March 11th, 2011, Tokyo

I never knew Tokyo could be this bleak. Bumpy and potholed roads, fallen utility poles, whiffs of smouldering fires, and screaming people added to the tumultuous scene of catastrophe. Everything was shaking and vibrating like a tail of rattlesnake. Frightened, palpable grief, ineffably etched into countless faces.

At that time, I thought this wouldn’t be a big deal. Actually in Japan, where seismic activity is common and preparedness measures and provisions are thorough, earthquakes were anything but extraordinary. This time it was just a little… stronger than usual. ‘Tomorrow, or Monday, everything would become normal…’ but I was wrong.

I couldn’t sleep well that night because of the aftershocks. I woke up late, but, for my parents’ sake, feigned restfulness.

Dad turned on the TV and started watching the news, just like every morning.

“... Fukushima’s nuclear facility #1 has exploded and comes with potential radiation leaks. Please close the windows, and go outside as little as possible. If you have to, then please wear masks. However, Tokyo is safe. Fortuitously, the direction of wind is flowing from Fukushima to Hokkaido, not from Fukushima to Tokyo. Our prime minister has also commented that it’s pretty much certain that Japan is in the safe zone and that concerns in the capital city are superfluous at worst…”

The broadcast was interrupted by my mother’s voice from behind me, as she walked into the kitchen.

“What are they saying? That doesn’t make sense. The Korean news said that Japan is in emergency? Here come over and check out this German weather chart site. Korean news has made an announcement about it,” said mom, making an odd face as she checked her computer.

According to the German weather chart site, opposed to what Japanese news said, the wind was flowing from Fukushima to Tokyo. Something was obviously going wrong, but how could Japan be less accurate than a foreign country?

“Oh, God. The Japanese news said that Tokyo is safe. Do you think it’s easy to depart a place? I’d have to give up my job, pile up loads of stress… Ugh. I don’t even want to think about this. Let’s not break our lives apart simply because of a small leak. Let’s wait for it now,” grumbled my dad, thinking it was nothing. And why wouldn’t he? Quakes and their resulting damage had always been manageable. Life would return to…

Mom crashed through our door, breathless and nearly screaming with bewilderment. So much can change in just a couple days.

“Hey! Look at this. Do you remember the German site that I showed you a few days ago? I can’t get into that site anymore. I told you? They are hiding something! Everything is so weirdly suspicious. Why do you think the Japanese news channels are not showing the scene in Fukushima right now? You know that the ticket prices are rising, right? Am I wrong? Huh?”

“Why are you screaming in the morning day in, day out? The Japanese news said there is no escape rush of foreigners, and my colleague, Okamura said we’re fine. Everyone is saying that we are safe. Don’t make such a fuss over a mere trifle! You have too many unnecessary worries; WE ARE SAFE. Even the Japanese prime minister said we’re safe. Please don’t make a big deal about this. It’s ridiculous,” shouted my dad, huffing and puffing at my mom, reproaching her.

“Honey, honestly just think about it. Don’t you think this is weird? Do you think it’s just a coincidence? It was same as this during the Korean war. That bugger president concealed himself and withdrew from sight, even though he constantly said Seoul was safe. What was worse was that he blew up the every single bridge that connected Seoul and its outskirts. So many citizens who lived in Seoul died when the North Korean army razed it, and all for what? Pride? Saving face? What do you think is different between Japan’s situation right now and the Korean war? Are they different at all? ARE THEY? The government is lying and giving erroneous information just because they’re scared of society giving backlash to their government. We have to escape Japan as soon as possible!” snapped my mom.

The only thing I could do was cry. Even crying was not helpful at all. But it created a burden for my parents, and I could feel their growing pain. Miserably, I silently went inside my room, vanishing off without a trace. Lonely and cracked, like the quake still sent aftershocks into my heart. My mom and dad were vehemently shouting at each other outside my room, like two obstinate tigers biting each other, but not even knowing why.

I just fiddled my hands, staring at calendar in my room, all the dates blending together into lumps, numbers having lost meaning. From behind closed doors, my parents incessant shouts drowned out the media, the lies. An earthquake leveled against truth, shaking families and belief to their cores.

I choked down tears standing in my eyes, and stretched out my hand to the dusky calendar, step by step, trying to find tranquility among the rubble of my newly shattered trust in the media and in my leaders. Somehow, my parents’ yells became more sensible, more calming than the crooning facade of the TV broadcast, and the paradox of their gentle shouts gave me rest, as the aftershocks decreased into steady beats, my heart finally heaving to trust.

And three days later, we three escaped Japan.