An 'uneasy sense' of past trauma

Jonny Beirne, 18, was a schoolboy when he watched news of the tsunami from his home in Bearsden, near Glasgow.

Now he is on a gap year in Sri Lanka, which was hit on 26 December, 2004.

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Two years have passed since I woke, like everyone else, to the horrors of the tsunami.

After stirring from my Christmas night slumber, I watched the images, shocked as the death toll rose.

Reminders of the tsunami still stand along the coastline

Our festive extravagance juxtaposed so tragically with the sheer scale of what was happening.

It was hard not to feel somewhat detached.

Two years on, I found myself at the scene of one of the world's worst natural disasters.

All was calm as I walked along the beaches of Panadura and Wadduwa in Sri Lanka.

In spite of the serenity, I felt more connected than ever with what had taken place on these shores.

I can only imagine the uneasy sense of past trauma is similar to the feeling people talk of as they stand on the empty grounds of a battlefield or vacant concentration camp.

It would be somewhat premature though to describe these traumas as past.

Uprooted coconut trees, several small boats and other remains still litter much of the coastline.

Uninhabited houses remain destroyed or buried in sand and debris while dogs and goats walk around them.

Monsoon season

A considerable amount of Sri Lanka's drinking water remains contaminated.

After the impact, the wave made its way 1.5km inland.

By mid-2006, as many as 40,000 wells were still either damaged or considered undrinkable.

Jonny, second left, playing football on a beach in Sri Lanka

This figure will only decrease with the passing of several more monsoon seasons as the aquifers recover.

Progress is being made all over Sri Lanka. The initial problems surrounding the distribution and suspected corruption of aid supplies has passed.

Rebuilt villages, although poorly resourced, are springing up around the coast.

There is even a new play park in the middle of the beach in Panadura.

The tsunami seems to have hardened many Sri Lankans, some joke wryly about it.

One Sri Lankan introduced himself as Sunam. He said: "Just think of the Tsunami and you've almost got it."

In Wadduwa, one local boy who I'd been playing football with mocked sadness, despairing about losses in the tsunami.

His friend slapped him across the back of the head and both broke down in hysterics.

I didn't feel like sharing in the hilarity, but it was rather heartening to see those affected at a point where they can see what has gone before in a less upsetting light.