being an american in paris on the 10th anniversary of september 11th is a strange feeling. there wasn’t any congregation of people remembering, there wasn’t a day of rest unlike any other sunday, nor did people even seem to acknowledge that today was different. and perhaps that’s because it wasn’t for them, just for me and my american companions.
to this day, i remeber exactly what happened all those years ago. i remember being in elementary school, coming back to class only to be dismissed and told our parents had been called, being confused but happy to be out of school early, but also knowing something had happened. i came home to find my mother at home, sitting on the couch, watching the same video playing over and over again on the news. it was the footage of the planes hitting the towers, one at a time. i remember walking into my father’s office and trying to find something else on television, to no avail. i remember my aggravation, my complete lack of understanding. i was only 10 years old, after all.
last night i found myself speaking to a british person in a club about the wake of september 11th, from the foreign point of view. all nations undergo terrorism and war, it just so happens that our nation is so young and so embroiled in international affairs of this sort.
i’m not sure there’s anything to be said on this matter (that hasn’t already been said). the events of september 11, 2001 are forever seared into my and our collective memory, and i don’t think we’ll ever begin to forget where we were or what we were doing when those planes changed our perspectives.
