My current facebook status is as follows:
Thank you to all the families whose sons and daughters are fighting because of this day nine years ago. My heart goes out to you and those who lost their loved ones on that September morning.
It is not profound enough. It is not deep-hearted enough. It does not reflect the magnitude of gratitude I possess for these people. For their families.
I just finished Mockingjay. It's amazing to me the elements of humanity fiction can so exquisitely and perfectly reflect. In this made-up world of Panem, and in its destruction because of dictatorship and mercilessness, the rawness and hot tears of the pain transform my heart and make me remember that September morning.
I sometimes question my memory of the moment I knew something was wrong, because of the AP Psychology class I took last year. There was one chapter that said something about how the greater the gap of time that has crossed between you and that moment in time, the more distorted the memory becomes.
I was in second grade. I don't remember tears. I don't remember much emotion. I just remember the lights being turned off in my second grade classroom. I remember staring out the window, and wondering why the world outside seemed so frigid and gray. I think they turned the TV on, but that memory isn't very vivid. I think my dad picked me up from school early, and I remember coming home to the twin towers disintegrating on our family television set. I somewhat remember thinking, "Why? Why is everyone so sad? Why would someone make everyone so sad?" My little naive mind couldn't comprehend the reality of the world it was sent to.
As time went on, and my comprehension of that day grew, I remember being terrified every time I heard an airplane. I remember trying to find safety under my covers that I thought would protect me from the greatest forms of destruction.
My connection to the incident grew when my cousin, a marine, was sent to the Middle East, and hit by a bomb. He survived, but just that thought of, What if? He came out only with a few scars, but what if he didn't? What if I lost a cousin that I never got the chance to be close to?
I hope to always remember this day. Not because it's announced on the radio, or because I see a flag waving at half-mast, but because the numbers nine one one zero one are imprinted in my heart forever.
Where were you that day, reader?
Last song heard: Wonderwall (acoustic version) by Oasis
Thank you to all the families whose sons and daughters are fighting because of this day nine years ago. My heart goes out to you and those who lost their loved ones on that September morning.
It is not profound enough. It is not deep-hearted enough. It does not reflect the magnitude of gratitude I possess for these people. For their families.
I just finished Mockingjay. It's amazing to me the elements of humanity fiction can so exquisitely and perfectly reflect. In this made-up world of Panem, and in its destruction because of dictatorship and mercilessness, the rawness and hot tears of the pain transform my heart and make me remember that September morning.
I sometimes question my memory of the moment I knew something was wrong, because of the AP Psychology class I took last year. There was one chapter that said something about how the greater the gap of time that has crossed between you and that moment in time, the more distorted the memory becomes.
I was in second grade. I don't remember tears. I don't remember much emotion. I just remember the lights being turned off in my second grade classroom. I remember staring out the window, and wondering why the world outside seemed so frigid and gray. I think they turned the TV on, but that memory isn't very vivid. I think my dad picked me up from school early, and I remember coming home to the twin towers disintegrating on our family television set. I somewhat remember thinking, "Why? Why is everyone so sad? Why would someone make everyone so sad?" My little naive mind couldn't comprehend the reality of the world it was sent to.
As time went on, and my comprehension of that day grew, I remember being terrified every time I heard an airplane. I remember trying to find safety under my covers that I thought would protect me from the greatest forms of destruction.
My connection to the incident grew when my cousin, a marine, was sent to the Middle East, and hit by a bomb. He survived, but just that thought of, What if? He came out only with a few scars, but what if he didn't? What if I lost a cousin that I never got the chance to be close to?
I hope to always remember this day. Not because it's announced on the radio, or because I see a flag waving at half-mast, but because the numbers nine one one zero one are imprinted in my heart forever.
Where were you that day, reader?
Last song heard: Wonderwall (acoustic version) by Oasis
<3
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