All of that being said, September 11th, 2001 was no doubt an important day for everyone on planet Earth. It’s not an Americo-centric view of the world, its just true. Because of the actions of 19 blind followers (don’t get me started on religion either, that is a post for another day) and a group of psychopaths, the world has had to live in fear. Fear of reprisal. Fear of terrorism. Fear of American response. Therefore, you don’t have to be a patriot to care about what happened on September 11th. You just have to have a shred of humanity.

I was thirteen years old, sitting in Mr. Eisman’s Ninth grade World Studies class when I first heard about the attacks. It was about 11 AM EST or so. This was before every classroom had a highspeed internet connection, or a television, or 30 students with smartphones (let alone cellphones). Kids were getting called home from school by this period in droves, so we knew it was pretty bad. Most of central and northern New Jersey act as a suburb to New York City, so when we heard about it, many of the kids were afraid for their parents. My neighbor and close friend’s parents both worked in the Towers. Several other neighbors frequented New York City daily for work. It was a scary time on a personal level for these people.

Yet I didn’t see any real panic around us. No one was crying in public, no one was screaming. I guess the teachers kept us calm. We were just unsure of what was going on. When I got home, I turned the TV on to see the second tower fall. Surreal even for a desensitized teen like myself. My friend who’s parents worked in the towers called me for some counsel, but also to let me know that his parents were in the hospital (turns out they weren’t actually, he was just joking…a joke I will never understand apparently).

What I remember most about that day, and that first week after the attacks was the solidarity that Americans showed. People helped each other in and around ground zero. United 93 was an amazing story of human strength. Hospitals, emergency responders, policeman, firemen…all worked together, round the clock, without overtime or even normal pay to get life back to normal. To help people. I remember Democrats and Republicans standing at the stairs of Capitol Hill singing God Bless America together. I remember the signs plastered around New York City and New Jersey about missing loved ones, candlelight vigils and memorial services. Despite being modern, cynical Americans, everyone was working together, helping each other to be one. It was like the end of Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch, when all the town’s people were just standing together, despite losing everything, and singing.

And as good as all of that was – overcoming disaster – September 11th’s real affects for me were in the weeks afterwards. Americans quickly returned back to their divisive selves (its not just Americans, its humans in general, but I digress). Being a brown kid living 40 minutes away from the heart of it all, my days were filled with terrorist jokes ranging from “Uncle Osama” (which made no sense) to Gandhi (which made no sense) to “You can just tell he hates America” (which isn’t true). I didn’t like it, but I did my best to not let it affect me. It was sad though. We had made progress as a nation in the week after the attacks, but it was more like it was all just for show. As soon as the Cameras pointed elsewhere, people returned to normal. We started to hunt down Osama, months later we invaded Iraq and Afghanistan…people were looking for a scapegoat. I could blame a lot of people for making those first two or three years of high school a terrible place to be, but no one deserves it more then the bastards who shed innocent blood.

Please, excuse me for sounding jaded or selfish. I know people have had it much worse than me. There have been minorities who have actually been tortured and enslaved in this country simply for being born a certain way. A few names and threats from teenagers to me aren’t a big deal. I know that there are bigger things to worry about after a terrorist attack. But in remembering the good that lit up the night in those weeks, I can’t help but remember the bad.

And I can’t say it was all bad. It made me a stronger person. It was September 11th that made me realize was a minority. Up until Ninth grade, I never thought of myself that way. No one ever really said anything offensive to me directly, and I just assumed everyone my age saw each other the same, despite race, religion, skin color…whatever.

My conclusion on this 10 year anniversary is simple. We must never forget the death of the innocent. We should be thankful for the sacrifices made by all those on that day, and in the months (and years) afterwards. But most importantly, we must remember the courage, poise and respect that we as survivors had for each other in those days. And we must find a way to return to it without being bombed or attacked.

Good is innate to humanity just as evil is, but it shouldn’t take the second one for the first to appear.

P.S. I am not attempting to spark political debate by posting this. This is simply my recollection of the time. Disrespect to any party will not be tolerated.

Everything is expensive. It doesn’t matter if you’re the heiress to the Oh Henry! candy bar fortune, the second you gain your independence you realize how ludicrously expensive all the little things are. Phones, lights, motorcars…most of your common luxuries (water, gas, food, internet)…are suddenly heaped into your lap and you realize that you’re quickly counting pennies to just be able to float on.

