Seismo-Psychology: The Need Thereof

Everyone should have a list.  Who do you call when a largish earthquake hits?  Whom do you check up on? 

Last April, a M 7.4 (or there about) hit the coast damaged several weeks prior.  The earthquake struck around 11pm.  I was already asleep.  Everyone in the room woke up, myself included.  Half-asleep, I checked my laptop to see where it hit, and how big it was.  The Japanese Meteorological Society is very good with up-to-date reports.  It was my go-to source.  Then the phone rang.

"You okay?"  It's my favorite person in Japan (who shall remain anonymous).
"Uh huh."
"Were you asleep?"
"Uh huh."
"Do you need to get out of the building?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Go find a radio.  Get an update.  See what they're saying about another tsunami."
"Okay."
"Hey."
"Hmmm?"
"Wake up.  This is serious."
"I know.  I'm trying."

And, just like that, I know he's annoyed with me.  He thinks I'm not taking this seriously, which is not accurate.  I'm just not very good at waking up.  We hang up, and I head downstairs.  The electricity is already out.  People are huddled around the portable radio.  A tsunami warning, but maybe 50 cm.  Maybe a meter.  We're safe.  By the time I call him back, the phone lines are down.

When the M 5.4 hit north of Tokyo earlier this week, he called again.

"Where are you?"  I tell him.  I hear the, "why-the-hell-are-you-there?" in his voice as he asks me, "Doing what?"
"Dinner."
"You okay?"
"Yes.  Really.  I'm okay."
"Who are you with?"
"Why?  Are you jealous?"
"Don't be ridiculous.  That's your problem, see.  You're cracking jokes when I'm concerned.  I just want to know if you're with someone who will help you."  I feel bad.  No, he's not jealous.  He doesn't have to call, but he does.
"I'm sorry.  I'm fine.  I'm leaving now."
"Heels?"  We just had this conversation recently.  I read after the massive must-walk-home saga of those in Tokyo who spent hours walking back a year ago March 11th, and over and over marveled at the women who said they walked home in heels.  I've long since promised myself to carry a pair of flats in my bag.  I didn't today.  Again.
"Yes," I say, and quickly add, "But, I'll be fine.  I'm leaving now.  I'll be fine.  Really."
"Take a cab," he says, not as a suggestion, but more as a command.
"I'll be fine," I protest.
"TAKE A CAB."
"Okay.  I will."

I now call people up north with any jolt larger than a M5.  That I'm called by someone who doesn't have to is flattering, and comforting.  Being in Japan alone, it's really nice knowing there's someone out there looking out for me.  I need to offer that same generosity.  I now do.

Paying forward kindness is a part of the kizuna concept.  The connection, bond, friendship, and care so extended throughout last year is still alive and well today.  I now have a list of people I call, just as I'm on someone else's list.  Who's on yours?