorities are aware of them - but they are still not in the Chernobyl range. We have all seen disaster movies. It is easy to imagine a "worst case scenario" much more bleak than what actually is likely, or even possible. I have asked our expert all sorts of questions, ranging from what the actual (as opposed to media) worst case scenario is; how likely this is; (selfishly) whether this would affect Tokyo; and so on.
His answers have been reassuring. He does not believe an actual meltdown will happen, based on the current information we have available. It seems that the reactors have been cooled down, and they are monitoring further activity. The sea water that has been used to cool down the reactors have been infused with borom, which kills nuclear reactions. Both of these things are good news, since it decreases the likelyhood of a meltown.
Even if a meltdown were to happen, though, the effect would be much smaller than Chernobyl. At the moment the emissions we should worry the most about are probably the contaminated sea water and how it is being handled.
Because of the nuclear power plant shut-downs Japan is facing an energy crisis. We are urged to save power, and the energy company has organized "brownouts" - rotating blackouts to ration power. This is inconvenient, but again I am fortunate to be at the embassy where we have a generator so that we can keep contact with the world. For the time being, I have no plans of leaving Tokyo.
As you may have noticed, I've returned to my regular "on"-titles today. Not because I don't believe we are still very much in a state of emergency - we are - but we still have to try to move towards some sort of normalcy, or we wouldn't be able to cope. The last few days I've had very little sleep, I've been eating irregularly, and I've been under more stress than I've experienced in my lifetime. The combination is not the best; like everyone else here I am exhausted. I try to look at the Japanese. They are worried too - obviously - but they are handing this very well. They go about with their usual business if possible, and listen to authorities for advice. Training since primary school and an orderly nature helps. The only people I've seen freaking out over any of this, have been foreigners. I believe the rest of the world has much to learn from Japan when it comes to coping with crisis.
And yet. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. No, I don't believe we face nuclear meltdown. But yes, it is a grim situation. Despite my rational explanation above, I cannot pretend that I am not affected. It feels oddly like living in the aforementioned disaster movie. I feel that we by now have come to the stage where either a superhero or a rescue team of astronauts or something should arrive and save the day. I'm about ready for the end credits.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
...and then after
"The quake" is a misleading term. Yesterday I said that three earthquakes hit. That was an underestimate. We've had virtually continious afterquakes ever since the 8.9 hit at 2:46 pm local time. By now we hardly care to mention it. Every now and then someone will say "is it shaking?", two others will nod solemnly, and three more will look up nonplussed, as they have gotten used to the wave-like movements. The "crisis room" at the embassy is a mess of laptops, phones, food, empty coffee cups and note pads. We have rotating lists of people sitting "on duty" a couple of hours, then going out for some air, some sleep. If we can sleep. Whether your particular worry is the terrifying images of the tsunami, the security of your family, the nuclear power plants still in danger or the queasyness from the afterquakes, it is difficult relaxing. In fact, anything but work and watching the news (which now is work) is difficult. I've been out a couple of times, checking up on my house and stocking up on food, but I feel far more comfortable at the embassy than anywhere else.
We're coping. In Tokyo there is a strong sense of "business as usual" today - except among the foreigners. This morning I observed fellow expats at the store, white-faced, stocking up on supplies. The Japanese seem calmer. Last night was more "extraordinary" as such, since public transportation was shut down all night. In order to get home from work, people started walking - many of them for hours. The amount of people out in the streets in Tokyo on a Friday night - and for once none of them drunk - was surreal. Many were wearing their earthquake helmets, oddly mismatched with their dark suits and briefcases.
It is hard to understand the magnitude of what has happened. Death counts are slowly starting to rise, but it is likely it will increase further. The risk of a "Chernobyl" as a result of the possibly compromised nuclear reactors is obviously making both us and the rest of the world frightened.
Several of my friends have asked if I need provisions sent to me. The answer is no. As mentioned, Tokyo operates as usual for all intents and purposes (the only thing missing from the store this morning was Greek yoghurt, and the store sincerely appologized for this. I somehow doubt it will be critical...). If I am to ask, though, my request would be your continued support and thoughts (and for those so inclined, prayers). Finally - if you feel like contributing donation-wise, I'd suggest to direct your attention to the areas affected by the tsunami rather than Tokyo. We are fine, they are not.
