It’s a small world

By Erin Maduck

At 10:00 a.m. on the morning of August 17, I was rudely snapped into reality by my clock radio. During those first few moments of consciousness my mind was overwhelmed with a large number of "significant" thoughts. How was I going to pay for my books this fall? How much longer before my Ford Thunderbird quits for good? Before being completely submersed into my own universe, I was interrupted by an alarming radio announcement. A severe earthquake had hit Turkey only hours earlier. At least 100 people were dead and more than 500 injured. Wow. In my own terms, half of a large university class had just been denied the right to finish life. For a few minutes I forgot the cost of books.

Later that day I was getting ready to go to the mall to buy my 16-year-old brother a birthday gift.

It really is too bad about those 100 people in Turkey, I thought, but more importantly: what should I get my brother? Just as I was about to open the front door of my comfortable home I was again distracted by a news report echoing from the television speakers. In Turkey, hundreds were now estimated dead and thousands more injured. Hundreds of little brothers were gone forever. Their birthdays had become irrelevant. Before I went to the mall that day I took a moment to check on my little brother. He was quietly sleeping on the couch-safe, healthy, and not lost beneath a pile of rubble.

I did not wake up until noon the next day. My usual eight hours of sleep had been prolonged due to a long night of celebration with friends. I eventually gathered enough energy to drag my limbs upstairs only to stare at the front page of the newspaper. Four thousand Turkish people were presumed dead. That was all of the friends, family and acquaintances of my past and future. That was my entire realm of existence. I was stunned temporarily, and then proceeded to read the other headlines. The death toll in Turkey continued to rise dramatically for several days following the earthquake. I periodically tried to think about the tragedy, but fathoming its magnitude was difficult. It was too far away. It was not until a couple of weeks later that my comprehension somehow transformed into something that was slightly more real.

Just like the first day, it was mid-morning when the newscast jolted me awake. There had been an aftershock in Turkey so powerful that one person had been killed. Good, I comforted myself, only one more unnecessary death. Seconds later I realized the foolishness of my immediate reaction: that one person could have been me. The life of success, love, marriage and family I so faithfully look forward to could some day be instantly terminated-my hopes, fears and triumphs harshly swept into the past. This was the first time I realized just what had happened on the other side of the world.

The result of the earthquake was a loss of over 14,000 lives. Fourteen thousand sets of dreams and goals have been put to rest. A small city, a large concert-you can imagine it any way you want. And after you do, like myself, there might be one phrase surfacing in your head: oh Canada.