Post by Admin on Jul 17, 2004 16:40:50 GMT -5
That evening in a side-street café in Hanoi, I related the experience to Kim Chi, a non-Christian Vietnamese friend. Kim Chi had been watching the news reports on television and she recounted the story that had been the headlines. The story centred on a 24 year-old Vietnamese girl, an instructor who was leading a training seminar on the fifth floor. When the fire broke out she quickly calmed the 140 delegates and organised them into two groups to facilitate a safer evacuation. She led one group to the main fire escape and the other group, lead by the class monitor, made for the end of the building still unreached by the fire. However, the second group could not find another fire escape and had to jump down onto the roof of a nearby building. Many were injured in the process but all survived.
Meanwhile, the young instructor’s group found their escape route cut off by the flames and thick , black smoke billowing up from the lower floors. She called her fiancé on here mobile phone seeking help. he advised her to break the windows and to get the delegates to cover their faces with wet towels in order to reduce smoke inhalation. Within twenty minutes the finance was at the scene and called the young instructor on her mobile phone. “It’s very hot now. I’m dying dear” was all she could gasp. The class monitor, who was last to jump from the building said he saw the young instructor return twice to the fire to lead people out. She didn’t return the second time.
As I set my coffee cup down on the saucer, a sense of deep sadness washed over me as the thoughts of the young instructor’s death sank in. For here was a mere slip of a girl, brave and selfless, doing the work of an angel. As I watched Kim Chi sip her fruit juice I had no doubt that she would have acted just as heroically in the same situation.
The following morning I perused an article on the fire in a local newspaper. The article was an uncanny echo of Kim Chi’s recollection of the previous evening. Just as I finished reading, a series of impressions flashed through my mind. I saw Kim Chi in the midst of the smoke and chaos, organizing the evacuation. Then through the fragmented reception of a cell phone, I heard her faltering voice for the last time. The scene switched and there I was, frantically searching the gutted building, desperately clinging to the hope that she was still alive only to feel the horror rise as I caught site of her silver chain around the neck of a charred corpse.
In an instant, the manic merry-go-round of my life was stopped short. I though of Kim Chi and how precious little of my faith I had shared with her and how pitiful was the amount of time I had spent in prayer for her. Of later, I’d been caught up in a welter of “unnecessary necessities” that demanded my attention. I’d become indifferent to the spiritual needs of others close to me and oblivious to the fact that life is fragile. Every day people were being swept into a lost eternity and I was more concerned with getting enough cash together to make things comfortable for myself.
Personally, the fire at the International Trade Centre was a wake-up call to the realities of life.
Meanwhile, the young instructor’s group found their escape route cut off by the flames and thick , black smoke billowing up from the lower floors. She called her fiancé on here mobile phone seeking help. he advised her to break the windows and to get the delegates to cover their faces with wet towels in order to reduce smoke inhalation. Within twenty minutes the finance was at the scene and called the young instructor on her mobile phone. “It’s very hot now. I’m dying dear” was all she could gasp. The class monitor, who was last to jump from the building said he saw the young instructor return twice to the fire to lead people out. She didn’t return the second time.
As I set my coffee cup down on the saucer, a sense of deep sadness washed over me as the thoughts of the young instructor’s death sank in. For here was a mere slip of a girl, brave and selfless, doing the work of an angel. As I watched Kim Chi sip her fruit juice I had no doubt that she would have acted just as heroically in the same situation.
The following morning I perused an article on the fire in a local newspaper. The article was an uncanny echo of Kim Chi’s recollection of the previous evening. Just as I finished reading, a series of impressions flashed through my mind. I saw Kim Chi in the midst of the smoke and chaos, organizing the evacuation. Then through the fragmented reception of a cell phone, I heard her faltering voice for the last time. The scene switched and there I was, frantically searching the gutted building, desperately clinging to the hope that she was still alive only to feel the horror rise as I caught site of her silver chain around the neck of a charred corpse.
In an instant, the manic merry-go-round of my life was stopped short. I though of Kim Chi and how precious little of my faith I had shared with her and how pitiful was the amount of time I had spent in prayer for her. Of later, I’d been caught up in a welter of “unnecessary necessities” that demanded my attention. I’d become indifferent to the spiritual needs of others close to me and oblivious to the fact that life is fragile. Every day people were being swept into a lost eternity and I was more concerned with getting enough cash together to make things comfortable for myself.
Personally, the fire at the International Trade Centre was a wake-up call to the realities of life.