Postcard from Japan

Illustrator Satoshi Kitamura was at his studio near Tokyo on Friday 11 March, when the earthquake hit. He talks about his fear then, and the courage and uncertainty he sees around him in Japan now
Satoshi Kitamura
Satoshi Kitamura: 'I have experienced hundreds of earthquakes in my life, but this was definitely the biggest'

When the earthquake struck I was in the studio that I have been renting near my home. I'd just finished the illustration I do for a weekly newspaper column and sent the scan to the editor. Suddenly, the building shook so badly that I feared it would collapse. My studio is at the top of a three-storey concrete structure. It has a glass door which opens on to a small terrace, and I rushed to open it because one thing we all know is that tremors can make doors and windows jam. Apart from that, I couldn't do much more but wait.

It must have been a minute or two, but it seemed like a very long time until the tremor stopped completely. One of the shelves fell down and CDs scattered all over the floor. The water in the jar for my watercolour paints spilled on the table. I checked the gas main and set off on the five-minute bike ride to the flat where my wife and I live. It was quiet outside. People looked rather stunned, but calm. There were children walking home from school as if nothing had happened.

Being born and brought up in Japan I have experienced hundreds of earthquakes in my life, but this was definitely the biggest. We live in Kawasaki, which is west of Tokyo and a few hundred miles away from the worst-hit areas. So the impact that was felt by people nearer to the epicentre must have been enormous.

We had no electricity, water or gas for half a day. I couldn't get in touch with my elderly parents, who live 60 miles away. Later, when the phone lines were restored, I found they were all right. But I cannot visit them at the moment because of the petrol shortage and closures of motorways and public transport. Luckily they are doing well in the care of my brother and his wife.

Like many people in Japan I spend my days since the earthquake hopelessly watching the worsening situation on TV. Though survivors from flooded villages weep over the loss of friends and family, they almost always add: "But there are people who are even worse off ... " This is the phrase that has come to represent the spirit of young and old alike. It has made me feel a little proud to be a part of this community.

The Japanese have spent so many centuries living with the effects of earthquakes and typhoons that we all know how powerless and minute we are in the face of nature. We cannot but feel humble when we encounter natural disasters on this scale. But our humility may be our strength, too. It is this very sense of our personal impotence that makes us understand the life-or-death importance of helping each other.

One day, in a local market, my wife and I passed a stall selling fresh seaweed. The middle-aged woman who ran it kept saying that this was the last she would be getting and we should savour it because it was very good. She persuaded us to taste it and it was so delicious that we bought two bags.

Later we discovered that she was from a coastal town in Miyagi, one of the worst-flooded areas. She couldn't get in touch with her sister's family, the fishermen who had produced the seaweed, but it didn't occur to her to stop working. She probably didn't want to waste the last consignment her family might ever deliver to her.

I admire people who do their work. Some - like the workers at the stricken Fukushima nuclear power station - are putting their own lives in danger to carry on doing their duty. I'm trying to work, too. I'm sitting in my flat in relative comfort, even though we don't know what's going to happen to the damaged power plant and there are still aftershocks every now and again.

I have just resumed work on my book. It's a rather crazy story about a teapot character, and it is due to be published in May in Japan and later in the UK. I've been doing rough sketches for it, and trying to work out the sequel to my most recent book, Millie's Marvellous Hat.

I don't know if I can continue to write and draw humorous stories, but I'll try. I'd rather aim for something funny and happy than be gloomy. I've never done a story without humour - and besides, one thing that has become very clear in the last few terrible weeks is that ordinary, mundane life is a miracle, and the only place where you can find happiness.