Well, this is my first post in a while, and thanks to the fact that I am done traveling, at least for the foreseeable future, I have had some time to devote back to it. I have alot of notes that I’ve taken in the last three months, and have alot of topics I want to cover here. For some reason the first one is one I’ve been thinking about alot.
Going back.
This December will be the five year anniversary of the tsunami. The fact that five years have passed so quickly is really foreign to me. I could spend a whole post (or three) on just that fact alone, but I think for the most part we are all in the same boat when it comes to feeling like time is passing so quickly.
I started thinking seriously about going back last year when I started writing this blog. Right before Ush left on her trip to Karachi we were talking about the anniversary and wondering if there would be any official commemoration or what, if anything may be happening. I told here that I think I may be ready. And I think I meant it.
After we got home, we started to seek out organizations and individuals that had started to send aid over to the affected areas. Almost immediately we got involved with an organization, The Phuket Project, that was established to help raise funds and help to start to rebuild the communities that were damaged and destroyed. Eventually, the group organized to such an extent that they started to run volunteer trips for one and two weeks at a time to help to rebuild the Kamala Center. For those of you who have read previous posts, you might remember that the Kamala Child Development Center was a newly built facility that was set to open its doors on December 27, but was completely destroyed by the waves the day before it was supposed to open.
The group organized quickly, and had volunteers lined up to help. They got airlines to donate flights, friends and family to donate frequent flier miles for the volunteers, and worked with hotels that were left standing to donate rooms or discount their rates. It was an amazing blur of activity and action. By the spring, the first trip was headed over to Phuket to help to rebuild the center. I wanted to go. I wanted to help. One of the hardest parts of the whole experience was feeling like I didn’t do anything to help anyone when I was there. There was just no way I was psychologically ready to do that, and I knew it.
People have argued with me that I was being ridiculous, that what I needed to do was what I did and that was to help myself and Usheen make sure we stayed safe and stayed alive. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have trouble knowing that I probably helped myself over others at one point or another. Especially when someone wound up intervening in such a way to help US in our time of need. Chose US to help. Yes, we did what we had to do to survive, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t remember what I saw, and what I did, and some of the things I saw have stayed with me.
The colors have stayed with me, the sounds, the feelings and the emotions. And the images of the people. Young and old. Men and women. Easterners and Westerners. Hurt and unhurt. The Thai woman with the red shirt buried in rubble up to her waist. Now she is certainly burned in my brain. The woman who literally stopped me in my tracks when I saw her plight. The woman whose face I can still see. The woman whose face haunts me sometimes. The woman I couldn’t help because I was frozen. The woman who locked her eyes on mine begging me to help her. And I couldn’t make a move. If there is one image from that day I will take with me for the rest of my life, if all the other memories fade, or never surface, her face and her red shirt are the ones I will remember. I remember wanting to help her, but not knowing how to actually reach her. She was buried in broken, jutting cement that was covered in water and debris. In the seconds that my brain had to process what was going on I wasn’t sure what had scared me most. Trying to climb over the broken cement to get to her and getting hurt myself, or actually making it to her and not knowing what would be found under the water and debris and cement. I just assumed that either her legs were gone, or crushed. I had an image of people pulling her out and only pulling out a torso. Now I know that is a pretty graphic image, but that was where my head was at the time. We were New Yorkers. Still were dealing with the images and stories of September 11th. I honestly think that having gone through that crisis, kind of prepared Usheen and I for this. For all these reasons and more, In the spring of 2005, I wanted to go back.
At the time, wanting to go, and being ready to go were two very different things. Not being ready to fly, being scared of the beach, scared of the sound of the water, scared to go underground on the subway, scared to go essentially anywhere in the city without having a planned escape route. Staring out my window on the 18th floor of my office building at the East River. Watching it, making sure it wasn’t preparing to rise and flood the streets. Knowing how the streets were, knowing how the stores and hotels were. Knowing how full the streets got. And all the physical stuff that I was going through. The physical stuff I’ll deal with at another time, in another post.
