I really wanted to post this on September 11 at 8:45 am EST, but life prevented me from being able to do that. I suppose I should have typed it up in advance, but it wasn't a possibility; I'm sorry. But these thoughts seemed poignant enough to me to type up and post for you anyway.
On September 11, 2013, 8:44am something monumental happened. As the clock ticked down, Americans my age - arguably the youngest people on the planet to remember a pre-9/11 life - lived the last minute that they would while still having lived the majority of their lives in relative safety.
I'd like to say that we felt ourselves untouchable until 9/11, but that's a lie. We weren't, and only the naïve believed otherwise. Peal Harbor, Oklahoma City, Columbine... We knew better. But it was something about September 11 that felt so different. I think it may be because our own assets were used against us. Whatever it was, America changed drastically afterward; rather than doubling down and coming up stronger, we signed away our rights hand-over-fist and reacted in fear. I was with everyone else at the time, though... we may want to ask ourselves if it should really be considered an achievement to have a 12-year-old agree with the action our government took. I remember my mother warning me against it all, and I replied that we'd deal with any problems that arose when we came to them. Well, ladies and gentlemen, we've come to them (Read: Syria), but that's another story for another time.
My point is this:
I've no longer lived the majority of my life in a pre-Septemeber-Eleventh World.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life in a world where I can accompany my loved ones to their airplane.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life not having to worry about how complicated my shoes are before going to the airport.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life being able to be fully hydrated on a plane.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life in a country where Aladdin wouldn't be feared if he lived in it.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life in a time when I didn't have to worry if the person next to me started playing with their shoes.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life being unable to ask a flight attendant if the small person next to me (or, heck, I myself) could meet the pilot.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life without double, triple, quadruple checking everything I say while traveling.
I've no longer lived the majority of my life in a country that wasn't dominated by manipulation playing off people's fear.
And I'm not sure how to react to that.
Showing posts with label 9/11. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 9/11. Show all posts
Friday, September 20, 2013
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
(I Remember)
Evette and I had early morning orchestra that day. We were both so tired. We found later that we had the same reason for being so exhausted -we'd both spent the night dreaming strange dreams, and we both spent morning orchestra debating whether or not to tell the other about them.
The rest of the morning passed in a half-eyed blur, until it was time for lunch. Seventh grade ate so early that year. I generally made a habit of peeking in the classrooms as I walked past, and that say was no exception, but only one classroom was worth noting. There were several women in it, holding each other and crying. I remember clearly my reacting thought: "Someone's son must have died." I don't know why that was my thought. I don't know why it was "son" and not "daughter." I don't know why it was death and not illness or some other entirely unrelated tragedy. But there it was.
We went to lunch, where I finally revealed my dream to Andy. My whole dream had been a kind of white-lined sketch on blue paper. It was a perfect replica of New York City; I recognized it from the trip I had taken there the previous April. Suddenly, an airplane entered the dream and flew into a Twin Tower, which proceeded to topple over onto the silent city. I remember entering the dream at that point, rather than observing it. I was on the ground, feeling the shadow swallowing me, looking up in terror at my impending death. Then, I woke.
No one put much stock in my dream. I had weird dreams all them time.
We had to hurry to our next class: American History: Reconstruction to Present Day. The room was eerily silent, especially for a middle school. We took our seats to notice that the TV was on.
"The administration doesn't want me to show you this," the teacher said. "But you deserve to see this. Your children will study this in their history classes. I can't be a good history teacher and not show you."
And then we watched the burning towers crumble to the ground.
In his shock, the teacher said, "I guess the Empire State Building is the biggest again." I was horrified.
Cathy went to the pay phones at the front of the school and called her mom, who picked her up. I was furious that my mother hadn't shown up to sweep me away, but I, to this day, still don't know why I wanted to leave. It's not like she could provide any more sanity to the world.
She did pick me up, though, at our normal Tuesday afternoon meeting time. I was hoping she'd tell me that my piano lesson was cancelled for that day; I didn't feel up to it (not that I ever did), but she took me straight to the church. She wanted me to have normalcy. I started learning the song Sanctuary, which I, in turn, played a month later in church, on my family's last Sunday in that city. It seemed so ironic it was sickening.
