Samantha, Sam for short, called me as I was completing my previous blog entry, and immediately launched into a tirade about me changing my phone number.
“I had your number memorized for the past two years, now I have to scroll down to check if it’s the right person I’m calling, can you change back to your old number?!”, she ranted.
Normally, I’d shout back at Sam, such is the fiesty nature of our relationship. We love each other a lot like that.
But Sam went on to tell me she’d come home from Phuket on the 29th, and that she was mostly sheltered from all death and devastation because her hotel was more or less on a hill. She said it was a most bizarre scene the days following the tsunami because life carried on at the hotel she was at. The pool was open and used by guests from the day after Boxing Day, still ringed with languid sunbathers. When she left on the 29th, Phuket’s airport seemed just a little more crowded than usual, with the occasional injured person being wheeled through the hall, and the only other significant difference being the use of a previously blank wall for the posting of missing persons’ notices.
So, I didn’t shout back at Sam. And Sam wasn’t upset that neither myself nor any of her friends knew she was in Phuket.
It would’ve been odd had we gone the ‘Omigod are you alright were you hurt’ course of conversation, so I guess that’s why we didn’t. I merely thanked her for calling, and we ended our phone call after she said she’d chat with me again soon.