The phrase that defined the 2013-2015 era was "the struggle is real". But as we look upon today as we commemorate the 15th anniversary of the September 11, 2001 attacks on New York City; I can't help but ponder the gravity of the phrase. Sure, it's tossed around like a fish at a supermarket, but today, it resonates with me like never before.
I was just a child when I looked out of my family's Manhattan penthouse apartment in SoHo and saw smoke bellowing out of the towers. My mother was screaming, and my father glued his eyes to the television in horror and anguish. All we could do was watch in horror, as our beloved twin towers; a symbol of power and might; fell to the hands of terrorists. The city was in a panic. Sirens could be heard everywhere. WE couldn't escape the ear deafening orchestra of screams, cries, sirens, and of course cataclysmic damage. Just 25 blocks away, the whole landscape of the world was changing. The geopolitical sphere was being turned upside down, shaken, and mixed around. The world I knew was dying.
In the days that followed were a flurry of frantic phone calls. My mother making sure all her friends were safe. My father doing the same. I always wondered how my father could drag himself to work everyday despite the horrific scene he had to pass. Perhaps it was his strength. Perhaps his willingness to provide. Maybe just fake. Whatever the reason, he did it.
New York became a lawless town for a while, it seemed. While all police forces concentrated on what became to be known as "ground zero", the people of New York sought revenge. Bloodlust and hatred became a mainstream feeling throughout every borough. Islamic women and men were being attacked, their homes burned, bricks flying at them. Although I was inspired by the strength of the city, my worst fear came to life. If someone had an Islamic neighbor, they would never speak to them. I was told not to speak to Islamic people. I kept my head low as did the whole city, it seemed. I watched the morals, strength, and hope of the city I loved; the country I loved, fall to ruin. Bigotry replaced diversity. Fear overshadowed hope.
My family then migrated to southern California in the wake of the attacks. Fear had gripped our family. And I solemnly said goodbye to the city that raised me to believe that anything is possible. I spent most of my childhood on the warm west coast of California. Bonfires, beaches, and surfing became my new lifestyle and travel was a regular activity. At 11 years old, my family began to fly privately and the world became so much smaller. Summers in Italy. Winters in the U.K. Christmas in Japan once. The map became small. The world became small.
In 2011, I watched as President Obama announced that they had killed Osama Bin Laden, the mastermind of the 9/11 attacks; a mission put forth by Bush and fulfilled by Obama. I distinctly remember watching people outside the White House jeering and cheering at the death of a human being and in that moment I was taken back to my childhood; watching my world crumble. Now that I had traveled so much, I watched the world crumble. My faith in humanity was lost. We were cheering for death. We were excited that someone had died. But, justice was dispensed, wasn't it? I kept these thoughts to myself. I saw the footage as they dumped Bin Laden's lifeless corpse into the sea and I shut my eyes tight. Clenching my jaw I took myself to another place.
I'm sitting on a green hillside in Kyoto, Japan. I'm 13 years old. I am surrounded by dozens and dozens of cherry blossoms in full bloom. A strong wind picks up and a flurry of pink begins to swirl around me. The cherry blossoms. They're falling off the trees. The wind scattered them around me. The peace was gone. I was frightened. The bliss and perfection was gone. Forty five seconds pass and the trees are nearly bare. Blossoms lay at my feet and i pick one up and clench it in my palm and I run down to the tiny hut where my father was. I put the delicate bloom in my pocket and carried it all the way home with me.
Next year we went once more to Kyoto. I was 14. High school began next year. The blossoms were in full bloom once more. Bliss. Perfection. My father's friend, Kim joined me and I asked her, "Out of all the chaos, this hill always manages to come back to being beautiful and strong. It rebuilds itself. How?" She giggles and says softly, "That's the world, honey. It's everything. Out of the fire and chaos, springs new life. And there lies the hope!"
Those words stick with me forever. Perhaps this is true. Out of the attacks, come hope. Out of the fire, life. Out of the chaos, came strength. Out of the destruction of the world I knew, came something...new. The struggle will always be there. But the cherry blossoms will always grow back. And that gives me hope for a better, stronger tomorrow.
