Although referenced so frequently it seems as if it was yesterday, September 11, 2001, was eleven years ago. Everyone likes to share their stories of where they were when they first heard the news. Some people I know were in airports, waiting for a plane of their own. Others were just beginning a normal school day, trying to explain to their students what was going on, even if they didn’t know themselves. The commonality between all the stories is that they are normal everyday experiences – what surprises us is that such a normal day became infamous. I find these stories fascinating because they give a glimpse into an average person’s average life. It becomes a shared experience between everyone – something we can all relate to.
I don’t particularly like sharing my own story, however, as I don’t think the events of 9/11 should be focused around me. The people in the building, on the planes, and those who risked their lives for the safety of others are those who should be remembered.
Looking back at old newspapers dated September 12, 2001, everything seems surreal. Those images should be in the background of an alien apocalypse movie poster, not on the front page of The New York Times. With the wreckage cleared, new buildings constructed, and time progressing, I feel as if the events of that day are slowly escaping my memory like a once vivid dream from the night before. I may forget the dreams I’ve dreamt, the people I’ve met, and the places I’ve been, but some things I hope I never forget.


