I didn?t fix the cracks that cut through my walls, first telling myself that I?d get around to it eventually, and later actively avoiding it Groggy and disoriented, I walked down the stairs that led to my office building?s parking lot in Mexico City. It was the Tuesday morning of September 19th, 2017, and I had effectively napped through the evacuation drill that every year commemorates the victims of the 1985 earthquake?the deadliest in the city?s history. My coworkers teased me that of course I would be the one to sleep through a natural disaster.
That week had gotten off to a strange start. I?d just broken up with my boyfriend of two years and, though determined to distract myself with my work, I seemed to always feel tired. But soon there would be no time to wallow. As if it were a personal wake-up call, scarcely two hours after the drill, a sudden jolt announced yet another devastating earthquake. Buildings collapsed, entire streets were closed to traffic, and people frantically tried to get a hold of their loved ones through weakened cellphone reception. The final death toll was 361, but during the minute or so that the ground shook, no one had any way of knowing how bad the damage would be. In a daze, I started walking the six blocks toward my apartment, breaking into a run when I encountered a building?s entire facade littering the street. When I arrived home I found my kitchen floor covered with shards of ceramics; books and framed pictures were scattered t...