My foot hits against the bar beneath my desk as I listen to the tapping of fingers on computer keys around me. The clock ticks slowly toward 2:30. I glance outside at the gray skies of Chengdu, China. I can’t wait for this class to end so I can go to basketball practice. I feel my desk shiver. My mom will be there for a parents-versus-kids scrimmage, and I want to beat her. The desk-shiver becomes a violent shudder, then the whole room is shaking. The teacher yells, “Earthquake!” and the classroom bursts to life as students scramble to squeeze under their desks. Mine is too small to cover me, so I brace myself against the floor and the teacher lays a protective hand on my back.

As the shaking continues, the students’ murmurs quiet. My head pounds with bewildered excitement. A minute passes. The shaking amplifies, and the phone falls from its hook and dangles. I remember that my mom and younger sisters are in the building. I hope they are okay.

Another minute. What is this? I thought earthquakes only lasted seconds. Then again, I also thought earthquakes didn’t happen in Chengdu.

A third minute. Just as suddenly as it began, the shaking stops and the room is silent. Eerily silent. In a strained voice the teacher orders us to leave the building. We scurry like a colony of disrupted ants down the stairs and onto the grass, where my mom and sisters envelop me in a relieved embrace. We have survived.

The Great Sichuan Earthquake of 2008, a 7.9-magnitude disaster, killed thousands and left millions homeless. I was ten years old at the time, living in China with my family for my dad’s work. For two years we had called this place our home, each day growing more familiar with the foreign environment. We had found our place amidst the comfortable chaos of the city. We felt safe. Then this.

Sichuan was struck by the earthquake the way an anthill is struck by a naughty child. One moment we were contentedly going about our daily lives, focusing on our mundane tasks. Then the very ground beneath us shook and our everyday concerns lost their importance as the anthill crumbled. We felt small and powerless, newly aware of our vulnerability. The Chengdu streets swarmed with frantic people rushing to buy water and food in case of a shortage. They clung to what they knew they could trust: their bikes and bags. In my apartment complex, no one dared return to their multi-story rooms; instead, they set up tents and blankets in the grass and felt the roll of the earth as aftershocks came and came. Like ants, we scattered, unsure where to go or what to do.

Then the reports flooded in from outside the city – earthquake felt all the way to Thailand … villages decimated … tens of thousands dead – and the gravity of the situation hit us. Just miles from where we sat shivering on blankets, entire villages had been buried under rubble. Although we all felt shaken and afraid, the knowledge that thousands of people nearby desperately needed help moved us to act.

As days passed, I watched people leave their blankets and do what they could to help. Rescue missions began. Those who were old enough traveled to the villages to pull injured people from the rubble and provide medical care. Too young to go, I helped pack boxes of supplies to send. Foreigners and locals worked side by side, doing what we could to heal and rebuild.

When an anthill is destroyed, the ants do not scurry around frantically forever; they gather together again to build a new home, a new normal. We did this too. As we worked to help those in need, we mourned what we had lost but also sought a new normal.

Some people watch disasters such as the Sichuan earthquake, observe the amount of destruction and death they inflict, and mourn human vulnerability. Indeed, these tragedies do remind us of our fragility, but the impact does not end there. I witnessed the strength and compassion with which people united in the wake of the earthquake. We small, individually powerless ants came together to rebuild a shaken society. Sichuan’s renewing strength did not come only from within. International relief organizations sent mission groups, foreign doctors donated their skills, and individuals from around the world contributed financial and emotional support. One of the most destructive earthquakes in history became an opportunity for humans to reach out to one another and hold each other steady in the midst of a trembling world.

From the outside, Chengdu now appears the same as always, just as a rebuilt anthill resembles the prior one. But those of us who lived through the earthquake have changed. We understand that we are all vulnerable. Life is fragile and we have little control. But in our vulnerability, we can find strength. Tragedies like the Sichuan earthquake force us to confront our weaknesses, but they also bring us together and prove our resilience.