I’ve seen a lot of people recounting and reflecting on their story of where they were during 9/11 on that fateful day so I’ve decided to share my story in this space as well.
Some of you may not know me well, but I was born in New York, on Long Island, to be precise, and I don’t remember much about the specifics.
I was six. I was in elementary school. I remember being confused, sensing my teacher’s apprehension and the fierce whispers and plastered concerned smiles of my teachers.
On that day, all the parents rushed to pick us up out of school. The mood was edged in fear, but I didn’t remember why. I can still see those burning towers in my eyes. For hours on end, the towers were projected on my television screen.
But I couldn’t understand why. Weeks later, I drew billowing gray clouds on parchment paper with two stark towers to symbolize this moment I had seen — a spectacle of a scene, surely.
All my teachers commented on how beautiful my drawing was, but I think in the end, I drew it as a means to understand because I still don’t understand.
And these memories — these recollections are a paltry attempt to put meaning to the spectacle, the burning towers crashing down — a love story.
How could we not look away?
How could I not look away?
Years later, I remember the news reel re-runs and the speeches set in constant, regurgitated motion, but I’ll never forget the way it made me feel.
I think I’ll keep looking on. Because I’ll never be able to look away.
And I don’t think any of us will.
Photo Credit — Banksy