I don’t remember every single detail.

Just the feeling. I was reading a book when the world began to shake—that’s when I knew this would be a big one. 

I don’t quite remember the title of the book either, just the pull of being absorbed in my reading, quietly letting the time pass by as spring begins to bloom and the snow starts to melt away. It was March, around  the end of the winter semester. I was getting ahead in the stillness right before life got demanding again in its own way. As a graduate student at Akita International University, my days really were filled with reading. Piles of books. Chapter after chapter. Reference after reference. Maybe the book I was reading at the time was for class—again, I don’t remember those details. Yeah—yeah, that was my routine. Quiet, focused, and ordinary.

Earthquakes are normal here. But when the shaking began, I sensed immediately that this earthquake was different. Yeah, in Japan, earthquakes are not unusual. I had experienced many throughout my life, but something about this one felt more serious this time around. No, we didn’t have earthquake alerts or any warning of the sort that would have you jump up from your bed, it was simply just an internal feeling. Like a message is being sent to your nervous system and the sender was your gut.

As soon as the primary wave hit, I thought, this is going to be big. Like I had said, though, earthquakes are not unusual. I didn’t panic, but I knew I needed to act quickly. Here [in Japan] we are taught that the bathroom is the safest place during an event like this because it is reinforced with more pillars. Instinctively, a muscle that’s been flexed since my early days in elementary school, I moved there and waited as long as I could until the shaking had stopped.

After a few minutes, when the earth had stopped shaking in this little world I called my apartment—when everything finally settled down, I went outside. As expected, other students at AIU were gathering as well, and that was when I realized that me and a lot of other students were going to be experiencing something like this for the first time—there was a blackout. 

It was the first time in my life, truly, where I had experienced a black out. In Japan, I mean. You see, as a student, I went on exchange to Mongolia; even though I can count on my fingers how many times the electricity gave out while studying there, it still felt unsettling to experience such back home, here, in Japan. Because they never really happen. Electricity, I’d say, is something we took for granted because it was gone so suddenly. The only certainty in such an uncertain time was that Global Village—my student apartment at the time—completely relied on electricity. Then it was gone. In the blink of an eye. 

You’d be surprised by the aftershocks, which kept shaking the ground again and again. Because of that, my gut told me it was safer to camp out in my car rather than my room. Back as a graduate student, there was no Suda Hall, so I parked it there, right in front of Komachi. Yeah, I mean, we were instructed to gather near the Komachi dormitory where food was being provided. Ha! So of course I stayed outside nearby! Prepped for whatever else was waiting to happen, I made sure to bring a blanket, some food, and drinks. Water! Water was one of the most important things. Many other students were thinking the same thing I was.

There were so many aftershocks, like I had said, dozens within hours or days. Ironically, the ground outside felt safer than the surface of my bedroom floor during that time.

Despite the situation, people around me at AIU remained quite calm. There wasn’t this huge sense of panic, at least not for those of us who lived on campus in Akita. Because, in Akita, the damage was not that severe as in the coastal areas like Sendai—where I had transferred from just before attending AIU. But because many of us were so used to earthquakes, there was a moment where we didn’t fully underdstand how large the disaster truly was. It came later, within hours and days.

There were shortages—not just the electricity that refused to flicker on for even a split second, but batteries disappeared faster than the onigiri on the shelves of the konbini, and you could only eat so many bags of the same brand of chips until your fingers were wrinkled from the salt and your tongue could no longer palette the same flavour on repeat! But thankfully, people didn’tt steal as I thought they would. In a crisis, people can turn to ‘last resorts’. And, as far as I can remember, everyone tried to get through the situation together. Helping where we could. Yeah, I even remember a student bringing Mr.Donut every so often to hand out for us. At least here in Akita, a few days later and stores began to reopen. But like the chip situation that I just spoke about, the food was simple. Even then, we adapted. You learn quickly what it is you need in those situations.

I was fine where I was. AIU was safe. For the most part, aside from the snack shortages. But of course, I worried for my family. You see, I’m originally from Iwate and community action was difficult because all the lines were so busy. So overwhelmed. Luckily, everyone was safe. That alone was enough for us, knowing that we were okay. I think in moments like that, you realize how important the simplest words are.

 “I’m okay.”

But then there was Fukushima. Frightening because there government was giving us new information everyday—but so was the news. We didn’t know who to believe or how to act at times because everything was happening and changing so fast. It was especially concerning because of the nuclear power plant accident. No one knew what would happen in the next days or weeks to come. Like I said, information changed constantly.

My girlfriend at the time, now wife, worried a lot. Not just about herself, but for everyone around her—about the radiation exposure, about the future, about whether it was safe to be together. At one point, her act of love was protecting me from her: keeping distance between us.

But of course, I couldn’t accept that. I went to her house. Drove with a mission and determination. I grabbed what I could; food, water, snacks—maybe even the chips I kept complaining about—for her and her parents. It’s how I knew I could be there for her. Electricity at the time, and even running water, were hard to gain access to, and if I remember correctly…it took about a week for supplies to reach people in Fukushima. When I arrived, she was surprised. Because I didn’t;t tell her about my plans to drive to her. That I was already getting in the car. Hands on the wheel. Ready to knock on the door of her parent’s home and tell her “I’m here. I don’t care about the risk. I just want to see you.” I didn’t think about danger. If anything, anger took the backseat of my car. I thought about being with her.

Looking back, what stays with me most is not fear, but this sense of resilience. My family and I were prepared even before the earthquake. Emergency supplies were already a part of our daily lives with water bags and food tucked away in a few corners of the house, and that mindset hasn’t changed.

The 2011 Earthquake and Tsunami was a time of grief and uncertainty. Even now, this lesson stays with me: be prepared, stay ready, and take care of yourself and the people around you.

A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHORS: