Looking Back — May 12 Anniversary Memories

On this day last year I was still in high school. It was a hot, stuffy day. My roommate and I were napping in the dorm. Classes started at 3, so my alarm was set for 2:30. The alarm is ridiculously loud—normally the second it goes off I’m awake. The instant it rang, I bolted upright to turn it off, but I felt the bed shaking. I thought I was dizzy. My classmate woke up too. I stared at him in confusion; he stared back the same way.

“Uh… do you feel the bed shaking?” I asked, unsure.

“It’s shaking!”

My first thought was someone was using a washing machine, but I immediately dismissed it—how would there be a washing machine in the dorm? I jumped up and ran to the window. The window was shaking. People were rushing out the main gate. Shit—the mountain behind the building had collapsed. The building was going to fall. I spun around and started running without even fully registering it was an earthquake, yelling “xxx, run! Earthquake!” He was already sitting on the edge of the bed. I don’t know why I noticed so clearly at the time—he was wearing gray-green flip-flops. He jumped up and took off, and I followed right behind. I yanked open the door and sprinted out of the room. A few meters later we hit the stairwell. Not many people yet, but everyone was rushing down. I saw one of our classmates from the other side of the building (our room was isolated around the corner from the rest of the class) also bolting. Later he told me he’d been shouting “Earthquake!” while running, but strangely I didn’t hear it. Had everything gone silent? I was probably too panicked.

We flew down the stairs. We were on the second floor, so reaching the first floor and the exit took only seconds. Once outside we split up. I ran toward the slope beside the building—I figured it was just a small hill with a gentler incline on this side, so a landslide was unlikely. Running anywhere else would put us in the collapse radius of the surrounding buildings, which was far more dangerous.

I crouched on a small platform. The ground was still trembling. Below me the crowd was in chaos, all staring up at our building, probably still thinking it was about to collapse. I scanned the crowd for my classmates. People everywhere, but none of mine.

A few minutes later the earth finally calmed. I thought it was over—earthquakes are supposed to be one quick jolt, not something that keeps going—so I went back to the dorm. The door was still open. I changed shoes, locked up, and went downstairs. I ran into a few classmates and said I was heading to class. They looked at me like I was crazy: “Class? What class?”

I tried calling my grandparents—couldn’t get through. Same with Chengdu. Then the school broadcast came on telling everyone to gather on the sports field. Half an hour later an old man on Central People’s Radio reported the epicenter was in Wenchuan, over a hundred kilometers from Chengdu, magnitude 7.2. That’s when the real fear hit me. Almost all my relatives and my parents were in Chengdu. I frantically dialed Chengdu numbers, but nothing connected. That night I slept on the field still trying to reach home. Finally, late at night, I heard familiar voices. Everyone was fine. Chengdu was barely affected, and neither was my hometown. My heart finally stopped racing.

I didn’t sleep a wink. The radio kept updating the death toll in Wenchuan. Each number felt like a knife to the chest.

On the first anniversary of the Wenchuan earthquake, I’m writing down these memories. This post goes live at 14:28. May the dead rest in peace, and the living strive forward!