Everyone else is really weird. You’ve moved away from the family you’ve lived with for around 20 years (maybe a little more, maybe a little less) and suddenly you’re flung into groups of other people. Strangers. Weirdos. Transients. You may think that you’ve known the world because you’ve seen TV shows, or have traveled or that you’re just open minded…and all those may be true, but nevertheless, unfamiliarity is disorienting. Different people have different ways of thinking and expressing themselves that you may have never even considered. I hate to rehash The Cave but it really is an excellent allegory for what I am trying to convey.

Assume everyone is trying to attack, rape or murder you (or if you’re in a Zombie Apocalypse situation, eat you). I don’t actually do this, but the thought does cross your mind a little more. Its not that all of a sudden the world’s criminals are coming to get you, but if you don’t think a little more whilst on your own, you might just let your guard down too much. But I do want to add that whilst in Philadelphia I’ve met quite a few nice strangers who’ve helped me with the trains and finding my way. Obviously, if I was paralyzed with fear I’d get further and further lost and scared. It’s all about balance.

Living on your own is super boring. I literally did nothing when I was back at home most of the time. I would sit and watch reruns of old TV shows, or occasionally read or spend hours surfing the web, and those are all fine things to do. But don’t assume that’s just going to change automatically when you move away from your comfort zone. You have to make things happen, you have to seek out adventure, otherwise you’ll just fall into the same old patterns. There is some grand notion that living off in an apartment with some friends or by yourself will turn your life into a sitcom. But unless you have a job, or school, or some kind of plan, your days will wither away into indistinct eon’s quite quickly.

And then it all just ended. Splitting headaches and failed plans left me loopy and out of it for most of the day. And the packing process seems endless. Perhaps that’s what disorienting me. It just keeps going because I don’t want to forget anything.

Endless as it seemed, it ended. Despite my inconsistencies, this day was annoyingly completed and now I feel better. Because I got something done and am almost there.

Two days till…Friday.

One last look at New Brunswick (for now)

We’re still at the beginning of this revamp, so I feel I can still talk about the process involved in creating a new feel for this place. It’s still difficult for me to come up with ideas to discuss without them sounding completely fabricated and phony. The funny part is I know what I want to say, I just can’t write it in a straightforward matter. Anyway, yesterday I met up with close group of friends from my alma mater (oh crap, that makes me sound old). We sat down, had a few drinks, and ate a few burgers (despite my having Celiac’s disease). It was the next step in saying good bye to my old life and moving on to bigger and better things. I’m not worried, I’m sure I’ll get a poke or two from some of them over the years.

Nevertheless, I won’t remember this past day for those reasons. Today, the Northeast was hit with an earthquake and unfortunately many people caused mass hysteria on thefacebooks and the tweeters. Don’t worry, nothing physically happened to people around here. The house shook for a few seconds. I actually thought my washing machine had gotten loose and was roaming around the ground floor (as it’s been known to do in the past). But for two hours or so, the status updates lit up regarding nothing but “the earthquake.” As far as I noticed, the majority of them blew them beyond the slight tremors they were and turned them into the level of a disaster movie.

Is this what happens with social media? On one level, it has been and will be the means for communication with some of my best friends. On another level, it’s become an outlet for bitching and moaning and conformity driven discussion. It turned a slight shake into a Godzilla attack. Maybe it was just because the northeast doesn’t get them very often. Maybe it’s because the world is ending. Either way, it’s all overdone and I hope that society as a whole can take a second to think about what their posting before they actually do.

But we won’t.

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A few progress notes of interest: it’s 8 / 23. I started packing for the big move on Friday and am almost done but I’ve realized that I have way too many shirts. Perhaps I’ll sell my extra clothes. 

Reflecting upon my new path in Philadelphia (yes, I know its corny)

So here we are, at the end of the eighth month in August and I’m at a crossroads. I come from a relatively sheltered existence, considerably like those in Plato’s cave, and have finally found my refuge. By this I mean, I’m moving the exciting and revolutionary city of Philadelphia where I will finally (and I mean FINALLY) be on my own (well, not counting my roommate). So what better reason to post about my experiences than that of the inception of a new life?

The big move is this Friday. While I will be taking my physical possessions, and buying and trying new things, I will never forget the mindset of the past and the roots that have allowed me to become the person that I am. Nevertheless, new beginnings means a chance for a new persona (because in a new persona- I can be incorruptible and everlasting), a chance for revitalization if not reinvention. Why not take the opportunity to access my full potential, to become limitless. I am going out to view the shadow makers – don’t try and stop me.