Oh, What a Difference A Day Can Make

After the shock of it all has settled a bit, I am able to sit and recap the last week. My experience was minor compared to others and my heart goes out to those who suffered. I could never imagine what life was like for them through this disaster.

Friday, the fourth, I’m at the school I teach and my private lesson is canceled. Ryo, is a young guy who works hard to be a successful businessman. He’s the kind of guy that works hard and plays harder. I looked forward to our lessons, not because he is genuinely likeable, but because he is always focused and has shown drastic improvements over the course of the 6 months I had been teaching him.

He dropped by the school to give the ladies a box of Japanese sweets, showing his appreciation. He also shared with me that he scored a 975 out of 990 on the TOEIC test! This test is one of the most important tests for Japanese businessmen. It is an English proficiency test that tells an employer the prospective hire is qualified to do business abroad. If the prospective doesn’t score well on the test, he/she will not be hired, no matter how skilled they are.

I couldn’t help but feel some sense of gratification as his teacher because his score climbed from 700 to 975 during the time I worked with him. He deserves full credit for his accomplishments, and I was proud of his hard work and dedication. That was the moment I understood the reasons why people are teachers. Nothing feels better than seeing the glow of a student’s success.

After Ryo left, I was finishing paperwork when the first earthquake hit. I was used to earthquakes at that point because I had experienced small rumbles frequently the last few months. This one, however, continued more than a few seconds and it became more and more intense. Then, the lights went out. Panic quickly filled my veins. Everyone ran into the hallway and grabbed one another.

For some reason when something remotely traumatic happens I begin to feel displaced, like it’s not reality. I knew I was awake, but I needed to be sure of that. So the only thing I could say was, “Okay, well shit…this sucks….wait…is this an earthquake?” Even though the floor was clearing pounding our feet and debris was drifting like snowflakes, mid air.

We waited out the tremors, lasting a good 45 minutes. It seemed safer for us to be indoors because our building was earthquake proof, at least that was what I was told, but I couldn’t help wondering about the parking garage above us. Is that earthquake proof too? Shortly thereafter, a second earthquake hit. This time, lasting only a few minutes. 

In between the first and second earthquake I grabbed my running shoes, slipped them on and prepped to run at a moment’s notice. Earlier that day, I had bought eggs at the grocery store for dinner that night. As the floor rumbled and people shuffled about, I was overly focused on not breaking my eggs. It was such a strange thing to focus on, but I believe it was my way of nurturing something other than myself. It reminded me of Jr. High when you had to prove you were capable of caring for a small baby by carrying around a raw egg. I guess I would have passed the test in taking care of a dozen little infants.

The walk home was a bit more traumatic than the actual earthquake. I ran into one of my students who said his family lived near where the tsunami hit. He was pale and unfocused and there was nothing I could do. It’s hardest seeing others in pain when you are clearly unable to help.

I lived two stations from work so the walk took me less than an hour. I couldn’t help stopping to pick up chocolate almonds to munch on during the walk home as my form of comfort. I realized how much comfort food actually helps. It was the first time I noticed my body darting through various adaptations in attempt at soothing emotional trauma.

I found out later that day that we had no classes for the next few days. It was nice to have an extra day to spend with my friends. It was the opportunity for us all to get together, debrief our quake experiences and find humor in our moments of panic. We picnicked at the park and drank wine under the sun, reminding ourselves how thankful we are to still have one another. Life in Japan seemed to move on naturally and people were unusually calm despite the tsunami chaos just a few cities away.

Later that afternoon while dining with friends, my Seattle roommate, Heidi, now living in India, texted my Japanese phone. Her message was to “SKYPE IMMEDIATELY!” It was clear something was happening. I hadn’t been paying much attention to the news because the previous day felt traumatizing enough, so I was distant from the follow-up headlines. Because I was an hour from home, I wasn’t able to skype so she sent articles to my phone showing me the nuclear power plant, just north of me, was on the brink of explosion.

I heard a little about this, but Japanese news is much different than Western news. In Japan, the reports stood at, “The nuclear power plant is having trouble. You will all be okay.” Western news stated, “This is the biggest disaster in years! There is no way to predict the impact this will have for the next decade!” I was blown away by the opposition of evidence in emotional vs. non-emotional reporting. I knew the Japanese were pros at being sterile with emotions, and I also knew Western culture dramatizes everything for TV ratings. So, the question I kept asking myself was, “what was true?” and “How can I read between the lines of both sides?”

As soon as I got home, I skyped my friend and asked her to help me sort my options. We came up with two options: 

A) I can stay in Japan. Chances of me being okay are 50/50 and the results of possible radiation poison may show up immediately or many years later. If all this was dramatized for the sake of ratings, I would continue life the way I had been the past 7 months. If worst-case scenario happens and there ends up being a nuclear meltdown, it is likely I will become very ill and increase my possibility of thyroid or other forms of cancer from radioactive debris. 

B) I could return to Seattle and  remain healthy and safe from the worst-case scenario. Worst-case scenario in returning to Seattle is starting over, a new job, and a new life. Heidi ensured me my apartment was still available and I could save on rent until I settle into a new job.

I spent the next two hours calling my American and Japanese friends who were able to give an objective perspective on it all. I even called my Japanese boss around 2 am and said, “Look. Here’s what I’m considering. I need help to figure out what are my rational and irrational fears. If I decide to leave, and if I’m making this decision based on my emotional state, what happens?” She did her best to keep me calm and even suggested activities for me to do as therapy for my worries. I could hear in her voice she desperately didn’t want me to leave without careful consideration. In the end, I hung up feeling more confused as to what to do.

I then decided to talk to my Japanese friend, Mikako, who has always given encouraging and sound advice.  After a lengthy discussion of the pros and cons, I asked her what she would do if she were me. She said something that helped me finally decide, “Essentially you are a tourist here. You make money, but there is nothing binding you here. If you were on vacation in a different country and a disaster happened, would you stay, out of obligation to no one? You would leave. Okay, you lose your job and your visa. So what? This is your life at risk. If I were you, I would go home.”

Suddenly, panic took over my veins….again. “Shit! Fuck!!!” I yelled, but Mikako was used to my ‘street English’ having worked with her under large amounts of stress the past 7 months. “So you will leave?” She asks in the most nurturing voice. And I broke out in tears, knowing this may be the last time I see her.

The answer was clear.

Mikako was very supportive skyping with me all night, talking me through the preparations of leaving. She stayed with me for 4 hours listening to me rant and cry uncontrollably. We talked of how much life has shown me the past 7 months. She pieced apart the changes I went through since being in Japan and focused on the positives of the future. I couldn’t have felt more grateful for the mass amounts of support I received from her and my friends in Seattle. She showed me strength in a situation that would otherwise feel crippling.

So, in 4 hours, I packed my life in Japan and cleaned my apartment the best I could.  Patience was informed of my decision and she came over at 7 am to see me off. She helped me carry my bags to the station to catch a bus to Narita. Because the trains weren’t running to the airport, due to the rolling blackouts, the trip was going to be long and tiring and fortunately some Seattle friends of mine called ahead to reserve a flight for me before making it to the airport.

The first time I saw tension was at Yokohama station. Businessmen lined up for blocks, waiting for trains that were not arriving in its timely fashion. Although they looked like they were patiently cued for transportation, it was the first time I could clearly see stress on their faces. It took 7 months for me to learn the art of body language in Japan and I was finally able to read people I pass without second-guessing myself.

Patience and I began to panic and quickly ran to the bus stop with 3 overstuffed suitcases. We both cried as we said good-bye. She was my rock and my best friend in Japan and I wasn’t sure I’d see her again. I was beginning to realize each ticking hour was pulling away the most important people in my life. 

Loss in small doses is difficult to handle, but feeling stripped of your entire world without control is devastating.

At this point, I still wasn’t sure I was making the right one choice. I was abandoning my friends leaving them to fend for themselves and that, to me, felt unforgivable. I cared about these people so much and wanted to take them with me, but it was out of my control to force any decision on them. I loaded the packed bus and closed the curtain. The morning sunshine was too perky for how I was feeling. Not having slept over 24 hours was affecting my head and digestion, and suddenly I felt claustrophobic.

While on the bus, I emailed my boss a farewell letter. It was still too early to call and keeping her up at 2 am, just a few hours ago, had me assuming she was fast asleep. Within a few minutes, she was calling my phone, nonstop. Japan is strict on cell phone usage while on trains and busses, so I emailed her to say I would call her at the airport. I was frightened to face a decision I knew directly affected so many people.

When at the airport my boss called again. As soon as I answered, I burst into tears. Before she could say anything, I was apologizing, telling her how grateful I am for her help over the last few months and how I’m not sure my decision was the right one, but I had to do something, fast. The words flew out of my mouth uncontrollably.

I was surprised by her response. With empathy she said, “I would have done the same thing.” I stopped, mid-tears and shockingly replied, “Really?!”

We said our goodbyes and I told her repeatedly how much she and the students meant to me. Our goodbye was long and meaningful and I hung up feeling more comfort in my decision.

I felt one last large earthquake at the ticket counter and held onto the counter, telling myself I was doing the right thing. There was no turning back. I was on my way home.

The trip home was restless. Still, having had no sleep for an entire day, I couldn’t rest. I played movies, listened to music, read sky mall cover to cover and doing anything to try and distract me from worrying about my friends. Nothing helped. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I abandoned my friends and left them to fend on their own.  

I lived through the destruction of fires in Florida in ’98 and witnessed the collapse of the World Trade Centers from my school in New York, but all that seemed to feel completely distant in comparison to a week ago. Having to drop a life that became comfortable to me at the blink of an eye without knowing what will happen next really shook up my soul.

A week later, I’m here in Seattle still adjusting to the change. A few more of my foreign friends left Japan and those that stayed are still waiting till the okay to return to work. Many Japanese cities are short on food and water. My Japanese friends have kept me updated on their lives, while trying to be upbeat and positive. I admire them for this. They've been a true example of optimism. 

Now, I still struggle, not only with the time change, reverse culture shock, and the readjustment of a starting over, but the realization that life has broken me once again. Despite this, my hopes are still high. I yearn to quickly bounce back onto a more focused path. It’s more apparent than ever to me that I’ve recovered from a series of losses over the past few years. Somehow, I remain loyal to strength, despite sobbing breakdowns in the privacy of my room. My friendships and relationships have tightened and I hold onto those that show me the endurance in my journey through life. 

While embracing my circle of support, I’ve cherished solitude more than ever. Solitude used to be my enemy, but now we’ve created a peaceful friendship.

Happiness is pushing itself through and I can feel it. The test of time will reap the rewards of my efforts. So from here out, I step forward, knowing it only gets better from here.