I'm very grateful for your support, and again - I will try to update here as soon as I can.
We're coping. In Tokyo there is a strong sense of "business as usual" today - except among the foreigners. This morning I observed fellow expats at the store, white-faced, stocking up on supplies. The Japanese seem calmer. Last night was more "extraordinary" as such, since public transportation was shut down all night. In order to get home from work, people started walking - many of them for hours. The amount of people out in the streets in Tokyo on a Friday night - and for once none of them drunk - was surreal. Many were wearing their earthquake helmets, oddly mismatched with their dark suits and briefcases.
It is hard to understand the magnitude of what has happened. Death counts are slowly starting to rise, but it is likely it will increase further. The risk of a "Chernobyl" as a result of the possibly compromised nuclear reactors is obviously making both us and the rest of the world frightened.
Several of my friends have asked if I need provisions sent to me. The answer is no. As mentioned, Tokyo operates as usual for all intents and purposes (the only thing missing from the store this morning was Greek yoghurt, and the store sincerely appologized for this. I somehow doubt it will be critical...). If I am to ask, though, my request would be your continued support and thoughts (and for those so inclined, prayers). Finally - if you feel like contributing donation-wise, I'd suggest to direct your attention to the areas affected by the tsunami rather than Tokyo. We are fine, they are not.
I'm very grateful for your support, and again - I will try to update here as soon as I can.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Before the Quake
It was a beautiful, sunny day. We've had a certain feeling of spring in Tokyo lately, that indicated that I soon might start bragging about outdoors lunches and freckles to my Norwegian friends. Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to enjoy much of it, as most my days lately have been spent at the office, frantically working towards the aforementioned visit. So that was also where I was when we felt the shaking. We've had several quakes the last few weeks, but we soon realized this was bigger. Before I knew it, I was sitting under a table with a colleague - a mother - desperately trying to get in touch with her family.
Three major earthquakes, all over 7 on the Richter magnitude scale, and one reported at 8.9 (last I heard) started in the sea noth of Tokyo today. This caused a tsunami to hit the eastern shore of Honshu. Live TV footage of cars, houses - and probably people - being flushed away by the massive wave look like something from a disaster movie. One can only speculate how many are injured or killed. At the embassy we are working to locate all our nationals and to assess damage. The part closest to my heart at the moment is the local staff who are not able to go home (all public transportation is out, and walking in Tokyo is not an option, especially when millions of others are doing the same), and most of them also not able to contact their families since phones are down. We've had a few happy reunions here when kids have been picked up and brought here where we feel the most safe - which did what the terrible TV images had not yet: it brought tears to my eyes.
I am more fortunate than my Japanese colleagues, though. Our IP phones are working, and since Norway's phones are not affected, the other end is also working. With the calls, Facebook, email, and now this post, I have been able to notify my friends and family that I am okay. As one (or actually several) of my dear friends put it: "
Three major earthquakes, all over 7 on the Richter magnitude scale, and one reported at 8.9 (last I heard) started in the sea noth of Tokyo today. This caused a tsunami to hit the eastern shore of Honshu. Live TV footage of cars, houses - and probably people - being flushed away by the massive wave look like something from a disaster movie. One can only speculate how many are injured or killed. At the embassy we are working to locate all our nationals and to assess damage. The part closest to my heart at the moment is the local staff who are not able to go home (all public transportation is out, and walking in Tokyo is not an option, especially when millions of others are doing the same), and most of them also not able to contact their families since phones are down. We've had a few happy reunions here when kids have been picked up and brought here where we feel the most safe - which did what the terrible TV images had not yet: it brought tears to my eyes.
I am more fortunate than my Japanese colleagues, though. Our IP phones are working, and since Norway's phones are not affected, the other end is also working. With the calls, Facebook, email, and now this post, I have been able to notify my friends and family that I am okay. As one (or actually several) of my dear friends put it: "
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