A Moment of Silence

I always forget about it. Not that I forget about it per se. It's more of the sensation of when you catch sight of something out of the corner of your eye. You know subconsciously that it's there, but you don't comprehend it until it is almost upon you.

I am of course referring to the anniversary of 9/11. It always sneaks up on me, even when I know it's there. Growing up in a post 9/11 world has burned that day into my very being. It wasn't until September 10 that it fully hit me what the next day would hold.

Schools always mark 9/11. From the time that frightened teachers turned on classroom tv's to confirm the terrible news all those years ago. Not that I remember it. My school chose to continue with normalcy to shield us from the raging chaos engulfing the world. I can't remember the day that would change everything in mine and others' lives. I have known nothing of a world without 9/11. Whenever a shot of New York City that includes the Twin Towers is shown in an old movie, I have a completely alien feeling, like I've briefly made contact with an alternate reality. It's normal for my parents, bringing to light the stark contrast between our world experiences.

Today, we had the traditional moment of silence dedicated to those who had lost their lives in 9/11 and the loved ones they had left behind. I was walking down the hallway just before they began it. Doors were open, and the usual chatter of teenagers filled the hall. Once the moment of silence began, silence instantly fell. It was the heaviest silence I have ever known. So entrapping, I felt as if it was wrapping every one of us in its crushing weight. This is the one day of the year we students actually observe the daily moment of silence. It's because 9/11 is such an intrinsic part of our lives. That silence was heavier than the falling towers or the rubble of the Pentagon. It was the precise weight of a world. A lost world. We were acknowledging not only the fallen, but we were lamenting the loss of the world we were promised.

The sun rose on a utterly new world on the morning of September 12, 2001. My generation grew up in this world. It was a world born in hate and baptized in blood. But just because this was the world we were given does not mean we have to live by its rules. We have risen from the ashes like a phoenix, a bird of fire and legend. Some stories claim the phoenix to have healing powers. America has healed, but only scar tissue has replaced the original, pure skin. We are whole again, though forever changed.

This post is dedicated not only to the victims of 9/11, but also to those who have grown up in the post 9/11 world. We are a great and fierce phoenix, that shall never be defeated.