Nine Eleven

I still remember hearing the news: my roommate came tearing into our room, frantically telling me what had happened. She was known for over-reacting and being dramatic so I didn't believe it until she dragged me down the hall to the dorm TV lounge to see for myself.

I immediately ran to call my parents, but couldn't reach them because the phone lines were jammed. This continued for hours.

My Aunt and Uncle live in New York, so it was a relief hearing that they were ok.

A friend's father worked in the Pentagon, so it was a relief hearing that he was ok.

The entire University was in an uproar; the majority of classes were cancelled for the next couple of days.

Prayer Vigils were held and supported by various campus organizations.

News channels were broadcasted throughout the week in the MSC (Memorial Student Center), so students could gather together, watch the news, and discuss the events.

Blood donation sites were set up on campus, allowing students to donate blood for the injured in New York.

For weeks (and even months) afterwards, that was THE TOPIC. Not a day went by where you didn't discuss it or think about it.

I never thought something like that could happen on American soil. Yes, we have crime, but it's from the inside - my generation is the Columbine generation, after all. We even had a bomb threat at my high school, so I went into school late that particular day without thinking twice. But terrorism from the outside? That was a new concept introduced to me six years ago. My parents have told me stories of growing up during the Cold War Era - being afraid that the communists would come and take them away, for example. But my generation has been seemingly protected and naive.

Those are simply some things I remember from September 11, 2001.

Now, six years later, life somehow continues.

I had a great conversation today (ironically, I didn't realize until post-facto that it was the 11th) with one of my colleagues who is a Turkish Muslim. We were talking about God and beliefs and hate and war. And I realized, once again, that our fight here on earth isn't against other people. I'm not exactly sure what it's against, and what it practically looks like... but grown-ups are like children in the sense that no matter what culture you're in, they're the same.

"Children... they're all alike" is a common observation, especially from well-travelled and cultured adults with their own children... but couldn't we say the same about grown-ups?

"People... they're all alike."

We're a sad, broken, confused, lost, lonely group of people here on this planet and for whatever reason we have these tendencies to hate and kill eachother. The war isn't individual against individual... individuals get along, for the most part. And even if they don't, they usually don't kill eachother. What is war? Is it belief against belief? Culture against culture? Race against race? But Beliefs and Culture and Races are comprised of individuals. I don't think anyone can really explain war, or even end it.

Which is why I saw fire and crashing buildings and crying people and bleeding people every time I read a newspaper or turned on the televison.

I know my Muslim colleague had nothing personally to do with the attacks on September 11. Just like I didn't personally decide to go to war with Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or Kosovo. Or anywhere else US troops are stationed.

I don't hate people. I hate sin. And I hate rebellion against God, against holiness, against peace, against beauty. I hate temptation and giving in to temptation. I hate that sin dominates this world. Sometimes I hate the world, hate what people have to experience, hate that I don't understand why.

That's all.