So. September 11 again. A year has passed.
It doesn't feel like a year, to be honest. Many things have happened, and day by day a year trickled by, almost unnoticed. It doesn't feel like a year.
I'm not reading newspapers today, I refuse to. Still, it's not easy to avoid this entirely. It's downright impossible, actually. The newspaper which is on this desk ("La Stampa") has a tattered, half-destroyed American flag on its front page, and even the shitty free newspaper they gave me in the train station isn't ignoring today - "September 11, a year after" the front page reads, a title slapped on a full-page collage of related photos.
I can't ignore today. I'm not even going to try - I have memories of my own linked to September 11. I can and will, however, avoid the media whorage. I don't need that.
What day was it, September 11 the last? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday? I can't remember. (And I can't check now, because I'm nowhere near a computer or calendar of any sort, and I'm writing this with pen and paper, the old-fashioned way.) I do remember, however, that it had been a brilliantly sunny morning, but in the afternoon it had become cloudy. I was sitting at a computer in an empty office - all the other people who worked with me had gone home early - and was working on some article. (This was my work experience last year, in a magazine.) I don't remember what the article was about, nor do I remember if I was actually writing it or just correcting it. I do remember that it was boring work, however, and so I set it aside for a bit and went to check the TTLG forums. It was, I think, about 3:10pm my time, a few minutes after the second plane crashed into WTC.
The top thread on the forums, a few pages long already, was titled "Airplane crashes into World Trade Center". It hadn't been there when I'd last checked the forums, a few hours earlier, at lunchtime, and it was already a few pages long. "An accident", I thought, and clicked on the thread. Reading through it, there were reports, information, rumors... "one plane", "two planes", "small planes, they're evacuating", "large planes", "hijacked planes, not an accident"... not an accident.
As you can imagine, I didn't get much work done that afternoon.
I hurried on IRC, looking to talk with somebody, to find if this was the truth... I found a hive of activity and speculation, everybody equally horrified at what was going on.
I called home. "Mom, mom, turn on the TV, look what's happening..."
Meanwhile, the building had gone deadly quiet, except for the distant chittering of a radio somewhere. Another person walked into the office, I forget who he was. "Have you heard..." I asked. He was pale, and nodded. "The graphics department has a radio, they were listening to music..." I nodded in response, and he left to go back to the room with the radio. I turned my attention back to IRC and the forums, trying to figure out what was going on. The Pentagon attacked... other planes presumably hijacked...
"The south tower has collapsed."
I think it was then that I started crying. There have been many deaths, many terrorist attacks, many episodes of violence all over the world... but this was different... it was close, it touched familiar things, it was happening right then and it was large scale and it was unbelievable.
Shortly after the north tower collapsed, I had to leave to go home.
Getting out of the building was like entering another world. Everything inside had been quiet; outside, it was full of noise. The streets were full of tourists, mothers with their kids, businessmen, just like every other day. Outside, nobody knew what had happened. They must've thought me weird as I ran through the city to get to the train station in time, wondered why I was looking so upset. I wanted to stop every person and say what had happened, but I couldn't find the voice nor the courage.
That evening, after getting home, I remained glued to my computer, checking the forums, IRC, websites, seeing what people had to say. I felt I should say something, too... but what? How?
I'm not good with words, I never have been, especially when I have to express my feelings. But usually, no matter what happens, I can at least find something to say, a few words at least. That day I couldn't, and the few words I said - because I felt I had to - felt, and still do, opaque, empty, hollow.
That day made me silent. It was the first day I could find no words to speak about. It was, it felt, too big for my words.
And now? Now a year has passed. If you asked me what I felt then, I still wouldn't be able to answer.
Some things have changed, some things are the same.
I'm back to the place I was in last year today, having another work experience.
Today it's the birthday of one of the guys from the graphics department, the owner, I think, of that radio which was chittering the news in the deadly silence a year ago. We had a small party, with Pringles and cookies and something to drink.
What happened a year ago was horrible, and it should not be forgotten. Many other things have happened since then, some horrible, some beautiful, and they too deserve to be remembered.
And life... well, life does what it always does. Life goes on. And that should not be forgotten, either.