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The Promise We Made on 9/11
It was just past 10:00 a.m. when I stepped out of my Music Theory exam at the University of Cincinnati’s College Conservatory of Music. I felt drained and overwhelmed, contemplating the unique challenges of being a music student. As I made my way to the main office to sort out some scheduling issues, I noticed a group gathered behind the counter, glued to the TV. I couldn’t see what was on, but the sound of a news broadcast filled the air. My initial thought was, Wow, they’re slacking off, watching the news instead of working.
I asked, a bit impatiently, if someone could assist me. A girl turned to me with a blank expression and said, “The World Trade Center is down.”
“Are you saying the stock market crashed?” I replied, struggling to comprehend. Surely, she didn’t mean the building had collapsed. Buildings don’t just fall down like that, right?
“No, it’s gone. The building collapsed. There’s nothing left.”
I tried to visualize such a massive structure crumbling, but I thought surely everyone must have evacuated in time. There had to have been some kind of warning, right? Was there an earthquake?
Suddenly, the room erupted with gasps and cries. Someone was sobbing nearby. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the moment the second tower fell.
I still couldn’t see the TV, but my heart raced, pounding against my temples. The atmosphere shifted; dread hung heavy in the air. I heard the reporter utter the word “terrorist,” and my throat tightened—my body tensed up with that familiar urge to cry while desperately trying to hold it together. I stepped back, the word “terrorist” echoing in my mind.
I wouldn’t grasp the full reality of what had happened until after lunch. Without a TV of my own, I had to wait for my roommate, Leo, to return and unlock his room—our only access to news in our eight-bedroom rental. I was the only American in the house.
Sitting there with my seven international roommates, I felt like an outsider as we watched the horrific footage of fellow Americans jumping from windows, the planes crashing into the buildings, and the towers collapsing again and again. One of my roommates remarked, “I guess it was only a matter of time before such a tragedy hit America.”
I snapped back, “Shut up.” I was glued to the screen, tears streaming down my face, shaking with disbelief. My roommates gave me space, unsure of how to comfort me.
Though I had never considered myself a staunch patriot, in that moment, I truly understood the meaning of allegiance. I realized my roommates were just as shocked as I was, grappling with the enormity of the disaster. Yet, on that day, more than ever, I felt profoundly American. I felt connected to the victims, the passengers, the first responders, those fleeing in terror, and the loved ones on the other end of their calls, hurriedly saying goodbye before the line went silent. That feeling of unity born from shared suffering is something I will carry with me forever.
Today, as we mark the fourteenth anniversary of 9/11, let’s take a moment to reflect on where we were, what we witnessed, and how we felt during those harrowing moments. Share your story, because it is an important part of our collective memory. Let’s pass on our experiences to the next generation, so they too can feel the weight of this loss alongside us. After all, we promised to never forget.