Today marks the 10th anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attack, a date we would like to put away as a capsulated horror.
Even ten years ago, we lived in an era of complete media immersion. Fragmented memories will be brought back to life today with replayed footage, fleshing out the gruesome images that weren’t suitable for the oldest of Americans at the time, let alone children who couldn’t escape it.
In a way, I wanted to skip today and stay in bed and keep those memories as faded as possible. However, I can’t turn away from the fact that September 11th, 2001 was a day that affected me, my life, and my choices.
On September 11th, 2001, it was a Tuesday. I was doing homework in the administrative lobby at my high school. Between reading lines of Beowulf, I heard the vague words, “a plane crashed into a building” from the front desk. The event didn’t really register until the other counselors and teachers began repeating the same thing, now more urgent, louder. I asked what was going on, but the information hadn’t broken into a public experience, merely people talking to one another about the same event in isolated conversations.
A girl came into the lobby. I don’t remember her name, but I did know she was a classmate. Crying, she ducked into one of the counselors’ offices. A few seconds later, out again, back into the recesses of the principal’s office. I overheard the lady at the front desk say that her father worked in the World Trade Center.
What had happened still didn’t register until I left for my class. Every room had a TV propped in the corner of their rooms, but rarely were they ever put on unless it was to watch reruns of Bill Nye The Science Guy or some other educational programming. The TV’s in every room were lit up, showing the same broken geometric image; two buildings, smoking, still, panicked voice-overs.
My math teacher let us watch it for only a few minutes before class started. He shut off the TV and, somehow, taught us algebra. At the time, maybe he didn’t realize the severity of what was happening. Maybe he just wanted to keep us calm. I’m really not sure.
The rest of the day is wiped out by TV images, and the birth of the crawling ticker text we find normal nowadays. Later I felt overwhelming fear; I would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, mistaking the sound of my table fan for the roar of plane engines.
I would feel helpless and isolated in England a few years later when a sudden terror alert questioned my safety in returning home.
…and then there was the choice I made to take Intro to Islamic Civilization in college, to learn just why all this happened. By the end of the class, I didn’t have an answer, but I at least understood the Middle East a little better than the fragmentary education the nightly news gave me.
There are probably other countless tremors that September 11th ran through the course of my life; the economic, political, and social ramifications will be contested and argued for a long time to come. However, in this instance when the United States, and even the world, struggles to understand how to mourn and what to take away from what has happened and what we’ve accomplished in 10 years passing, these are the only truths I can really offer today.
Let us never forget, but also be willing to learn.
-Em
consider this to be a fail-safe solution for everyone. You should always speak with a counselor or psychologist if you feel that your depression or anxiety is getting in the way of your life. However, the following exercises and advice has helped me personally cope with life.
