On April 25, 2015, my country faced one of the most severe earthquakes—7.8 on the Richter scale—ever recorded in its history. Also known as Gorkha Earthquake, the natural disaster killed nearly 9,000 people and injured at least 22,000.

Two years have passed since, but the memories are still painstakingly vivid in my head.

At 11:56, when the earthquake struck, I was at college taking a science test. As I tried to stay still on my desk, everything around me—the ceiling fan, the chalkboard, the desk—shook violently. Everybody screamed and rushed out of the classroom. Everybody had just one concern: how to save their own lives.

As I made my way home, all I could see was chaos and devastation around me. People were running, crying, screaming, fidgeting, searching and what not. Roads had crumbled, houses had been flattened, people had gone missing and the ambulances and fire brigades ran every direction possible. There was no order; everything was chaos.

By the time I reached home I saw my mother waiting for me in complete state of alarm.

Later that day, I had comfortably relocated with my family under a make-shift shelter, with readymade food, novels, game-boards and even internet at my disposal. For days, I did nothing but hear everybody’s experience and gossip about everything under the sun. And then one morning I realised that I was completely wasting my time and energy.

That morning the news revealed that all the heritages that once made up the identity of the Valley such as Dharahara, Durbar Squares, Swayambhu  Mahachaitya and Boudha Stupa had been brought down by the quake.

 That morning a chill ran down my spine. I realised how I hadn’t even stepped out of the tent to explore the city or my locality. I realised that it didn’t have to be that way; I could do more than just take shelter and complain about how the earthquake had forever changed our lives. 

With some of my friends, I created a Facebook group called ‘Nepal Will Rise Again’. Within a couple of weeks, the group grew in members and found traction with entrepreneurs and social workers who were already proactively engaged in relief and rebuilding. Sisan, one such proactive member of the society, connected us to his expert team that specialised in collecting and distributing drinking water and food. Our target area would be the heavily affected Sindhupalchowk—where approximately 3,000 deaths and 860 injuries had been unofficially recorded. When we reached there, it was almost impossible to spot a house still standing.

The locals of Sindhupalchowk were mourning and waiting for the rescue team. The pain was unbearable—to see and to live through. We contributed  Rs 5,000 per head—to avoid delay in relief and reconstruction—while Sisan looked for sponsors. Besides providing with immediate relief our aim was also to help build light and quick temporary houses. We were able to build 32 houses with toilets and drinking water facilities by the end of the initiative. The best part about the process was that we worked together with the locals—sleeping under the same roof, eating the same food and working for the same number of hours.

Our team, for the first time in our lives, stepped out of our comfort zones and went out on a limb to help those in need. We couldn’t tell if things could ever go back to normal, but we survived the shortage of electricity and fuel, we survived the uncountable jolts that kept reminding us how vulnerable we are as humans, we survived chilly nights, insanitary toilets and unhealthy food. We survived the fear of death that kept hanging like a sword over our heads.

The whole experience gave me a sense of humility that I will carry for the rest of my life. It was during the period that I learned to be thankful of the smallest joyful moments, for the food on my plate, for the roof over my head, and for the clothes on my body. I learnt skills—like building, plumbing, cooking, utilising available resources, working in a team—that 12 years of education had never taught me. From decision making to dealing with all kinds of people; the post-earthquake period helped me develop skills that I never thought I would have acquired.

It was an eye-opening journey for me. The earthquake was a blessing in disguise that helped me discover my true calling in life. I realised that I want to work for the welfare of the people and the society. I want work for the greater good. Today, I am a permanent member of the Redcross Society in Kathmandu.

Looking back, I feel like, the purpose of human life is to help one another lead a better life and create an environment where everybody can thrive. And if that wasn’t something my education had taught me, the life-altering earthquake sure did.

Shrestha is a recent graduate from St Xavier’s College