They say there is man in China who can predict earthquakes by studying the behavior of snakes. There is a water glass balanced on the very edge of my bedside table. It is full to the brim with Taiwanese tap water. I ease it carefully over the leading edge, on the threshold of insatiable gravity.

Ever since the earthquake, this has become my ritual. The glass. The water. The edge. Good night. If I am asleep, and it rattles silently over the edge and crashes onto the tile, it might buy me enough time to jump out of bed, run down the hall, turn left through the living room, make another right, run twelve and a half feet down the hall. Exactly. And then scurry down the twelve flights of stairs to relative safety. This is the part that concerns me the most. The stairwells are where most of the dead people are found. Isn’t this true ? I have noticed from previous heavy tremors that, lucky for me, the people on my floor don’t seem to move quite as fast as I do. Hey, every second counts.

During intense tremors, closed doors produce a terrifying racket, twisting and jumping up and down in their frames. I keep all the doors in my apartment propped slightly ajar, lest they become jammed shut, or become blocked by chunks of falling concrete. I believe this could easily happen.

In the evenings, I try to relax in the front of the television. Did you know that in Taiwan, there is a Jackie Chan movie on almost everyday? I find it impossible to concentrate on any of his amazing moves, because of the chain attached to the ceiling fan above my head. I find myself staring at it constantly, searching for the slightest movement. My heart races at the tiniest wiggle. I’m exhausted by fear. I haven’t had a proper bath in three days. They say there is a man in China who can predict earthquakes by studying the behavior of snakes.