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penmageI wasn't going to say anything, but I find that I want to.
Two years ago, I was on an open-air jeep, travelling to the middle of the Negev Desert. It felt like we had landed in a bad movie; it felt like the world was ending. I remember needing to curl up in a ball, in fetal position, and having nowhere to do it on the dusty desert ground. I remember pressing redial a hundred times all day, desperatly trying to get through to America, and finally getting a call from my aunt - my mother emailed her, and my father was okay. I remember finally, finally reaching home, late at night, my phone barely holding on with enough juice. I remember feeling, alone in the desert, like we were the last people left on earth.
I remember, on September 12th, getting back to my room and wrapping myself in my oversized sweatshirt and listening, over and over again, to Loreena McKennitt's Dante's Prayer, rocking back and forth, crying. I remember being too numb to hurt, and hurting anyway. I remember a desperate inner pull, a need to be in New York for the first time in two years.
One year ago, I was annoyed, cynical and disgusted. I was annoyed at the media coverage, the media obsession, the way people were going on about it. Not that it didn't deserve to be remembered - on the contrary, it felt to me like it should have been remembered, but not like that. Not in the media-circus kind of way. It seemed so...innapropriote. I remember passing a TV and seeing the footage of the towers falling for the first time ever.
Today, I'm just sad.
Today, we had a speaker, Ari Schonfeld, who worked in the 101st floor of the first tower, who was on the 78th floor when the tower was hit. He told us his story, his experiance. Today I saw a slide show, and for the second time in my life, I saw the towers fall on screen.
I am full of words, but I don't have the words to say what I want to say. My head is empty; half-words and syllables bounce and echo around the vast expanse of my mind refusing to converge into something coherent. I hurt inside for each of the people lost.
Ancient Jewish sages once said: He who saves one life, it is as if he saved a whole world. Each person is a world. Two years ago today, we lost too many irreplaceable worlds. Our own world can never be the same.
I have no words.
110 Stories.
Two years ago, I was on an open-air jeep, travelling to the middle of the Negev Desert. It felt like we had landed in a bad movie; it felt like the world was ending. I remember needing to curl up in a ball, in fetal position, and having nowhere to do it on the dusty desert ground. I remember pressing redial a hundred times all day, desperatly trying to get through to America, and finally getting a call from my aunt - my mother emailed her, and my father was okay. I remember finally, finally reaching home, late at night, my phone barely holding on with enough juice. I remember feeling, alone in the desert, like we were the last people left on earth.
I remember, on September 12th, getting back to my room and wrapping myself in my oversized sweatshirt and listening, over and over again, to Loreena McKennitt's Dante's Prayer, rocking back and forth, crying. I remember being too numb to hurt, and hurting anyway. I remember a desperate inner pull, a need to be in New York for the first time in two years.
One year ago, I was annoyed, cynical and disgusted. I was annoyed at the media coverage, the media obsession, the way people were going on about it. Not that it didn't deserve to be remembered - on the contrary, it felt to me like it should have been remembered, but not like that. Not in the media-circus kind of way. It seemed so...innapropriote. I remember passing a TV and seeing the footage of the towers falling for the first time ever.
Today, I'm just sad.
Today, we had a speaker, Ari Schonfeld, who worked in the 101st floor of the first tower, who was on the 78th floor when the tower was hit. He told us his story, his experiance. Today I saw a slide show, and for the second time in my life, I saw the towers fall on screen.
I am full of words, but I don't have the words to say what I want to say. My head is empty; half-words and syllables bounce and echo around the vast expanse of my mind refusing to converge into something coherent. I hurt inside for each of the people lost.
Ancient Jewish sages once said: He who saves one life, it is as if he saved a whole world. Each person is a world. Two years ago today, we lost too many irreplaceable worlds. Our own world can never be the same.
I have no words.
110 Stories.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 04:28 am (UTC)Actually, I would say you have several words, and rather evocative ones, at that. Well said.