The End of an Era.

It has not been a good day. The day began at 5:00AM, being wrenched into consciousness by two alarms. Sarah's flight left at 11:10, about 2 hours ago, and tomorrow I'll be joining her in the sky. After a week of aftershocks, I never want to feel the ground shake beneath my feet ever again. the sensation that, when first felt in February, filled me with excitement and fascination, now does nothing but raises my heart-rate in fear.

The bus trip to the airport was a depressing one. I passed by many parts of Tokyo I had yet to see or explore. It reminded me of things I've fell in love with, and grown accustomed to, that will abruptly stop very soon. Before I came here, I had heard of places like the Ghibli Museum, Akihabara, Nakano, and Shinjuku. I held them all in a sort of Dreamlike unreachable place. They perched there without any real convictions of future travel. They where out of mind, flowing in now and then only to fill a gap in my thoughts. And in a few days, that's where they'll be again, on the fringes of possible travel, too far to be considerable. Being here and experiencing these places, I feel a twinge of regret. I feel like I was preparing to part ways with them since I first came here, but my remaining time spent in these locations has been wrenched from me, victims of circumstance. I think of Akihabara, in all it's lights and sounds. It's so close. I can hop on a train and be at the start of a Geeky adventure. But that ends tomorrow. These places go back to being intangible, shackled once more by distance and financial obligation.

I want to also take this time to honor the Fukushima 50. The plant is withering and circling the drain. The possibility of catastrophic meltdown is ever reaching a peak. the only thing standing in the way of total collapse, is a collection of 50 technicians.

50 nameless, faceless technicians who have chosen to stay at the plant and do everything they can to prevent the total meltdown of the nuclear reactors. These men and women have devoted themselves completely to protecting their home, their families, and the millions of people that hang in the balance.

They will most likely not survive.

It is a sentiment that nearly brings me to tears every time I think of it. These people are giving everything they can for strangers, up until the very end. In times like this we can all learn to be stronger people. I'm going to try as hard as I can to embody that same sense of selflessness, that same sense of courage, in my own life.

Much like Akihabara and the places of my dreams, for many Americans the distance from this disaster makes it seem intangible, and somehow detached from their lives. It is a terrible thing, but it remains on the fringes of one's mind, safe behind a barrier of daily life issues.

Tomorrow I'll be on my way home, and within days, I'm sure I will slip this disaster behind that same barrier. But for right now, I cannot allow myself to do that. I can't drift off to Narita, unaffected by the sorrow, and the death, and the selfless bravery of people in the face of utter hopelessness. I ask that everyone reading this keeps those families and technicians in their thoughts. We all have our own problems, and it's easy to float by events that have no direct effect on our lives, but if nothing else,

I ask that you remember what happened here.

-FINAL POST-
~Zachary Urtes.