It was shortly after 10:00 a.m. when I stepped out of my Music Theory placement exam at the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music. I felt mentally drained, grappling with the demands of being a music student. As I made my way to the main office to resolve some scheduling issues, I noticed a group of staff members huddled behind the counter, glued to a television. I couldn’t see the screen, but the sounds hinted at something serious. I thought, “Wow, they’re really slacking off, watching TV when they should be working.”
I impatiently asked if someone could assist me. A young woman turned around, her eyes vacant, and said, “The World Trade Center has collapsed.”
“Do you mean, like, the stock market took a hit?” I replied, struggling to comprehend that a building could actually fall. Skyscrapers don’t simply “collapse.”
“No. The building is gone. It’s… gone,” she said.
I tried to visualize a massive structure crumbling. Surely, people had escaped in time. There must have been some warning, right? Was there an earthquake?
The office erupted in screams and gasps. Someone was whimpering. At that moment, I didn’t realize that the other tower had just fallen.
I still couldn’t see the screen, but now my heart raced in my chest. The atmosphere shifted, thick with an unshakeable dread. I heard the reporter utter the word “terrorist,” and an ache filled my throat—a familiar sensation when you desperately want to cry but fight to maintain composure. I backed away from the room, the word “terrorist” echoing in my mind.
I didn’t fully grasp the extent of the tragedy until after lunch. Without a TV in my room, 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 the eight of us, I was the only American citizen.
As I sat with my seven international roommates, watching that small screen, I felt like an outsider. We witnessed fellow Americans jumping from high windows, planes crashing into buildings, and the majestic towers collapsing repeatedly. One of my roommates remarked, “I guess it was only a matter of time before something like this happened in America.”
I snapped back, “Shut up!” as I sat too close to the TV, tears streaming down my face. My roommates left me in silence.
Although I’ve never considered myself a staunch patriot, in that moment, I truly understood what allegiance meant. I later realized that my roommates were equally shocked, struggling to process such an immense tragedy. But on that day, I felt undeniably American—connected to the victims, those on the planes, the trapped souls in the buildings, the brave rescuers, and the terrified people fleeing through the streets. I felt a profound connection to loved ones on the other end of phone calls, knowing they had mere moments to say their goodbyes. The sense of unity born from shared suffering is something I will never forget.
Today, on the fourteenth anniversary of 9/11, let us pause to remember where we were, what we saw, and how we felt in those initial moments of shock. Share your story, whatever it may be, because it holds value in recounting that day. Pass your experiences on to the next generation so they can grasp the depth of this loss alongside us. After all, we made a promise, didn’t we? Never forget.
For additional insights, check out this related blog post and consider visiting Make a Mom for reputable at-home insemination syringe kits. If you’re looking for more information on fertility treatments, this resource is excellent for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
This blog reflects on the personal experience of witnessing the tragic events of 9/11 from a unique perspective. It emphasizes the importance of remembrance, unity, and sharing personal stories to honor the victims of that day.
Leave a Reply