Tomorrow is 9/11. I’m not saying that I’ll stop everything that I’m doing tomorrow in remembrance— I’m too young to remember a thing. But I’ll obviously think about it.
We went to the 9/11 Pentagon memorial during the class trip to D.C. The statues, the lights, the water were profound. They are swoops up from the ground, facing whichever way the person was facing at the time— from the airplane towards the building or from the building towards the airplane. Each statue has water flowing under it, and a light to illuminate the water that glows green. A few of these lights had been burnt out. This was depressing, as well as saddening. No one seemed to care or know that these lights— that to me, symbolised each person’s legacy— had gone out.
Each statue is positioned based on each person’s age when they passed away. The farther back you get into the memorial, the older the people were. It is heartbreaking to see the one lone statue at the beginning, that of a 3 year-old girl. My one wish as I left that night was that she had felt nothing as she died. She was too innocent, too full of life.
When it was daylight, we could see the difference in color in the stones where the plane hit the pentagon— like a scar, a blemish upon the otherwise staid and proud building. I wonder how it must feel to be sitting in those desks on that wall. Do the workers live in fear, carrying out matters of national security and praying every day that they get home safe and unharmed? Do they feel haunted by the memories of that day? Were they even there when the plane hit; do they remember?