Flood and Fire Prep
by Sabrina Liu, 2025
It started with smoke.
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In the very beginning of 2025, wildfires swept across Los Angeles once again—first the Palisades Fire, then, very quickly, the Eaton Fire. I had grown up under skies that occasionally burned orange, but that year, the fires licked far too close. Both of them affected the neighborhoods in which I either grew up and attended school. My family and I stayed safe (save my helping some adults to deal with fallen power lines and electricity companies), thankfully, but the homes of my teachers, my elementary to high school friends, and even my favorite conductor—gone. What struck me most was how quickly the air turned unbreathable, how the line between normalcy and emergency vanished overnight. It shook something in me. And when the smoke finally cleared, what stayed was a conviction that safety—real, resilient safety—should never be a privilege of geography.
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That was the spark behind the preparedness kits.
You as a reader likely know some aspects about our nonprofit work with mountain villages in Tibet, from supporting an orphanage and school to donating a keyboard for virtual piano lessons. But now, a new urgency gripped me: with climate events worsening worldwide, how prepared were these high-altitude communities for natural disasters?
Tibet’s mountains are breathtaking—but they are also volatile. Wildfires, like the one in Nyagchu (Yajiang) County, Garzê Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture (west of Sichuan Province), in March 2024, threaten not only homes but monasteries sacred to these people. Land slides and avalanches—along with debris flows—can reshape entire landscapes within hours, exacerbated by glacier movement, melting snow, and extreme precipitation. Snowstorms paralyze entire regions. Earthquakes rumble beneath the snow. While the Shanka Orphanage had received our help before, it was the neighboring village—just beyond the orphanage’s familiar bounds, at a slightly lower altitude—that became the new focus of our aid. There, infrastructure was patchier, and whatever the risks may be, preparedness was important.
Within a month, I mobilized. My long-held method of grassroots outreaching, raising awareness, and hosting music benefit concerts blurred late nights into early mornings. But by February 21, the donations were en route.
This pronto shipment contained:
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Six fire extinguishers—specifically the multipurpose ABC dry chemical fire extinguisher, chosen for their reliability in wildfires, electrical fires, and ordinary combustibles.
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Six bulky, nicely stocked first aid kits, equipped with trauma and medical supplies that could serve both emergency situations and everyday injuries.
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Filtering facepiece and facemask respirators, vital not just for wildfires but also for earthquakes, dust storms, and unexpected outbreaks.
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Portable (dissolving) water purification tablets, a safeguard against compromised water systems after a landslide or avalanche.
Helping Tibet Foundation’s first 2025 shipment was received warmly by the village’s adult caretakers, who worked closely with me to understand how best to use the purification tablets and manage the new supplies. Glitchy video calls didn’t stop us—we gestured, smiled, learned from each other. I hoped they could see the gravity in my eyes; after all, they knew the risks. Tibetans had lived them. And now, they could have more to buttress their hope—they could have tools.
Outside HTF, my efforts to bolster resilience continues. As a member of the executive board and a committee leader at my college's undergraduate student council, I helped lead a new initiative: a webpage for students to access a natural disaster resource handbook. It’s one thing to recognize a problem; it’s another thing to equip others to face it. This, I’ve learned, is the heart of preparedness.
