It all happened so fast. One second he was standing right next to me; and the next, he was gone. Being taken away like a simple dead leaf. There was nothing I could do to help him. There was nothing anyone could do. We were all the same boat, so to speak.
Everyone around me was shouting or crying. I still struggle to understand why he would save me, when he knew that he would have to sacrifice his life for it.
That’s all I could think about, sitting in the exact spot where my house had been, precisely 5 years ago. The image of my father, hanging tight to the branch of the low palm tree. I only managed to open my eyes for a second before the big wave took me away. And then I collided with his hand and for a short second, I felt safe, as if nothing could ever hurt me again. I was in my father’s arms, and he would never let anything harm me. He was my best friend, and I was with him; safe. He looked sadly into my eyes, deeper than ever. I couldn't understand the look on his face. Why did he look so sad, so troubled, when we were going to be fine? That’s when it happened.
All the noise of people shouting, the noise from the wild water, everything, seemed to disappear in a short second, into a deadly silence. I kept my eyes on my father. I love you. Then his eyes left mine, and he was looking right over my head. I didn’t need to turn to see what was coming. It was painted so clearly in his eyes. The wave. The mother of all waves. Coming this way. He looked back down into my eyes. And then I saw his plans.
No, dad! Don’t do this! We can both survive it! Dad! But he wasn’t listening anymore. He had made up his mind. Hold on. Don’t go. He took my hand and he wrapped my arms around the branch of the tree. I looked up at him. Stay safe. And with a last, I screamed a silent scream after him, but in just a matter of seconds, he was gone.
I was shocked, and could feel my arms slipping. That’s when it hit me, right in the middle of the head. I am so thankful that it chose to hit me there first, because it seemed to send a message to my brain, telling me to keep tight, because the force of this wave was enough to knock down an entire building. It hit me again, this time right in the middle of my back. I immediately lost feeling in the whole bottom half of my body, and my legs were being pushed around
mercilessly by the water. My arms were burning. With every second I felt weaker, weaker. But every time I felt like I was going to give in. Hold on. Don’t let go.
It seemed ages before the rush of water calmed down. By now my hearing had been restored, and the shouts of help were replaced with cries of sorrow. People shouting out to their families, searching for their parents, relatives and children. I stayed right where I was. I had nobody left. It was just me, me and this tree. I gave in. I cried until I was sore, and then I let go off my tree.
By now the tsunami had reduced to a simple lake with a light current. It pushed me down stream until I could stand. I sat down when I reached a small hill, and watched the people below me. Such destruction; such pain. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Not here. Not to the loving, carefree people of my village. I sat there until the sun went down, but the cries never faded. The moon rose, and the cries kept coming. Day broke, and the cries still came. For four days I sat on my hill and listened. Listened to their pain; listened to their suffering. And then they came.
They came with helicopters, buses and trucks. They came with doctors, food and shelter. But I didn’t need any of it. I sat on my hill and watched the people grabbing at the sacks of food and then running off to join their families. If they had been lucky enough to have found their families. So many people had lost loved ones. Myself included. All my life, for as long as I could remember, it had been just me and my dad. And now, it was just me. So I sat, and I waited. I'm not quite sure what I was waiting for, but I would know when it came.
A few days later, I walked down to the bottom of my hill. Below me, I could only see dirty white rectangles, all over the ground. Strange, I thought. I went down to investigate - slowly; Then, I realized, I saw that they were not just white rectangles. They were sacks filled with the bodies of the dead. I wondered around, searching for that familiar face I knew so well. But I was unsuccessful, as were many. It did not matter. I walked back up to my hill and slept.
And now, here I stand. Where my house once was, before the wave stole it from me. Now, it is just hard soil under my feet. And just over to the left, I can see the only tangible thing my father left me. The palm tree that saved my life. My tree. Although 5 years have passed, I still think about him every day. The first thing I think in the morning, and the last thing I think before I sleep.
All my friends told me that coming back here would do nothing but bring back terrible memories, but every single one of instincts told me I needed to be here. I had come back every year, on the exact day of the tsunami: On Boxing Day. And I will continue to come here, every single Boxing Day, until I return to my father.
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