| Life goes on...
It has been more than four months since that day of infamy. Those who survived have continued to breathe, to eat, to drink, and to wake up every morning. As a resident of New York City, I continue to sense if perhaps a fading, yet inevitable guilt when I recall that day. But that guilt is now derived in the reality that I remain somewhat unaffected, for if there have been changes at the personal level, they have been only subtle and substantially indirect. I had been baffled by the fact that in more than two months since that September morning, I did not shed one tear. I mean that literally--not when I first learned of the terror; not when I witnessed the beloved Twin Towers, one after the other, crumble like dry sand; not when I believed a close friend to be dead in the rubble. I did not shed a tear when I strolled through the makeshift memorials in Union Square, not when I watched the most tragic of stories on "60 Minutes," not when I was caught in somber discussions with friends about the tragedy. Then I had an Archimedean moment of "Eureka!" one November evening walking home from work. As sad as the disaster was, of the innumerable deaths, none matched that of my father's. I mourned for the latter more than three years ago; the event struck me like no other. I was subsequently hardened by it. As numerous and as tragic as the nearly 3,000 deaths were, none struck as deep or as personal. I resist and hate to submit to a self-interested human nature, but perhaps that was what it was. I could relate to none of the missing or the dead resulting from the terrorist attacks. I felt no instinctive trigger to let the tears run. Not one tear. I finally caved in by the end of November. While tears were shed for reasons not directly related to September 11th, they expressed a vulnerability that had accumulated within since that day. It seemed the terrorist massacre of thousands of people led to a feeling of life's value and fragility and, over time, unraveled a weaker side in me. Many of us have since become more vulnerable to negative stimulation, as if when the airplanes tore down two of the world's tallest towers, they also tore down each our external shells. Since moving to the city nearly three years ago, I have believed New Yorkers are sheep in wolves' clothing, despite the outside stereotype that says we are a hard, heatless, heartless people. So it seemed a surprise to so many that New Yorkers actually came together to support emotionally and help one another substantially. Indeed the undeniable tragedy allowed the wolvish shell to unravel. Strangers noticeably became even warmer, even nicer in the subway, on the street, at the supermarket. Friends who have been foes reconciled. People, as sheep do, came together. But as I love and welcome my friends now as before, I do not feel it has been tied to September 11th. While I may live just miles from where the Twin Towers used to stand, I still reside a galaxy away from the tragedy. Many others in New York, a city of survivors now more than ever, could say the same. Life goes on... |