It was December 21, 2012. I woke up at the dusk of dawn hyperventilating from a nightmare, my body aching with shooting pains accompanied by the sensation of my brain throbbing against my skull. Apart from my own discomfort, something was terribly wrong and my conscience was not permitting me to believe otherwise. The city of Los Angeles was in turmoil knowing all the prophecies of doomsday associated with the date 12.21.12 but my family did not raise me to believe in such notions. I was a firm believer in science. Then why was I feeling this way?
I went about my normal day trying to remain oblivious to the local gossip, refusing to worry about something I knew was not going to happen. The more I went along with this attitude, the stranger the events seemed to me. At noon, I could hear the tides of the Hermosa beach in front of my home crashing vigorously as the ground began to tremble and break in ripples like an unsteady pond. My parents and younger sister began shrieking my name. Our first instinct was to bolt outside before our abode crumbled to pieces on us. Upon reaching the beach, we met with a tide higher than anything I had ever seen, enveloping us with a shadow so dark as if it were about to consume us. My family and I held hands and prayed. Whatever happened, we would be in it together. We thought there was no possible measure we could take, but to wait for the colossal tsunami to hit us while we still had our dignity and solidarity.
I knew what was about to happen. This was no ordinary earthquake on the San Andreas fault. The Mayans were right about their Mayan Long Count calendar and I was a fool. This was the last earthquake, larger than any Richter scale could measure. This ‘earthquake’ would wipe out all life forms as we knew it. But this didn’t happen quite as it should have. Here I am telling you my story. My family and others somehow managed to make it out safely. No life would be worth living without them, and they are my saviors.
We are survivors.