looking back
This morning, five years ago, I was doing my spelling homework at the last minute because I hadn't done it the night before.
Maman's--this was the year I had her for science--assistant came in and said, "Turn on the TV. They said a bomb just hit the Pentagon."
At that point, neither of us knew about the Twin Towers. But when we turned on the TV, we sure found out. I got home from school that night and watched Building 7 collaspe.
I didn't cry. But I was terrified. Because of this:
There was this book--a series of books, actually--the first called The Kid Who Ran for President and the second The Kid who Became President. In the second, h plays a video game to stop a world war (please don't ask), and, in attempting to defend his big cities--NY, D.C. LA, etc.--my hometown got "hit." In the video game.
I was twelve. This thought--of everyone forgetting about Iowa--hit me hard. And I had nightmares about dying for weeks. And then to make things worse, Auntie had moved from NY--she had lived in an apartment not 10 blocks from the WTC--less than a year before, and that was because she had luckily been able to seperate from her husband before the divorce was finalized. Had she been unable to move, she would have been at home, sleeping, when the towers collapsed--she didn't work at the time.
I was never directly connected to the attacks. I was nowhere near New York. But the sheer terror of the attack, followed by Granny's battle with cancer and subsequent death, haunted me. Suddenly I was not only surrounded by death, I was immersed in it. It not only darkened my nation, but then, just as I was adjusting to the changes, I found out that my best friend had liver cancer. It was this combination of the whole country hurting and my own struggle that has me terrified; not of death, but of abandonment, and abandoning. Those people were not just a statistic--though a part of me thinks of them like that, unfortunately--they were people. Lovers, parents, children, friends, siblings. They loved, they hated, they were jealous and happy and courageous and cowardly. That thousands of people felt like I did--and not because nature took them away, like it took Granny, but because people hated enough to kill them--that fact, stark, gray, clear, it haunts me.
and I can't stop thinking about it.
in other news, play practice started tonight. I have the role of Sherry Aanensen (I haven't gotten my script back yet so I can't spell her name). Yay! It was a part I really liked and a monologue I considered auditioning with.
quote of the post: "i don't want this:
Actors: Actors!
Techies: Techies!
A: Actors!
T: Techies!
A: Actors!
Stage Managers: Stage Managers!
A: Actors!
T:Techies!
do you see my point?" --TheWayCoolDramaTeacher!
nebulia out.
Maman's--this was the year I had her for science--assistant came in and said, "Turn on the TV. They said a bomb just hit the Pentagon."
At that point, neither of us knew about the Twin Towers. But when we turned on the TV, we sure found out. I got home from school that night and watched Building 7 collaspe.
I didn't cry. But I was terrified. Because of this:
There was this book--a series of books, actually--the first called The Kid Who Ran for President and the second The Kid who Became President. In the second, h plays a video game to stop a world war (please don't ask), and, in attempting to defend his big cities--NY, D.C. LA, etc.--my hometown got "hit." In the video game.
I was twelve. This thought--of everyone forgetting about Iowa--hit me hard. And I had nightmares about dying for weeks. And then to make things worse, Auntie had moved from NY--she had lived in an apartment not 10 blocks from the WTC--less than a year before, and that was because she had luckily been able to seperate from her husband before the divorce was finalized. Had she been unable to move, she would have been at home, sleeping, when the towers collapsed--she didn't work at the time.
I was never directly connected to the attacks. I was nowhere near New York. But the sheer terror of the attack, followed by Granny's battle with cancer and subsequent death, haunted me. Suddenly I was not only surrounded by death, I was immersed in it. It not only darkened my nation, but then, just as I was adjusting to the changes, I found out that my best friend had liver cancer. It was this combination of the whole country hurting and my own struggle that has me terrified; not of death, but of abandonment, and abandoning. Those people were not just a statistic--though a part of me thinks of them like that, unfortunately--they were people. Lovers, parents, children, friends, siblings. They loved, they hated, they were jealous and happy and courageous and cowardly. That thousands of people felt like I did--and not because nature took them away, like it took Granny, but because people hated enough to kill them--that fact, stark, gray, clear, it haunts me.
and I can't stop thinking about it.
in other news, play practice started tonight. I have the role of Sherry Aanensen (I haven't gotten my script back yet so I can't spell her name). Yay! It was a part I really liked and a monologue I considered auditioning with.
quote of the post: "i don't want this:
Actors: Actors!
Techies: Techies!
A: Actors!
T: Techies!
A: Actors!
Stage Managers: Stage Managers!
A: Actors!
T:Techies!
do you see my point?" --TheWayCoolDramaTeacher!
nebulia out.