Candlelight in the Earthquake

2008 is destined to be a year that leaves a deep impression in memory.

The ice and snow at the beginning of the year had just melted, and the air was just beginning to feel a bit of the dry heat of early summer.

Wenchuan, this distant place name, is deeply engraved in my memory because of a disaster.

The second class on the afternoon of May 12th was mathematics.

I bit the end of my pencil, struggling with a word problem about the simultaneous filling and draining of a pool, when I felt my chair shake slightly, as if a heavy truck had run over a pothole in the distance.

"Did you shake a little just now?" Lu Xingye nudged me with his elbow.

"Is that so?" I was a little unsure. "Maybe there's construction going on?"

This little incident was soon forgotten.

When I got home from school, the TV in the living room was on, and the volume was much louder than usual.

Dad came home early, which was rare, and stared at the screen with a frown on his face.

My mother was there too, picking vegetables with her hands, but her eyes were also glancing at the TV.

"Dad, Mom, I'm back!"

I leaned over and saw the news anchor's standard voice against the chaotic scene.

Collapsed houses, broken bridges, clouds of dust, and people running in panic.

There were huge subtitles on the screen: "A major earthquake occurred in Wenchuan, Sichuan."

"Earthquake?" I murmured, a word that was both familiar and unfamiliar to me.

I learned about it in science class and knew it was the movement of the earth's crust, but I always felt that it was something in books and something far away.

Like dinosaurs, they exist in another time and space.

The twisted steel bars, concrete, and ruins on TV gave this word a concrete and terrifying shape for the first time.

"Magnitude 7.8," Dad frowned, "This is terrible, this is a major disaster."

The mother wiped the corners of her eyes with the corner of her apron and said, "Look at all these children, they are still so young..."

I stared at the flickering television, where a school bus, crushed by a boulder, looked like a crumpled tinfoil toy.

The atmosphere at the dinner table that night was particularly depressing.

Mom and Dad rarely spoke, and the sound of TV news continued in the background.

————

At night, I couldn't sleep and slipped into the living room.

My parents haven't gone to bed yet. The TV volume is turned very low, and the light and shadow flicker on their faces.

"It was the same in Tangshan in 1976."

My mother's voice was very soft. "Your grandfather followed the troops to rescue them at that time."

I leaned over the back of the sofa. "Grandpa? He never said that."

"People of their generation think it's their due, there's nothing much to say." Dad interjected, "That's really... miserable."

He shook his head and said nothing more.

But I couldn’t help but wonder what scene my grandfather saw back then?

Was he afraid when he used his hands to dig through the broken bricks and tiles?

I imagined how my young grandfather would feel when he saw the huge ruins I saw on TV.

"At that time, I was still young, and your grandfather stayed in Tangshan for three whole months."

My mother continued, "When he came back, he was dark and thin. He didn't talk much for a long time and just chain-smoked."

For the first time, the distant crying sound penetrated the TV screen so clearly and penetrated into my heart, feeling heavy.

I returned to my room and took out the Barbie doll that I had neglected for a long time. She was still wearing her beautiful dress and smiling.

For the first time, I felt how lucky I was to be able to worry about trivial matters in peace.

————

In the next few days, almost all the channels on TV turned black and white, and the news repeatedly played rescue scenes.

The announcer's mournful voice, the rolling casualty figures, the hands reaching out from under the rubble, the figures of the People's Liberation Army desperately trying to rescue people, and the bewildered faces of those who had instantly lost their homes and loved ones...

It crashed into my eleven-year-old world with great force.

"One more..." Dad sighed as he watched the numbers rising on TV.

The mother came out of the kitchen, wiped her hands, and watched for a while. Her eyes turned red and she said, "What a sin... Such a young child!"

die.

I've heard this term many times.

Uncle Liu’s family during the SARS epidemic, and later the death of my grandmother.

But for the first time, it seemed so huge, so concrete, no longer the disappearance of a certain person, but thousands of blurry yet real faces.

The school quickly organized donations.

My mother didn't nag me like she usually does when giving me pocket money, but just gave me a brand new fifty-yuan bill.

I also pried open my piggy bank, and a pile of coins and bills poured out.

I counted them again and again and put them solemnly into the compartment of my schoolbag.

This amount of money is insignificant, but it seems that only by doing something can the big stone in my heart be moved a little bit.

During recess, we gathered in the corridor and no one chased or fought.

"I donated all the money I saved to buy Angela Chang's new album." Lulu sniffed.

For the first time ever, Lu Xingye didn't argue and just said "hmm" in a depressed tone.

"Are we going to be okay?" Lulu touched my arm.

As I looked at her, I suddenly remembered the kind aunt during the SARS epidemic and the little sister I would never see again.

The sky was gloomy on the National Day of Mourning.

We all stood up and bowed our heads in silence for three minutes.

I closed my eyes and seemed to see the earth shaking and hear the shouts from under the ruins.

Life in the Hanshi courtyard is still peaceful, the lake still shimmers, and the smell of rice vinegar occasionally wafts through the air.

But some things are definitely different.

I vaguely understood that the world is not just about skipping rope in the compound, instant noodles in the convenience store and trivial quarrels.

When the distant cries became real, we teenagers were forced to stand on tiptoe overnight, glimpsing the heavy hem of the adult world and starting to connect with the wider joys and sorrows of the world.