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Scars might heal, memories never fade --on the 10th anniversary of Wenchuan Eart
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Scars might heal, memories never fade.
I remember that day; it was my mother-in-law’s birthday. We’d reserved a table at a local restaurant, and obviously we couldn’t make it. My in-laws immigrate to the US the same year, since then, we never had the chance to celebrate her birthday again.
I remember that bus, the one I managed to squeeze myself in. For an over-crowded bus, it was rather quite. Someone turned on the radio and it was where I knew that about hundred miles away, some our most visited places had already turned into hell.
I remember that radio; it had become inseparable part of our lives for the following days. It almost broadcasted nonstop about the updates of the earthquake, sometimes the voice would be choked with tears, and at last it turned completely hoarse with fatigue. But it never stopped.
I remember that high-heeled shoes; the one that my sister in-law lost when she was running down from 15th floor. Afterwards, she rode her bike home bare-feet. That day nobody thought it was funny to ride a bike bare-feet.
I remember that bread; A hour’s riding took my husband six hours to drive home. And the first thing he said when he saw us was: “Is anything to eat? I’m starving.” And a slice of bread was all we could find for him.
I remember Patrick; in the last minute before we rushed out of our office, he bought in stock of a cement plant. Nice move. He joined the Emergency Relief Team and headed to one of the worst hit areas. And it was a month later when he finally returned to his newly decorated home. It was a total mess. His fish tank broke, and floors all soaked with water. The money he got from the stock market that day was just enough to cover the loss.
I remember our office; we probably were the only company in the building that still work at the next day. The office was half empty. Most of PM and engineers had already gone to the hit areas.
I remember it all, as if it just happened yesterday.
