QotD: Reflecting on September 11th

What are your personal memories of September 11th?

i was at work. doing my usual thing. a friend emailed me, asking if i could help him find a photo of the plane that hit one of the WTC towers. i thought to myself, what is he talking about?

not understanding why he couldn’t do it himself, i quickly went over to cnn.

nothing. i couldn’t get through.

i checked a couple of other news site. same deal… the traffic was high. i had no luck.

finally, i got into one of the smaller sites here in toronto. and if i hadn’t seen the photos… or read the headlines, i would not have believed it myself.

moments later, everyone at work was talking about it. radios were on and people kept each other up to date of what was happening. for at that moment, to us, it seemed like a mere accident.

another email comes in… this time, from a good friend who was in NYC for work. he reassured us that he was okay.

okay? why wouldn’t he be okay?

and there it was… in his email, he explains that he was still in his hotel room during the first plane, but saw the second one hit the other tower.

from that moment on, i took lead by connecting our friends and sending out emails anytime i learned something new. i wasn’t ready, just then, to think of my parents who were vacationing in the states. i wasn’t prepared to think of my cousins and friends who live there… many of them in NYC… and a good handful who work right in manhatten.

i felt that if i just kept on playing ‘the leader’ that i would be okay.

meanwhile, my best friend, was crying. and just wanted two of our close friends to be back in canada.

my emotions were intact. i went on my daily routine as best as i could. i comforted my friends. i held strong.

until the day after…

and that’s when it all hit me. i was with doug when i broke down in tears. i realized, then, how not only could this have taken away people i loved, but also how it was a wake-up call of what our world was becoming.

it was only then that i realized…

this is just the beginning.


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