It was just past 10:00 a.m. when I emerged from my Music Theory exam at the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music. My mind felt like it had run a marathon, filled with the challenges of being a music student. I shuffled over to the main office to sort out some scheduling issues. When I arrived, I found everyone huddled behind the counter, glued to the TV. I couldn’t see what was playing, but the sound of the news was palpable. I thought to myself, Wow, they really should be working instead of watching the news.
I asked, a bit irritated, if someone could assist me. A girl turned, her expression blank, and said, “The World Trade Center has collapsed.”
“Wait, you mean like the stock market crashed?” I replied, unable to fathom that she meant the actual building had fallen. Buildings just don’t collapse like that.
“No, the building is gone. It just… crumbled.”
I struggled to visualize something as massive as that coming down. Surely, people had gotten out in time? There had to have been some kind of warning, right? Was there an earthquake?
Suddenly, the room filled with gasps and screams. Someone was whimpering in the corner. It was then that I learned the second tower had fallen.
Though I couldn’t see the screen, my heart raced. The somber atmosphere thickened with dread. I heard the word “terrorist” on the broadcast, and my throat tightened. It was that sensation you get when you’re on the verge of tears but fight to hold it back. I slowly backed away from the room, the word “terrorist” echoing in my mind.
I didn’t grasp the full scope of what had happened until after lunch. Without a TV of my own, I had to wait for my roommate to return and unlock his door, the only one in our eight-bedroom house with a television. Out of all of us, I was the sole American citizen.
Sitting there with my seven international roommates, I felt like an outsider as we watched the horrific events unfold on that tiny screen. I saw fellow Americans jumping from windows, planes crashing into buildings, and the iconic towers collapsing over and over again. One of my roommates remarked, “I guess it was only a matter of time before something like this happened in America.”
I shot back, “Shut up!” I sat way too close to the screen, tears streaming down my face. My roommates quietly left me alone, not knowing how to comfort me.
I had never been particularly patriotic, but in that moment, I felt a deep sense of belonging. I understood the meaning of loyalty. My roommates were just as shocked as I was, struggling to process such an unimaginable tragedy. Yet, in that instant, I felt profoundly American. I was with the victims, those on the planes, the trapped, the rescuers, and the terrified people flooding the streets, aware that loved ones were making what could be their last calls. The sense of unity born from shared suffering was something I would never forget.
Today, on this fourteenth anniversary of 9/11, let’s take a moment to reflect on where we were, what we saw, and how we felt in those initial moments of shock. Share your story today; your experience matters. Pass it on to the next generation so they can comprehend the weight of this loss alongside us. After all, we promised, right? To never forget.
If you want to learn more about home insemination, check out this helpful resource here. Also, for reliable information on pregnancy, visit this site. And if you’re looking for an authoritative source on home insemination kits, look no further than this link.
Summary:
On September 11, 2001, the author shares an unforgettable experience of witnessing the events of 9/11 as a music student. Feeling a deep sense of unity and patriotism amid tragedy, she reflects on the importance of remembering and sharing personal stories of that day.