Where were you?
Friday, September 16, 2011
I love hearing people's recount of their September 11th, 2001 experience. I'm not sure what it is that makes it so intriguing. Maybe it's that we all experienced it, and we all have memories of it. Here's mine.
I was a freshman at The University of Texas.
It was my sister's 21st birthday.
I went to my 9 o'clock French I class, and got there a little early. There were about 15 people (at most) in the class, and that day we were just going to be practicing conversing in French, so the class was set up in a circle. I remember getting there, and there were only a few of us at first. One girl said, "did you hear that a plane few into the World Trade Center?" In my head I pictured a solo pilot in his personal jet, who accidentally crashed, or was trying to commit suicide. I had no idea of the scale. In my head, it was no big deal, maybe a couple people died, maybe just the pilot. My instructor and friends didn't seem to think much of it either. But by the end of class I think enough people filtered in and knew of this accident, that it's seriousness grew, still I had no idea how serious. After class I remember walking across the main mall of campus back to Jester dormitory, and my anxiousness grew. I walked into the lobby, and there was a huge group of students gathered around the only tv; this area was always deserted, especially at 10:15 on a Tuesday. But it don't remember hearing anything, I just remember us all staring at the images of a plane crashing, smoke billowing.
I know shortly after I spoke to Hubs (then boyfriend), and my dad. I tried to drive to College Station to go to Breakaway (a large student worship service at A&M). The highways were so jammed. I still to this day have no idea how I ended up on Mopac from 35 (if you don't know Austin, this makes no sense if trying to get to College Station). I called my dad in my confusion and he made me head back to campus. My afternoon class was not canceled, and we received an email from the professor telling us that we would not be excused if we were absent (which she later waived), and since it was a mostly attendance based class I complied. Someone put together an impromptu candle light vigil in front of the tower that night, which I went to with my roommate. I was glad to be with such a large community and know we were all processing the same thing.
One year later I returned to the tower with my roommate for a unity gathering and concert. I still have the ribbons I wore from each event.
Looking back to the days following 09/11 I think about the unity and resolve we all felt: there was such selflessness to it. I just wish we could find that again.
Erol Yayboke
Never before have I seen so much love, so much hurt. Never before have I seen a group of strangers come so close. Each holding a candle, each lost in his/her own thoughts, each student feeling the weight of the red, white and blue ribbon they wore. In such a huge school with such a wide variety of students, everyone became American, at least for that one hour on the South Mall this evening. The speakers spoke of unity, of sorrow, and of tragedy; they spoke of a small group of criminals responsible for the massacre, not of a whole race or religion bound to destroy the United States. They spoke of rebuilding the country and of carrying on as a nation. They needn't have spoken, for the unspoken feelings lay in the hearts of every person there; in the gestures, the hugs given to strangers, the tears shed for people far away. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound” of a crowd so far away united in song; united in more than a song, united in purpose; united in more than purpose, united through compassion. The ceremony done, no one moves, no one speaks. Far off to the side of the crowd, a small female voice sings the only thing on her heart, singing also straight to the heart of everyone there resulting in the chorus of people joined in our nation’s anthem which softly echoed throughout campus. “And the home of the brave…” Not a sound was made, not a pin was dropped, we weren’t ready to leave yet. A glow began to rise from the steps in front of the great Tower, normally the symbol of its students, tonight a symbol of the nation. A glow began from the steps, a glow from the candles placed on these steps. Each candle left behind was a piece of the heart of he/she who laid it there. Those who prayed took a knee, those who said they were sorry placed their candle down in a moment of silence. Each one, flickering in the wind on this faultlessly clear night, signifies the people of this nation amidst its tragedy, for as the wax burned low and the wicks fused together, a unit of fire was created, a unit commemorating those who died this day. Slowly the crowd dispersed in silent contemplation, leaving the stairs to burn still, to send a silent message, to hold onto the hope that seems so distant.
I know shortly after I spoke to Hubs (then boyfriend), and my dad. I tried to drive to College Station to go to Breakaway (a large student worship service at A&M). The highways were so jammed. I still to this day have no idea how I ended up on Mopac from 35 (if you don't know Austin, this makes no sense if trying to get to College Station). I called my dad in my confusion and he made me head back to campus. My afternoon class was not canceled, and we received an email from the professor telling us that we would not be excused if we were absent (which she later waived), and since it was a mostly attendance based class I complied. Someone put together an impromptu candle light vigil in front of the tower that night, which I went to with my roommate. I was glad to be with such a large community and know we were all processing the same thing.
One year later I returned to the tower with my roommate for a unity gathering and concert. I still have the ribbons I wore from each event.
Looking back to the days following 09/11 I think about the unity and resolve we all felt: there was such selflessness to it. I just wish we could find that again.
I found the words below from this University site.
Erol Yayboke
Never before have I seen so much love, so much hurt. Never before have I seen a group of strangers come so close. Each holding a candle, each lost in his/her own thoughts, each student feeling the weight of the red, white and blue ribbon they wore. In such a huge school with such a wide variety of students, everyone became American, at least for that one hour on the South Mall this evening. The speakers spoke of unity, of sorrow, and of tragedy; they spoke of a small group of criminals responsible for the massacre, not of a whole race or religion bound to destroy the United States. They spoke of rebuilding the country and of carrying on as a nation. They needn't have spoken, for the unspoken feelings lay in the hearts of every person there; in the gestures, the hugs given to strangers, the tears shed for people far away. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound” of a crowd so far away united in song; united in more than a song, united in purpose; united in more than purpose, united through compassion. The ceremony done, no one moves, no one speaks. Far off to the side of the crowd, a small female voice sings the only thing on her heart, singing also straight to the heart of everyone there resulting in the chorus of people joined in our nation’s anthem which softly echoed throughout campus. “And the home of the brave…” Not a sound was made, not a pin was dropped, we weren’t ready to leave yet. A glow began to rise from the steps in front of the great Tower, normally the symbol of its students, tonight a symbol of the nation. A glow began from the steps, a glow from the candles placed on these steps. Each candle left behind was a piece of the heart of he/she who laid it there. Those who prayed took a knee, those who said they were sorry placed their candle down in a moment of silence. Each one, flickering in the wind on this faultlessly clear night, signifies the people of this nation amidst its tragedy, for as the wax burned low and the wicks fused together, a unit of fire was created, a unit commemorating those who died this day. Slowly the crowd dispersed in silent contemplation, leaving the stairs to burn still, to send a silent message, to hold onto the hope that seems so distant.
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