by Cindy GuiracochaOn September 11, 2001 New York experienced four coordinated terrorist attacks that took the lives of 2,977 people. I was only five years old. Although very young, the attack would affect me, my generation, and the generations after. From that moment to the present, American life adapted in particular ways—on the level of the individual and on the social level. After all, it is a general truth that people transform their society while at the same time society changes the individual. I came to understand how some people perceive 9/11 by observing and listening during a visit of the 9/11 memorial and museum. I may never be able to understand the feeling of melancholy and grief of those who lost a loved one on 9/11 but as I matured I have become more aware of what it means for Americans to go through such event. My father urged our family to pay our respects to those who were suddenly taken away, to at least show our condolences, by taking some time from our lives to visit the 9/11 memorial. Even as I respected my father’s wishes it was hard to be reminded of the harsh reality of life. I remember how much sadness, fear, and loss was felt as a result of the 9/11 attack. In 2016, I took a psychology class that used ethnography and anthropology to help understand death and dying. This class motivated me to search for a personal and larger meaning that went deeper than just knowing that 9/11 was a sad and tragic event. As I walked to the 9/11 memorial museum with my family, I felt anxious because I did not know what to expect upon entering it. The scene outside of the museum was boisterous--people were loud, laughing, taking photographs, while children were running around playing, fighting, or crying. Everything outside felt “normal” for a busy New York city street. Entering the museum, I felt I was no longer on a busy Manhattan. Instead, I entered a place where everyone seemed to feel a common sentiment--a sense of being afraid. Upon entering, guards instructed us to remove our personal belongings. I felt as though I were being told to remove the things that make me, me, as if my “nakedness” enabled the security guards to ensure the safety of those inside. At this moment everyone had the shared experience of walking into a hallway where the darkness of September 11 could be felt all around them. The room is dimly lit; all you can see are images of the scenery and people surrounding the twin towers. Visitors began crying listening to an interview of a 9/11 survivor that was being played on a big projector. The room held a different scent; for me, it was as if I could smell the sorrow and loss. In the large dark room, people divided themselves into those able to tolerate peering at death and dying, and those who would need to leave. No electronic devices were permitted to be used in the room, enabling the possibility that visitors come into a place where to become one through shared thoughts and feelings. The dark room illuminated the recovered personal belongings, and photographs and timelines that documented September 11, 2001. To capture my feelings at the moment of being in this room, I took out pen and paper to write down what I felt, what I saw, and what I heard. As I walked around, I jotted down my deep feeling of sadness seeing what the victims went through on September 11. I wanted to know if I was the only one that felt this way. I began to observe the other visitors, noticing the diversity in gender, age and ethnicity. There were elderly people, middle-aged people, teenagers, and small children. I noticed how differently the people of different age categories responded. There was an elderly couple; I saw the sadness in the old man’s face. Trying not to be obvious, I listened in on their private conversation. Letting out a few tears, the man said, “I remember the way I felt the moment I saw the towers falling.” Looking at his wife, the old man said, “I feel that same way now, only it hurts so much more now.” He turned to her, hugging her as if he were protecting her and himself. I moved away and walked around the room. I noticed the stands that held tissues boxes with the message, “feel free to take one.” I walked into a small room. It was silent except for the taped voice of an on duty police officer at the 9/11 scene, “I kept looking up, saying, I want to help you guys, hold on, please hold on. But I knew there was nothing I could do,” said Officer David Brink. You can hear the officer’s fear. You can hear his urge to find survivors. At the point when he said he knew there was nothing for him to do, we are left to imagine the scene he was in and what he saw. A scene with only cement and dust. One survivor, Michelle Wiley, put it this way: September 11 “…went from that bright crisp morning to just total blackness and then it felt like an earthquake.”In seconds, people were left in total blackness where personal survival meant being naked, exposed to anyone who could help them. Amidst the chaos, people called the police, their wives, their husbands, their children, their parents to say what might have been their very last words. With death approaching, their last words were like confession, freeing them just before their moment comes. I observed middle-aged people start to cry and either place their hands over their hearts or hug the person next to them. Some couldn't bear to hear the whole audio; they left the room with the tissues provided by staff. The teenagers were different. Some were completely focused on their surroundings. Others looked as though they were forced to be there. Some were horse playing with their younger siblings; others sneaked a peek at their phones. A few laughed while listening to a recording of a passenger of one of the hijacked plane. I wrote down how much anger I felt towards them. In that moment, I realized it was just my assumptions to imagine all would or should feel as I did. I understood that people are human beings with different sensibilities. I want to understand the reasons why people behave and think differently. Looking back at the different reactions--the way the elderly and the middle-aged people acted as compared to the teenagers, I realized that older people would more likely feel a certain connection to the event of 9/11. They saw it, heard it, and felt it. The teenagers and the children did not necessarily have a personal connection or were not closely affected by the 9/11 event. They weren't there to experience it in the same way as the older people who likely remember that day in intimate detail. Still, some teenagers I observed seemed keenly interested in being there with parents who were also deeply engaged. One example was the Latino father and son studying a missing person photograph of a Latino family’s son whose body was never recovered. The visitor hugged his teenage son, then looked at him and said, “Te amo mucho mijo, y siempre te amaré” (I love you son, and I will always love you). I can't express how much pain I felt even as there is beauty hidden within the sadness. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable, like a child again. Although my mother was right there next to me, I felt like I could lose her at any second, a lost child. I held her hand as if it meant that she was protecting me from getting lost and I was protecting her from losing me. My visit to the museum helped me find meaning that I felt had been missing in my life. I saw how important it is to be intentionally attentive to your world because as the seconds pass the world, and with it, individuals change. September 11, 2001 occurred in the United States, but it is not just a part of U.S. history, it is part of each individual’s history. It is part of my parents’ past, my present, and my future children’s history. Such tragic events can be told by those who live to tell their story. There are also hidden stories, those who remember but who do not tell their story and those not able to be told by the people whose lives are taken away.
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