Is this just another day, this god forgotten place?

A draft I began a few days after the quake, around the 24th I think.

*I'm trying to pack up our house for a move, arranged before the quake. I'm listening to my new iPod as I work. Thankfully most people gave me my birthday gifts early this year. However, the music only distracts me for so long before the wave of utter... I can't even define it, horror, grief, disbelief? washes over. I have to sit, head in hands. Sometimes it's just a moment, sometimes it takes awhile to recover. And I am barely affected. So guilt mixes in. But other than minor frustrations, my grief isn't for myself. It is for those who are gone, those who are missing, and those missing them. The mother who found her child crushed by a TV, the children whose house was burgled while they held vigil for their lost mother, the sister whose brother wont be there to give her away on her wedding day. I grieve for a city lacking basic resources, families with no where to go, with just the clothes on their backs. For livelihoods lost and the beauty of this place which has been home for nearly 7 years.*

It's been 2 weeks today. The death toll, last time I saw, was around 165. The grief is easier to contain, most of the time. It's almost like the city waited for the one week mark, where we all stopped for 2mins silence, then exhaled for the first time and vowed to move on. It's still intense, cleaning up the shop while being rocked by aftershocks, explaining liquefaction to insurance call center personnel, holding your breath every time a new list of names is released. Last night I dreamed of the city, walking through the square and down Colombo street. The pedestrians and I walked as one, but ran past any building with a canopy. South City mall, where Terry had been during the event, had huge sales, taking advantage of broken people's need to feel normal.

Across the eastern side of the city people are still waiting for power, water and the luxury of portaloos. Outside toilets have become a standing (or perhaps sitting) joke for half the city. I feel selfish as I stay on this side, unaffected and disconnected. I tell myself I couldn't cope with manual labour, I'd just get in the way. Schools are beginning to open again, I'll be working in one on the east side for the first week. Almost every child I've seen has been out of sorts; what used to be tantrums in the supermarket are full on panic attacks. I feel better that I'll be a part of bringing normality to their lives.

Our new house is almost set up. Halswell has spoiled us, but we'll make do. We have a solid roof over our heads.