Pieces, Paper, Pictures, Peace

Monday was a more difficult day than I had expected. I thought cleaning up the pieces Sunday night would have me feeling more whole by the next day, but as I shared on Monday, I couldn't escape reliving the event in my mind.

I'm glad to say that with each passing day, the thoughts of Sunday night have become less frequent. In my memory, the force of the blast lessens, the sounds dampen, and the images dim. I hardly even thought about it yesterday and today unless, for some reason, I've had to. I can move about the apartment with confidence again and even going onto the laundry balcony at night doesn't bother me. The quiet of my afternoons and evenings at home is once again full of peace rather than uneasiness.

Like a breath of fresh air, good news recently came from a friend back home and from friends here. Such glad tidings have been carrying me through the week as well as God's grace.


News of what happened did reach the local papers with front page color photos. With the aid of some students translating the Chinese, I learned the story of what happened, most of which I already knew from the rumors and speculations flying amongst the neighbors Sunday night. The basics: gas explosion in home behind my building, 3 people injured - one inside the home and 2 passing by on the street (though this didn't take into account the people injured in my building), husband and wife had been arguing, wife left the home and man attempted suicide by turning on the gas. I got back some photos this week, a few of which show the broken glass at my house and a view of the damage at the home of the explosion, looking directly down from my kitchen window (and one looking up at broken glass awning).



On a final note, this morning I got to ride the elevator with the man from my building who was injured by the explosion. His hands were bandaged and his walk was labored. In fact, he could only walk with the support of someone. Still, he managed a faint smile as he exited the elevator. I'm sure his life will not be the same for some time yet.

Stuck on Replay

I thought I wouldn't sleep well last night after what happened, but I did. As I soon discovered, it's not my sleeping that's haunted, it's my waking.

How do you forget something that, in every recess of silence, replays itself? A scooter beside me in traffic backfires and I nearly jump out of my skin. Someone closes a classroom door too hard and I hold my breath waiting for shattered glass to fall. Even the soft sound of water flowing through the upstairs neighbor's pipes makes me nervous as it sounds too much like the hiss of gas.

Home can not be the sanctuary it once was. I used to consider this place a treasure because it's rare to find places in the city so quiet. Now the once peaceful silence is uncomfortable as every sound seems magnified. Even as midnight approaches the day after the event, I can still hear the occasional sound of glass hitting the pavement below. In the daylight, things are better, but at night I approach the kitchen with hesitation.

It really is stuck on replay in my mind. I could feel it, hear it, and see it over and over again all day. I can now begin to imagine what it must feel like to live somewhere effected by war and bombings. I've had only a glimpse of this - the surprise, the force, the sounds, the commotion, and that was more than enough.

an explosion, shattered glass, darkness, alarms, screams, crying, blood, panic, sirens, questions. This was my Sunday evening ...

...but now, Monday morning has returned. It's raining outside as though to wash away the thoughts of what happened last night, but the memories of such will not be so easily forgotten, at least not until the clean up is finished. For now, the sound of broken glass being swept and gathered can still be heard from the street below.

It occurred sometime near 6:00 pm. The evening was suddenly disturbed by an invisible force- a loud blast, an explosion, and the sound of breaking glass, shattered and raining to the floor. Darkness seemed everywhere. Evening had already settled in outside and the lights inside were off except for that of the tv. Was that a bomb? Get out! Those were the first thoughts I could process. Flinging on my coat, shoes, and purse, I fled. Outside the door, fire alarms were ringing and flashing on each level. Proceeding down the stairwell 9 floors, I was met by neighbors. Glass, plaster, and mortar crunched underfoot on the landings between floors. Outside we waited. The sirens of approaching fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances filled the night, as did the voices of panic, yelling, and crying.

I reached for my phone to call Becky but what do I say? "I'm okay, I'm okay" is all that comes out at first. I must have sounded crazy but it was the first time in all of this I was forced to pause, process, and vocalize what had just happened. And what had just happened? I still didn't know. How do you describe something you've yet begun to understand? Looking around, windows and glass doors were gone everywhere from lower level apartments and neighboring houses. The sounds of glass falling could still be heard through the commotion. Look! There was one of my downstairs neighbors, someone I've shared the elevator with a number of times. Tonight though, he was staggering from the building, shirt-less, shoe-less, and still in shock, cut and bleeding all over, no doubt from flying glass.