All of these issues I’ve since dealt with. Professionally. I don’t think that the East River is going to swell up and swallow the East side of Manhattan anymore. However, I do still sometimes check the volcanic activity on the Canary Islands which, if it erupts with enough force, may force a landslide that could cause a catastrophic tsunami on the East Coast of the U.S. I check that site maybe once a quarter, and maybe out of a bit of nostalgia. For the first months of 2005, I checked it every day.
I’m not afraid of the beach anymore, but my relationship with it has changed fairly dramatically. For me, the beach used to be a safe place for me to go to relax, to have fun with friends, or even spend time on my own to read or reflect. I wouldn’t hesitate to take a beach vacation or take a share in a friends shore house. I’ve even been known to jump in the car and head down the shore an a random fall Saturday (I get that from my dad). But now, I do have to say it is different and is one of the things that came back, and has since stayed altered to me. Now, you may say that that is a low price to pay for my life being spared. I agree. It is. I think what I came back with is a new respect for nature and its strengths and capabilities. It’s just that I don’t jump at the idea of a week at the beach anymore, whether it is New Jersey, Florida, or the Caribbean. But that also doesn’t mean that I won’t GO. Most likely, I will, and I will look forward to it and enjoy myself when I am there. But I find being near the water now is like having a little whisper in your ear. “Here I am!” “Did you forget?” “Do you know the routes out?” “Are you staying on a high floor?” “Are you keeping an eye on me?” It’s kind of messed up, but I’ve learned to manage it pretty well by now.
Going back for me would be the chance to revisit the spots where it all happened. From what we understand the hotels are all rebuilt and reopened. I would love to think that I would be ready and able to revisit it and not have fear that it would happen again. It would be weird to go back to Phuket, sleep there, live there, knowing that you could recognize the exact spot where it all happened. Some part of me really wants to do that. To retrace my steps in a safe environment. To see my path and re-travel it. To chronicle it. While we were trying to escape, and for a large majority of the time we were on the roof, I found myself unable to take pictures, although I was fighting with myself internally. It didnt feel right though. It felt intrusive and disrespectful to the others who were there with us. I go back and forth with myself about whether on not I regret that decision. Going back will allow me that freedom. And maybe to help someone other than myself.
Like this:
Be the first to like this post.
Thinking About Going Back
April 7, 2009
Well, this is my first post in a while, and thanks to the fact that I am done traveling, at least for the foreseeable future, I have had some time to devote back to it. I have alot of notes that I’ve taken in the last three months, and have alot of topics I want to cover here. For some reason the first one is one I’ve been thinking about alot.
Going back.
This December will be the five year anniversary of the tsunami. The fact that five years have passed so quickly is really foreign to me. I could spend a whole post (or three) on just that fact alone, but I think for the most part we are all in the same boat when it comes to feeling like time is passing so quickly.
I started thinking seriously about going back last year when I started writing this blog. Right before Ush left on her trip to Karachi we were talking about the anniversary and wondering if there would be any official commemoration or what, if anything may be happening. I told here that I think I may be ready. And I think I meant it.
After we got home, we started to seek out organizations and individuals that had started to send aid over to the affected areas. Almost immediately we got involved with an organization, The Phuket Project, that was established to help raise funds and help to start to rebuild the communities that were damaged and destroyed. Eventually, the group organized to such an extent that they started to run volunteer trips for one and two weeks at a time to help to rebuild the Kamala Center. For those of you who have read previous posts, you might remember that the Kamala Child Development Center was a newly built facility that was set to open its doors on December 27, but was completely destroyed by the waves the day before it was supposed to open.
The group organized quickly, and had volunteers lined up to help. They got airlines to donate flights, friends and family to donate frequent flier miles for the volunteers, and worked with hotels that were left standing to donate rooms or discount their rates. It was an amazing blur of activity and action. By the spring, the first trip was headed over to Phuket to help to rebuild the center. I wanted to go. I wanted to help. One of the hardest parts of the whole experience was feeling like I didn’t do anything to help anyone when I was there. There was just no way I was psychologically ready to do that, and I knew it.
People have argued with me that I was being ridiculous, that what I needed to do was what I did and that was to help myself and Usheen make sure we stayed safe and stayed alive. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have trouble knowing that I probably helped myself over others at one point or another. Especially when someone wound up intervening in such a way to help US in our time of need. Chose US to help. Yes, we did what we had to do to survive, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t remember what I saw, and what I did, and some of the things I saw have stayed with me.
