“Some plane crashed into the World Trade Tower”, remarked my boss, rather nonchalantly when the first piece of news broke on that beautiful September morning. Soon this nonchalance turned into fear, anxiety and anger as we watched glued to the TV screens the terrifying plight of New Yorkers running for safety, fearing for their lives, calling loved ones frantically as they experienced the terror as it unveiled.
I vegetated the next few weeks in our living room couch watching news after news, stories after stories of this inhuman, insane act of terror. I still shudder thinking about those helpless people in the towers and those on the target planes. What were their last thoughts racing through their mind? Did they have time to react? Were they still hopeful? It was a moment of sheer desperation and fear- something I still feel and sense when I watch documentaries and reports on the events of that fateful day.
It was my second year in this country and this tragic event simply shook my core, made me question my decision to move, made me unsure of the future ahead. It’s been 8years all right but the fear and shock that was instilled that day is still there, tucked away, somewhere in the physical and mental crevices waiting for just one setback, one misstep to take head. Today I go about my life. Just like any other day. There are memorial services being held in different corners of the country but the loss suffered by loved ones is irreplaceable, irreparable. For many the void is becoming darker and deeper with each passing year. They are still seeking justice. They are still seeking answers. Answers that are hard to come by. Answers that may never be found.
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