January 17th, what happened that day

The Great Hanshin Earthquake. 28 years have passed since that day.

When I was a homeroom teacher, I used to talk to my students about my experience of the disaster every year.
I felt, perhaps a bit grandiosely, that doing so was my role as someone who was spared by that earthquake.

I haven't shared my story on social media, but I thought I might be able to put it into words on note, so I decided to write it down here.

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January 17, 1995.
At that time, I was a university student living in my parents' home in Kobe.

5:46 AM.
Naturally, I was still fast asleep in my futon.

My consciousness gradually returned as I heard someone calling my name.

Hey, [My Name]! Are you okay!

It was my father calling from where he was sleeping on the second floor.

Are you okay? Of course I am! What are you talking about!?

I tried to move my body to reply, but I couldn't move, as if I were being pinned down by something.

As my eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and I could see the situation, I realized that the wardrobe that had been next to where I was sleeping had fallen onto my futon and was pinning me down.

I finally crawled out of the futon and tried to turn on the light, but it wouldn't come on.

My father, my brother, and I confirmed that we were all safe and went around to check the state of the house.

Looking back now, it can only be called a miracle, but perhaps because the cupboard doors were sliding doors, the bowls and plates hadn't flown out onto the floor and not a single one was broken.
Things on the desk were in a messy heap, but at that time, I still didn't realize how serious things had become.

At the time, our family had some old belongings stored in an apartment we had rented nearby.
My mother happened to be staying at that apartment that day to tidy things up.

It was an era before we had mobile phones, and that apartment didn't have a landline either, so I went outside to go check on her.

It was still before dawn and the streetlights weren't on, so it was pitch black all around.
Even so, as my eyes gradually adjusted and I checked my surroundings, the street where my house was located looked the same as always, and at first glance, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

However, the moment I left that street, the scene changed completely.
Utility poles had fallen, houses were leaning, and some houses had their first floors crushed.

As if pushed by a sudden wave of anxiety, the moment I started running faster, I tripped over something and fell.

When I looked at my feet, there was a crack in the asphalt of the road, creating a small step. I had been so captivated by the tragic situation around me that I hadn't been looking at my feet.

When I finally arrived at the apartment...
The two-story apartment that should have been there... was gone.

It was an old wooden apartment. It likely couldn't have withstood a seismic intensity of 7.
From the roof to the second floor, it couldn't stay standing, and everything had collapsed.

The room where my mother was sleeping was on the first floor.
It was already hopeless.
I asked my father and older brother, who had run over later, to call an ambulance, but it was obvious at a glance that the situation was not one where an ambulance could come just for my mother.
The devastation was such that...

I climbed onto the rubble and tried to search the place where the room should have been.

“Mom!”
“◯◯◯ (my mother's name)!”

I wonder how many times I repeated those words.

There was no reply at all.
From somewhere in the surroundings, I could hear groans from people I didn't know.

“I want to help them.”

If it had been just one voice, I would have tried to rescue them without hesitation.

But those voices were coming from here and there, not just one.

And right then, my top priority was confirming my mother's safety.
In truth, I wanted to save everyone, one by one...
But I was desperate, thinking only, “First, Mom...”

I wonder how long I searched.
Just as the darkness around us began to turn a shade of indigo, I heard the sound of an alarm clock from under my feet.
The sound of an alarm clock I recognized.

“It's here!”

The three of us—my brother, my father, and I—removed the rubble in a trance.
Then, to my surprise, an arm appeared.
A hand desperately searching the surroundings.
When I stuck my face into a gap in the rubble, there was my mother's face...

“She's alive!”

There was no other word for it but a miracle.

Just when I had half given up, God had kept my mother alive and returned her to us.

We desperately pulled my mother out from the rubble, and by the time we sat down on the stairs of a nearby apartment building, the sun had finally begun to rise.

My mother's body was completely unharmed.

Despite such a massive tremor, not even a single plate was broken,
and despite the building being completely destroyed, my mother was saved without a scratch.

Where else could there be a greater miracle than this?

What on earth is happening?
How far does this devastation extend?
Is all of Japan in this state?
Where is the police? The ambulance? The fire department?
Who on earth is going to come and save us?

When I returned home and calmed down, these questions and anxieties came rushing in.

My father was a civil servant and my older brother worked for the Red Cross, so they left for work immediately. My mother, my other sick brother, and I were left behind to fight this anxiety.

I wanted information, even a little bit, but of course, there were no convenient smartphones like we have today. It was an era when the internet was not yet widely used.
The television, which we relied on, was completely useless due to the power outage, and the only reliable source of information was the radio.

But our family was lucky.
After all, our house was still standing.

We finished a late breakfast with the leftover rice we had at home and went out to see the state of the surroundings.

The damage to the town was severe.
Fallen utility poles, tilted houses, collapsed houses, and apartment buildings with their first floors crushed.

People who appeared to be paramedics and firefighters were desperately continuing rescue operations for those trapped under the rubble.

There was a woman crying and screaming, calling out a name over and over again—likely the name of a family member.

Smoke was rising from the other side of the river that flowed nearby.

People were evacuating one after another to the nearby elementary school.

The nearby convenience store was closed, yet there was a line of people waiting for it to open.

When I went to see the fire across the river again in the evening, the flames had grown even larger and were heading toward us.

“Shouldn't we run away?”
My mother and I watched the progress of the fire while trembling, but fortunately, it did not cross the river.

We had the leftover side dishes and bread we had at home for dinner.
Afraid of the fire, we couldn't even turn on the heater, so we wrapped ourselves in blankets and futons to keep out the cold and decided to go to sleep much earlier than usual.

Throughout the night, with the sirens of ambulances and fire trucks never ceasing, my exhausted body fell asleep with strange ease.

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This is my memory of January 17th.

28 years have passed since then.
The mother who was saved at that time lived out her natural life and passed away last year.
The father who helped save her followed her, passing away this year.

As I continue writing this note, my memories of that time, though hazy, have come back to me, vivid in some places.

Thanks to the miracle of that time, I and my family have been able to live happily until now.
And now, I am able to write down these memories of that time.

It feels like a strange sensation.

End