It would have been pretty easy to bang something out about our friends' visit and our travels together earlier this month. I would've posted pictures of us singing karaoke, practicing Japanese calligraphy, making wagashi, petting deer, and all those Japanese fun times. If you're really interested in all that, chances are, you've already seen those photos on Facebook. So, what I ought to get around to in this blog entry is the earthquake, the tsunami, and the threat of nuclear meltdown.
We checked on the time, and it looks like we must've been stuffing ourselves with pizza at Shakey's in Osaka when the big quake occurred. We didn't feel it, and I don't remember anyone else around appearing to notice anything either. We left Shakey's filled to the brim with wacky Japanese pizza, and went about shopping for the rest of the day completely oblivious. By the time we hauled our shopping bags back to the hotel that evening, we were pooped, but in high spirits.
The first thing I did once I dropped all my bags and began munching on a Mister Donut, was check Facebook. Not expecting to see much in the way of notifications, my main aim was to post some cocky status designed to insight jealousy--or as we'd been saying, "make everybody eat their shit" over us all being together in Japan having a blast. I was wrong about the lack of notifications. I had more than I'd ever seen before, and likely more than I'll ever see at once again. I had friends requests from relatives I hadn't heard from since childhood. I had been tagged in a handful of statuses, I had a sum of messages higher than the amount I typically receive in a month, and nearly everything had been bumped off my wall by brand new posts. All of this correspondence had a common theme: they were all inquiries about my safety and whereabouts--some of which were not even addressed directly to me, but to anyone who may have known what had become of me. This was the first my companions and I had heard about the disaster(s).
I think what hit me the hardest was that my mom thought that I was quite possibly trapped under rubble, washed out to sea, smashed by debris, drowned--dead or dying somewhere on the other side of the earth. I can't imagine what that would feel like, especially for a mother who has already lost one child in the past. So, while still packing in doughnuts, and with the news now rolling in Japanese on the TV, I began the work of responding to each and every request, tag, message, and post. After me, it was Morgan's turn to check, and sure enough, her family was going through the same thing. Then, Brannon. His, the same. Down the hall, Alex and Kristina were at work on the same thing--using Facebook and Skype to notify the world that they were still alive and well.
We could have gone to Tokyo instead. We'd talked about it. Instead, we were really fortunate to be in Osaka, far away and safe from the tragedy in the northeast. Earthquake withstanding, we went on with our plans for the rest of our trip. For the most part, West Japan seemed unaffected. The only difference was the sudden and extensive presence of people collecting money for the relief efforts. Once we let everyone know that we were alive, things mostly went back to normal for us. Of course, people who somehow missed our massive initial update continued to pop up, and so we continued to assure everyone, one-by-one via smaller social network aftershocks, that we were all safe.
The quake wasn't exactly done with us yet. We soon found out that Kristina and Alex's flight home was canceled. Alex's mom quickly set them up with another flight, which was no easy task as there was quite a scramble of canceled flights and frantic travelers. Brannon's flight, by some rare stroke of luck, was unaffected, so we parted with him on our last day in Osaka and he returned home as planned. Kristina and Alex came back to Fukuyama with us. I was really grateful for the few extra days with them, as selfish as that sounds, but don't misunderstand--I was then, and am now, sympathetic to all those killed, injured, and otherwise effected by the earthquake.
Alex and Kristina made it home safely on the rescheduled flight, and our relatively quiet little life in Fukuyama went back to normal. That is, until every news source began to extensively cover the disturbing situation at the Daiichi Power Plant northeast of Tokyo in Fukushima. Now, we face the threat of nuclear meltdown. I've been told repeatedly by my superiors and colleagues that I have nothing to worry about out here in Hiroshima, even in a worst case scenario. The Japanese media seems to back that up, although the scenes of fire fighters, police, and the Japanese Defense Force desperately dumping seawater from helicopters and spraying it from fire hoses at the dangerously hot reactors make me feel like they may be downplaying this situation.
The United States has warned citizens not to travel to Japan, and has asked citizens within a 50 mile radius of the plant to return to the United States, or at least evacuate that area by heading west. Because of the nuclear situation, Morgan and I are experiencing a second wave of aftershocks--friends and family online are now urging us to come home. It doesn't help that the American coverage all but suggests that Japan in its entirety is in ruins.
I can't say that I'm not a little scared of the radiation. It's hard to determine which news sources are accurate, and what's just media sensationalism. We're something like 400 miles away from the damaged nuclear power plant, and I've been told by people I trust that the distance will keep us safe, but apparently a radioactive smoke plume from an early explosion is already responsible for slightly elevated radiation levels on the American West Coast. Many people have suggested that our safety is to be determined by the weather--namely wind direction. There's been talk of radioactive rain.
At work on Friday, I was given a pamphlet detailing the effects of radiation on the body. I think it was supposed to make me feel better about staying in Japan by comparing the currently elevated levels of radiation in the northeast to relatively normal occurrences like getting an x-ray. This same pamphlet details the process of death by radiation poisoning, which involves hair loss, ulcers, and vomiting and defecating blood. A lot of JETs and other expats, even those like me who are far from the evacuation zone, are packing up and heading back to their home countries. There's no way I could just quit my job and leave when everything could just turn out to be fine. Not after everything I went through to get here. It's worth too much to me, and too important for our future. This is supposed to be the foundation of my career.
Morgan and I have talked about what it would take to cause us to flee. We're waiting until they tell us that our area our here in West Japan is experiencing elevated levels of radiation. If that does happen though, I expect most of the other foreigners to jump ship as well. I'm sure the airports will be jammed up in that case, so it's possible that we'd end up in a situation where it's just too late. I guess we'll see.
In the meantime, it's business as usual.
Seoul's palaces, museums, and vast 24/7 shopping districts nearly destroyed my feet. Good thing I've got Super Sentai band-aids.
