You forget about them, until they happen. Then, your whole body begins to shake in synchratic rythm to the tremor. Heart beating a mile a minute. Your eyes dart around at the walls, checking for cracks. You see flashing visions of toppled buildings and you quickly pray you won’t be trapped beneath the rubble.
You hear books tumbling from the high places in other rooms, dishes crashing, and you knew you shouldn’t have put them there. You run to keep the mirror from falling over–the one which needs to be secured more firmly.
Your cats panic and dart out onto the balcony. Instinct? They won’t come back in for a while now.
And when it’s stopped, your call your nearest and dearest and practically cry down the phone you’re so happy to hear their voices.
That’s what happens to me when we are rudely interrupted with earthquakes. The 921 quake instilled the fear of Taiwan architecture in me.
And I worry how those who survived much worse architecture than myself, feel when it happens again.