Fragility Curve

Last week I was in Singapore for a workshop on Earthquake. I did not know how I survived it because my brain especially is not designed to comprehend earthquake science and engineering (I got meagre 7 for Math and Physical Science in highschool and chose to pursue Social Sciences upon discovering these humbling facts). I heard this term, fragility curve, from the discussion. It is defined as a mathematical expression that represents the conditional probability of reaching or exceeding a certain damage state for an infrastructure at a given hazard level. Litle did I know, I was going to have a taste of this first hand, emotionally.

There were a lot of things happened during the course of my stay there. Chemistry (or lack of chemistry) I had with people I met, my PMS, demands of the work, unfortunate events, my clumsiness, just to name a few. The last day of the workshop was especially challenging. We had to deal with one participant left out because he forgot to adjust his watch (an hour late from Singapore’s), I forgot to bring something because I thought I had settled the matter the previous day which resulted in my adventure to Jurong Point to acquire that certain thing, the bus company decided to change our bus and our driver (and left our luggages in another building for unknown reasons) and one or two particularly demanding people bugged me with their requests. The previous night, an acquaintance I had in town bailed out on me for our planned dinner on Saturday. I was previously excited for going to SkyPark, having a drink in one hand and camera 0n the other hand while seeing the majestic view of the city from the open terrace of a high-rise-building’s 57th Floor. The next morning I was still trying to get a friend of mine to join me. He couldn’t.

Okay, after going back to the hotel room, I suddenly had one of those episodes. Tried to chat with a close friend but she was not available. I typed anyway, with typo here and there (remember when you are very upset and still curhat on YM?) and received no response. I typed still while sobbing uncontrollably (hello PMS!). Next thing I knew I had to go out to meet my friend in some near-by mall. I asked the direction of hotel’s reception but failed to follow it (maklum galau berat :p), ended up getting lost and had to take a taxi.

I met him and within 10 minutes I had bombarded him with the sad story of my life that day. I don’t know if he actually listened to it but the most important part is that I got it off my chest. So yeah, it was a good thing I met him or else I would crawl in the bath tub, crying and listening to galau songs (except my room did not have a bath tub. Surprise surprise for Singapore’s expensive lodging). That was the only decent conversation I have had in three days with a real person who knows me relatively well. I felt better instantly and when he convinced me to go to SkyPark alone, I thought it was a good idea.

So, SkyPark. Alone. Next to me were giggling couples hugging each other. I was shoved from time to time by people who decided they had to be ruthless in getting good pictures (hello, you could always crop me later!). No drinks in my hand (it would be like pouring salt on my wound if I walked to the lounge alone), nobody took my pictures, nobody hugged me to protect me from the cold winds. That was my ultimate fragility curve. Alone on a beautiful Saturday night in the open terrace of 57th Fl looking down to the Esplanade, National Stadium, and SkyFlyer. I can tell you this; If I were a building, I did not crack. Well…maybe a little ;p

This is the crime scene.

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