Eventually the crowd dwindled until mostly only those from my tower remained, awaiting instruction. By this point we had learned that a gas explosion occurred at a home directly behind my apartment building. Once things were under control at the source, firemen came to inspect our homes, the building manager came to take photos, and friends came to be of support and help clean up. What amazing friends I have here! Having a better idea of what transpired and knowing that I was okay should have been enough to make me feel okay again. However, I suppose emotions operate on a sense of logic all their own. I sent Becky a message that things were okay now, we could even go back into our homes, so she didn't have to come over, but she still did, along with Rick. I can't tell you how much of a help it was to have them around, not just because Rick cleaned up most of the glass and Becky contacted the landlady to notify her about what happened. Their presence alone was a comfort to me and it was nice to have someone to babble to about what happened. At that time, I think conversation was the only thing saving me from having the event replay in my head. I hadn't realized until later how much I needed the diversion that they provided.

We got the glass cleaned up rather quickly, headed out for some fresh air and a bite to eat, and then came back and watched a movie. Dinner and a movie with friends - seems like such a normal way to spend a night on the weekend - an ending so different from how the evening began.

life, death, and the heaviness of uncertainty

Where's a rooftop when I need one? No, I'm not thinking about jumping. The rooftop has become a place I associate as my safety when the weight of the world and the heaviness of the day become a bit too great. At my previous apartment, the roof became my place of solace where my roommate, and friend, Becky and I could escape the day for a bit at night. On the rooftop I could release my burdens, casting them into the night without knowing where the wind would carry my words, my cries, my tears, my songs. On the rooftop, burdens shared became burdens lightened. What joy there is in having someone to confide in, someone to dump on, someone who continues to want to listen, and someone who will pray with you and for you.

Though I moved from that place 2 years ago, there are still nights when I miss those evenings on the roof. I think this past week in particular was a week made for the roof. Each day seemed to bring bad news from some direction back home - news of death, hardships in life, and uncertainty for the future. My heart was heavy this week with a burden for those I'm far from but feel so near to. However, there's comfort in knowing I don't need a roof to cry out to God and that good friends are still close by.

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

This morning I discovered that if I ever long for adventure, I need bound no farther than my own back door. The back gate opens to narrow streets and alleys, often dead to the world except for the activity in the schoolyard. Though on its sidewalks and streets I may have stepped a hundred times, give time a twist and none of that matters. Containers of live shrimp that one can select by hand and strange fish I've not seen the likes of before are presented for purchase. Tables of beautiful tea boxes and long rows of incense easily catch one's eye, as does a feast of colors at fruit stands. Behold, freshly picked oranges with leaves still attached.

It was clear as I turned the corner, I was entering a world that was not mine. It was clear that I was seeing an old place for the first time. It was clear that I was going somewhere many foreigners did not venture. Neighbors moved about from table to table aquiring fresh ingredients for afternoon and evening meals. And there I was, in the middle of it all, feeling completely out of place in a place I thought familiar. Before me, a feast of curiosity for my eyes and yet, an overwhelming sense that I didn't belong. Not even my hat and sunglasses could disguise that I was not the typical sort to frequent this early morning market, yet I was glad to have had an opportunity to see a world I never knew existed beyond my own back door.

when the brakes go and other tales of broken things

Scene 1: road. female scooter commander maneuvering like something out of a video game in effort to survive another afternoon commute to work. a row of traffic lights, red, then in a wave, green. without haste, traffic regains its pace. taxi driver, 2 o'clock, disregards his own red light and attempts to proceed through the steady stream of on-coming traffic. nearest to kissing yellow metal, yours truly. brakes applied. unfamiliar snap. no slowing, no halting. left hand brake makes contact with handlebar and does not recoil.

make a face and brace for impact. this is gonna hurt.

or not.

freeze. for the next second or two, surrounding world appears to have paused during which time the current situation and inevitable fate become apparent.

enter plot twist. impending doom rejected. taxi slows and a last second duck and dodge save the day.

new hobby, dodgeball. after all, if you can dodge a taxi, you can dodge a ball.

Scene 2: kitchen. after a long run, thirsty apartment dweller seeks glass of H2O refreshment. open cabinet door below sink to check water filter. cabinet door falls off.

Scene 3: bathroom. afore mentioned apartment dweller seeks post-jog shower. turn on tub faucet. turn on shower. shower head falls off into tub below.

* Side note: In the story of the brakes going, under normal circumstances, the right hand brake (front brake) would have come to my aid. However, it just so happened my scooter was due to have the oil changed and front brake tightened that week, so I really had basically no stopping power. What a time for the brakes to go, when faced with what appeared to be inevitable impact! Thankfully things worked out differently.

the song in my heart and on my lips as I awoke this morning:

Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and put a new and loyal spirit in me.
Do not banish me from your presence;
do not take your Holy Spirit away from me.
Give me again the joy that comes from your salvation,
and make me willing to obey you.

(Psalms 51:10-12)

as I enter the new year, I find this to be my prayer, my cry, my song

God forgive me for approaching what you ask of me unwillingly, provide a peace in taking on new challenges, and please accept what I do as it is now done with a willing and joyful heart.