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I grew up in New England. I'm used to huddling inside during smothering blizzards and beautiful, dangerous ice storms that bring down powerlines for days, and weathering the occasional mild hurricane.
What I'm not used to is the ground under my feet deciding it doesn't want to be there anymore. One of the hardest things for me to get used to about life in Japan is the earthquakes. I haven't even been through any major ones, just a few tremors. This morning was one of the longest, and it was maybe 30 seconds (probably less), and it registered as a negligible 1 on the Japanese scale--didn't so much as knock down the manga precariously stacked on the top of the bookshelf next to my futon. (...I'm aware I live in quake country. I never claimed to be intelligent about it.)
Still, there's something about jerking out of half-sleep at ten of 7 AM with the floor rumbling under you like a monster truck rally is parading by--except our concrete apartment building doesn't quiver with any traffic--and when it's over the fusuma sliding doors are rattling in their frames for a minute afterward, just so you're assured that you didn't imagine it. It's the helplessness that gets me--a blizzard you can hide inside and stock up wood for the stove; a flood you can find higher ground; even a tornado you can flee to the basement. An earthquake is everywhere, all you see, anywhere you go; there's nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait. Lie on your futon staring up at the ceiling and hope it stops before it gets worse. And like all the most frightening disasters, if it's going to wreak havoc, it'll be over almost before you realize it's happening, too sudden and swift to do a damn thing about.
Yeah, I'm just not going to get used to that.
What I'm not used to is the ground under my feet deciding it doesn't want to be there anymore. One of the hardest things for me to get used to about life in Japan is the earthquakes. I haven't even been through any major ones, just a few tremors. This morning was one of the longest, and it was maybe 30 seconds (probably less), and it registered as a negligible 1 on the Japanese scale--didn't so much as knock down the manga precariously stacked on the top of the bookshelf next to my futon. (...I'm aware I live in quake country. I never claimed to be intelligent about it.)
Still, there's something about jerking out of half-sleep at ten of 7 AM with the floor rumbling under you like a monster truck rally is parading by--except our concrete apartment building doesn't quiver with any traffic--and when it's over the fusuma sliding doors are rattling in their frames for a minute afterward, just so you're assured that you didn't imagine it. It's the helplessness that gets me--a blizzard you can hide inside and stock up wood for the stove; a flood you can find higher ground; even a tornado you can flee to the basement. An earthquake is everywhere, all you see, anywhere you go; there's nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait. Lie on your futon staring up at the ceiling and hope it stops before it gets worse. And like all the most frightening disasters, if it's going to wreak havoc, it'll be over almost before you realize it's happening, too sudden and swift to do a damn thing about.
Yeah, I'm just not going to get used to that.
