A few weeks later, I returned to this site to explore. I noticed that there was yet one more train which was dragged down the valley. This third car was orange and on its side. In its path it had snapped concrete with reinforced steel rebar telephone poles in half. I imagined the sounds and energy it took to move locomotives and defy gravity. I walked around them and climbed into them. Inside the seats, rails, and hand straps were in disarray. Something ordinary that we feel safe and secure riding in on any given day can be tossed about like a toy. There was a silence inside the cars and you can’t help but recall and wonder about all the passengers that have shared the seats and boarded. Just standing in the midst of all this puts how fragile we are in perspective. When things like a tsunami strikes, it doesn’t matter how much power or physics we’ve been able to resist, use, or harness. We’ll never be able to control nature.
I continued the walk and followed the tracks to see that they led to a tunnel in which a slight glint of light from the other side could be viewed. At dark moments like these, perhaps it’s not the light at the end of the tunnel that matters, but the light within. These are times when I feel people need to find a way to turn all this into something better. I shared this story not to reveal shocking imagery. I did it to raise awareness and shed some light on what’s within this dark place in time. It’s hard to see, but I have faith it will get better.
Linh Vien Thai is Amerasian, born in Dalat, South Vietnam, where he continued to lived during the war. He left for the U.S. and is now an American living in Tokyo. He enjoys adventure traveling and doing what’s right to make the world a better place.