The colors have stayed with me, the sounds, the feelings and the emotions. And the images of the people. Young and old. Men and women. Easterners and Westerners. Hurt and unhurt. The Thai woman with the red shirt buried in rubble up to her waist. Now she is certainly burned in my brain. The woman who literally stopped me in my tracks when I saw her plight. The woman whose face I can still see. The woman whose face haunts me sometimes. The woman I couldn’t help because I was frozen. The woman who locked her eyes on mine begging me to help her. And I couldn’t make a move. If there is one image from that day I will take with me for the rest of my life, if all the other memories fade, or never surface, her face and her red shirt are the ones I will remember. I remember wanting to help her, but not knowing how to actually reach her. She was buried in broken, jutting cement that was covered in water and debris. In the seconds that my brain had to process what was going on I wasn’t sure what had scared me most. Trying to climb over the broken cement to get to her and getting hurt myself, or actually making it to her and not knowing what would be found under the water and debris and cement. I just assumed that either her legs were gone, or crushed. I had an image of people pulling her out and only pulling out a torso. Now I know that is a pretty graphic image, but that was where my head was at the time. We were New Yorkers. Still were dealing with the images and stories of September 11th. I honestly think that having gone through that crisis, kind of prepared Usheen and I for this. For all these reasons and more, In the spring of 2005, I wanted to go back.
At the time, wanting to go, and being ready to go were two very different things. Not being ready to fly, being scared of the beach, scared of the sound of the water, scared to go underground on the subway, scared to go essentially anywhere in the city without having a planned escape route. Staring out my window on the 18th floor of my office building at the East River. Watching it, making sure it wasn’t preparing to rise and flood the streets. Knowing how the streets were, knowing how the stores and hotels were. Knowing how full the streets got. And all the physical stuff that I was going through. The physical stuff I’ll deal with at another time, in another post.
All of these issues I’ve since dealt with. Professionally. I don’t think that the East River is going to swell up and swallow the East side of Manhattan anymore. However, I do still sometimes check the volcanic activity on the Canary Islands which, if it erupts with enough force, may force a landslide that could cause a catastrophic tsunami on the East Coast of the U.S. I check that site maybe once a quarter, and maybe out of a bit of nostalgia. For the first months of 2005, I checked it every day.
I’m not afraid of the beach anymore, but my relationship with it has changed fairly dramatically. For me, the beach used to be a safe place for me to go to relax, to have fun with friends, or even spend time on my own to read or reflect. I wouldn’t hesitate to take a beach vacation or take a share in a friends shore house. I’ve even been known to jump in the car and head down the shore an a random fall Saturday (I get that from my dad). But now, I do have to say it is different and is one of the things that came back, and has since stayed altered to me. Now, you may say that that is a low price to pay for my life being spared. I agree. It is. I think what I came back with is a new respect for nature and its strengths and capabilities. It’s just that I don’t jump at the idea of a week at the beach anymore, whether it is New Jersey, Florida, or the Caribbean. But that also doesn’t mean that I won’t GO. Most likely, I will, and I will look forward to it and enjoy myself when I am there. But I find being near the water now is like having a little whisper in your ear. “Here I am!” “Did you forget?” “Do you know the routes out?” “Are you staying on a high floor?” “Are you keeping an eye on me?” It’s kind of messed up, but I’ve learned to manage it pretty well by now.
Going back for me would be the chance to revisit the spots where it all happened. From what we understand the hotels are all rebuilt and reopened. I would love to think that I would be ready and able to revisit it and not have fear that it would happen again. It would be weird to go back to Phuket, sleep there, live there, knowing that you could recognize the exact spot where it all happened. Some part of me really wants to do that. To retrace my steps in a safe environment. To see my path and re-travel it. To chronicle it. While we were trying to escape, and for a large majority of the time we were on the roof, I found myself unable to take pictures, although I was fighting with myself internally. It didnt feel right though. It felt intrusive and disrespectful to the others who were there with us. I go back and forth with myself about whether on not I regret that decision. Going back will allow me that freedom. And maybe to help someone other than myself.
Share this:
Like this: