It was shortly after 10:00 a.m. when I emerged from my Music Theory placement exam at the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music. I exited the exam room feeling mentally drained, reflecting on the rigors of being a music student. As I made my way to the main office to resolve some scheduling issues, I noticed everyone huddled behind the counter, fixated on a television. Although I couldn’t see the screen, the murmurs and gasps indicated something serious was unfolding. I thought, how unprofessional, watching the news when they should be assisting students.
I impatiently asked if someone could help me. A young woman turned to me, her expression vacant, and simply stated, “The World Trade Center has collapsed.”
“Are you referring to a stock market crash?” I asked, incredulous. Surely she couldn’t mean that the building had actually fallen. Such structures don’t just “collapse.”
“No,” she replied. “The building is gone. There’s nothing left. It’s… gone.”
I struggled to visualize a skyscraper crumbling. Surely people had escaped in time. There must have been warnings about structural issues, right? Was there an earthquake?
Suddenly, the room filled with screams and gasps. Someone began to whimper. Unbeknownst to me, that was the moment when the second tower fell. My heart raced, and a heavy silence enveloped the space, filled with a palpable dread. I heard the word “terrorist” spoken on the television, and my throat tightened, a familiar ache rising as I fought back tears, determined not to show vulnerability. I retreated from the room, the word “terrorist” echoing in my mind.
I didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the situation until after lunch. Without a television, I had to wait for my roommate, Raj, to return and unlock his room, the only place in our eight-bedroom rental with access to news. Among the eight of us living there, I was the sole American citizen.
Watching that small screen with my seven international roommates, I felt like a foreigner as we witnessed fellow Americans jumping from those high windows, planes crashing into buildings, and the Twin Towers collapsing in a continuous loop. One of my roommates remarked, “I guess it was only a matter of time before something like this happened in America.” I told her to be quiet. I sat too close to the screen, tears streaming down my face as I trembled. My roommates instinctively gave me space.
Although I had never considered myself particularly patriotic, in that moment, I understood what allegiance truly meant. I now realize that my roommates were just as shocked as I was; they simply didn’t know how to respond to such an unimaginable tragedy. Yet on that day, more than ever before, I felt… American. I was connected to the victims, those on the planes, the individuals trapped in the towers, rescuers, and the terrified masses running through the streets. I felt the anguish of loved ones making frantic calls, knowing they had mere moments to express their last words before the line went dead. That profound sense of unity born from shared suffering is something I will never forget.
Today, on the fourteenth anniversary of September 11, let us reflect on where we were, what we saw, and how we felt in those initial moments of shock. Share your story, whatever it may be, as it is a valid account of that day. Pass your experiences to future generations, so they too can grasp the weight of this loss alongside us. After all, we made a solemn promise: never forget.
For further insights on this topic, visit Progyny, an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, for information on fertility solutions, check out Fertility Booster for Men, a leading authority in the field.
Summary
The author recounts a deeply personal experience of learning about the September 11 attacks while at university. As she navigates her feelings of shock and patriotism, she emphasizes the importance of sharing personal narratives to honor the memory of those lost.