I had just come home from a university open day. My friend, Kirsty, and I had got the train to Jordanstown, had a bit of a look around, decided that yes, we probably did want to study physio, and then got the train home. We had a good talk on the train. I wasn't in a great place and Kirsty was listening to my pain and my ranting.
Seemed like an insignificant day...
I got home and turned the TV on while I pottered around my room. I was casually changing channels, trying to find something other than the news to watch. It wasn't long before I realised that the news was on every channel. Something was going on. Something pretty big.
I wasn't a very emotional person, I didn't cry easily, but I remember standing in front of my TV, watching the Twin Towers collapsing after the planes flew into them and I remember tears running down my face. Something about watching those reports was so real. The reporters standing there, trying to report this tragic news, all the while, in shock, not really sure what was going on, not knowing where or when another attack might come.
I wasn't directly affected by the attacks, not like so many people were, but eleven years on, I remember those feelings. The world changed that day. I was 17, I had lived a pretty sheltered life, but all of a sudden, nothing really felt secure any more. People started talking about another world war breaking out. People were scared to get on planes. Airport security went crazy.
It made me think. Made me reassess. What was important to me? What was I scared of? What was I scared of losing? What mattered? Who mattered? I think those are pretty good questions to ask every now and then. I hope it doesn't take a tragedy like that to make me ask them again.
No comments:
Post a Comment