“I could feel my knees buckling like I was on a trampoline as it happened…It feels like your imminently about to die.”
Released in June, this video of the 2011 tsunami in Japan shows the catastrophe from the ground-level. Skip to the three-minute mark if you’re feeling impatient. Very real.
I didn’t lie, I say. My memories were eaten by the sea.
Try and save your journals. Perhaps after sitting in the warm November sun, they’ll dry out. Maybe you can still salvage those precious moments about your volunteer experience in Ghana, or that Moleskine pad of cheeky things you witnessed in Ireland.
The thing is, there’s no real way to decide who goes where until your life equilibrium is disrupted somehow, a byproduct of any kind of disaster, natural, emotional, physical or whatever.
What’s perhaps most interesting about New Yorkers waiting for a natural disaster to hit is that we have to be bored. Really bored until something terrible happens. “Being bored” is most New Yorkers’ version of hell. We live here specifically so we won’t ever be bored!
Call the person you have a crush on and be like, “This impending hurricane really reminds me of the hurricane I have in my heart for you. It’s like a Category 5 and I’m about to blow over. So can we have sex later?”
Everyone knows that natural disasters are messages from God. Obviously, they aren’t warnings for us to increase investments in things like more resilient infrastructure, streamlined evacuation plans, or eco-friendly policies. Why waste our money on fascistic things like stronger levees, or reinforced foundations? That’s Big Brother, pal!