On the Anniversary of the Southeast Asian Tsunami – "Boxing Day Disaster" 2004 by Donna Carrick
Seven years later, December 26, 2011… By Donna Carrick
I remember where we were when the news first broke.
It was Boxing Day, December 26, 2004 on our side of the planet. The tragic event actually occurred at 6:58 am December 26 on the opposite side of the world, a day earlier.
We were watching the snow fall in a post-Christmas haze of peace and contentment in our northern home. Life was good. We don’t watch much television during the holidays, but we happened to have CBC on that afternoon while the children were busy building snowmen outside.
The earliest news reports were unenlightening. A significant seismic event had taken place. Some Canadians touring in the region may have been effected. A few hundred of our patriots were known to be holidaying in Southeast Asia.
Attempts were being made to contact them, but all phone lines were down.
Throughout the following week, I confess we didn’t give the news much attention. The occasional report struck a chord with me. The numbers were unclear, but it was becoming obvious this was no ordinary disaster.
By New Year’s Day 2005, I knew I would write my novel Gold And Fishes.
Something about the event moved me deeply. It might have been the way the news reports crept up on us. At first, to all accounts, it appeared to be a minor event. Then, as the days and weeks passed, the death toll mounted to unimaginable proportions.
Add to that the number of displaced and homeless, the orphaned children, the parents torn apart by loss.
I’ve been a writer since the first time I held a pen. Still, until that day, never had I felt so compelled to put down words, to try to capture the heart and soul of a global situation.
How does one do justice to such a tragic event? The losses must not be trivialized; the grief cannot and must not be sensationalized; the truth must rise above all rumour and fiction.
As a fiction lover and writer, I realized that research would be the crux of this novel. No matter the style or story-arc that came into play, the most significant thing about Gold And Fishes would be its compelling truth.
The reader must feel the crusted mud, smell the death, hear the buzz of aid workers in the equatorial camp. When tropical monsoon rains add to the general sense of chaos, the reader must shiver along with the characters.
In short, this is not a book that could be written without a great deal of help.
It was crafted after many hours of reading and research. Acknowledgement must be given to outstanding news reports from dedicated agencies around the world: The Jakarta Post; China View; BBC Indonesia; The Globe And Mail; The Toronto Star; The New York Times.
In addition, I credit The Northern Miner News for their excellent book “Bre-X, Gold Today, Gone Tomorrow”, the definitive work on the greatest gold scandal of our generation.
Eight months of research, six months of writing and a year spent layering, revising and editing….
As a writer, time is not the only price to be paid for research on this scale. There is also the emotional commitment. One cannot spend hundreds of hours reading about the plight of people whose losses are beyond measure without feeling great empathy for them.
And yes, I cried. Often.
How can one not?
I never knew which story would bring tears to my eyes. It might be a tale of terrible tragedy, like the man who was swept out to the ocean, and who survived, was swept back to his own island to find it deserted – save for him.
Alone. Utterly.
It was more than a week before rescuers found him.
Or it might be a story of great joy that made me weep. Like the birth of the first baby in Banda Aceh after “the wave”. Such joy being shared by so many in the aftermath of horror… one cannot help but feel it deeply.
These are the bits of knowledge I’ll carry to my grave. They present themselves to me, even now, whenever I feel compelled to air some petty grievance or minor complaint.
They are there each time I look at my own husband and children and remember the thousands of families that were irreversibly torn apart on that fateful day.
And yet, even in the face of terrible tragedy, hope rises. I saw it in the countless reports of aid, effort and love that flowed for all those who suffered.
Hope prevails, always. That’s the lesson I learned from writing Gold And Fishes.
If there is one gift I’d like to give to readers it’s this: Hope.
I remember where we were when the news first broke.
It was Boxing Day, December 26, 2004 on our side of the planet. The tragic event actually occurred at 6:58 am December 26 on the opposite side of the world, a day earlier.
We were watching the snow fall in a post-Christmas haze of peace and contentment in our northern home. Life was good. We don’t watch much television during the holidays, but we happened to have CBC on that afternoon while the children were busy building snowmen outside.
The earliest news reports were unenlightening. A significant seismic event had taken place. Some Canadians touring in the region may have been effected. A few hundred of our patriots were known to be holidaying in Southeast Asia.
Attempts were being made to contact them, but all phone lines were down.
Throughout the following week, I confess we didn’t give the news much attention. The occasional report struck a chord with me. The numbers were unclear, but it was becoming obvious this was no ordinary disaster.
By New Year’s Day 2005, I knew I would write my novel Gold And Fishes.
Something about the event moved me deeply. It might have been the way the news reports crept up on us. At first, to all accounts, it appeared to be a minor event. Then, as the days and weeks passed, the death toll mounted to unimaginable proportions.
Add to that the number of displaced and homeless, the orphaned children, the parents torn apart by loss.
I’ve been a writer since the first time I held a pen. Still, until that day, never had I felt so compelled to put down words, to try to capture the heart and soul of a global situation.
How does one do justice to such a tragic event? The losses must not be trivialized; the grief cannot and must not be sensationalized; the truth must rise above all rumour and fiction.
As a fiction lover and writer, I realized that research would be the crux of this novel. No matter the style or story-arc that came into play, the most significant thing about Gold And Fishes would be its compelling truth.
The reader must feel the crusted mud, smell the death, hear the buzz of aid workers in the equatorial camp. When tropical monsoon rains add to the general sense of chaos, the reader must shiver along with the characters.
In short, this is not a book that could be written without a great deal of help.
It was crafted after many hours of reading and research. Acknowledgement must be given to outstanding news reports from dedicated agencies around the world: The Jakarta Post; China View; BBC Indonesia; The Globe And Mail; The Toronto Star; The New York Times.
In addition, I credit The Northern Miner News for their excellent book “Bre-X, Gold Today, Gone Tomorrow”, the definitive work on the greatest gold scandal of our generation.
Eight months of research, six months of writing and a year spent layering, revising and editing….
As a writer, time is not the only price to be paid for research on this scale. There is also the emotional commitment. One cannot spend hundreds of hours reading about the plight of people whose losses are beyond measure without feeling great empathy for them.
And yes, I cried. Often.
How can one not?
I never knew which story would bring tears to my eyes. It might be a tale of terrible tragedy, like the man who was swept out to the ocean, and who survived, was swept back to his own island to find it deserted – save for him.
Alone. Utterly.
It was more than a week before rescuers found him.
Or it might be a story of great joy that made me weep. Like the birth of the first baby in Banda Aceh after “the wave”. Such joy being shared by so many in the aftermath of horror… one cannot help but feel it deeply.
These are the bits of knowledge I’ll carry to my grave. They present themselves to me, even now, whenever I feel compelled to air some petty grievance or minor complaint.
They are there each time I look at my own husband and children and remember the thousands of families that were irreversibly torn apart on that fateful day.
And yet, even in the face of terrible tragedy, hope rises. I saw it in the countless reports of aid, effort and love that flowed for all those who suffered.
Hope prevails, always. That’s the lesson I learned from writing Gold And Fishes.
If there is one gift I’d like to give to readers it’s this: Hope.