I was angry. I was angry for having normalcy forced on me. I was angry for having fear forced on me. I was angry for my life spinning out of control.
Not even bothering to drop off my school things, I went to the basement, took out some paper and water-color paints, and began flinging color across the page, imagining it was someone conveying my anger to the people who I felt were causing it, impaling it into their souls and out of my own. I think my mom still has those paintings.
I remember.
The rest of the morning passed in a half-eyed blur, until it was time for lunch. Seventh grade ate so early that year. I generally made a habit of peeking in the classrooms as I walked past, and that say was no exception, but only one classroom was worth noting. There were several women in it, holding each other and crying. I remember clearly my reacting thought: "Someone's son must have died." I don't know why that was my thought. I don't know why it was "son" and not "daughter." I don't know why it was death and not illness or some other entirely unrelated tragedy. But there it was.
We went to lunch, where I finally revealed my dream to Andy. My whole dream had been a kind of white-lined sketch on blue paper. It was a perfect replica of New York City; I recognized it from the trip I had taken there the previous April. Suddenly, an airplane entered the dream and flew into a Twin Tower, which proceeded to topple over onto the silent city. I remember entering the dream at that point, rather than observing it. I was on the ground, feeling the shadow swallowing me, looking up in terror at my impending death. Then, I woke.
No one put much stock in my dream. I had weird dreams all them time.
We had to hurry to our next class: American History: Reconstruction to Present Day. The room was eerily silent, especially for a middle school. We took our seats to notice that the TV was on.
"The administration doesn't want me to show you this," the teacher said. "But you deserve to see this. Your children will study this in their history classes. I can't be a good history teacher and not show you."
And then we watched the burning towers crumble to the ground.
In his shock, the teacher said, "I guess the Empire State Building is the biggest again." I was horrified.
Cathy went to the pay phones at the front of the school and called her mom, who picked her up. I was furious that my mother hadn't shown up to sweep me away, but I, to this day, still don't know why I wanted to leave. It's not like she could provide any more sanity to the world.
She did pick me up, though, at our normal Tuesday afternoon meeting time. I was hoping she'd tell me that my piano lesson was cancelled for that day; I didn't feel up to it (not that I ever did), but she took me straight to the church. She wanted me to have normalcy. I started learning the song Sanctuary, which I, in turn, played a month later in church, on my family's last Sunday in that city. It seemed so ironic it was sickening.
I was angry. I was angry for having normalcy forced on me. I was angry for having fear forced on me. I was angry for my life spinning out of control.
Not even bothering to drop off my school things, I went to the basement, took out some paper and water-color paints, and began flinging color across the page, imagining it was someone conveying my anger to the people who I felt were causing it, impaling it into their souls and out of my own. I think my mom still has those paintings.
I remember.
Monday, September 12, 2011
추석, 9/11, and the Beatles
A lot of things have been on my mind lately. First off, 추석 and 9/11 fell on the same day this year. It's very interesting, because they're pretty much celebrating the same thing.
추석 is about giving thanks to ancestors for providing the harvest, but my pastor here suggested that Christians should view it as an opportunity to thank G-d for his blessings: life, family, friends, etc. Some friends and I were talking about this at lunch yesterday, and we decided that that is the best way to remember 9/11... not with capitalism or anger, but thankfulness. We are not guaranteed our next breath, and yet... ... ... there it is. G-d has blessed each and every one of us in some way, so, whether you're celebrating 추석 or remembering 9/11, do it correctly as a living sacrifice to G-d. (PS, click the title of this post for a sneak peak into one family's 추석 celebrations.)
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| Sweet baby in her 추석 clothes. |
Also, I'm going to show you this absolutely adorable video, which may help you understand why I love the kids here so much:
Entirely unrelated, every lesson I teach here in Korea comes complete with a song for the kids to sing (which is pretty much their dialogue set to music). Unfortunately, these songs are very juvenile, and are not so much teaching English as they are propagating memorization. We're pretty sure the fifth and sixth graders hate their lives for those few minutes surrounding the inevitable singing. Therefore, I have scoured the YouTube and come up with this alternative for teaching past tense (enjoy!):
Love you!
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