I don't have a story for 9/11. My grandmother called to wake me up after the first plane hit. I was in Illinois. My friends started calling to see if I was okay. They didn't realize I wasn't supposed to move to New York for another month. It wasn't my city yet. It was my future that was attacked. Not me. Luckily my family, although somewhat terrified, still let me leave them and move here a month later. That's when I started to find out what people who were here watching it unfold went through. I've met people that lost family and friends. I've met people that were there working. Firefighters, cops, nurses, and volunteers. I can tell you, New Yorkers are strong. Damn strong. They pulled together and I'm proud to say after living here eleven years I'm now one of them. I take pride in this crazy city. I love this place.
At this point I'm going to repost what I wrote in 2008. It fully applies today in the exact same way.
New York City is the greatest city in the world. It's a perfect mix of every type of person with contrasting opinions, religions, races, and dreams. You can find anything you want hidden somewhere in this tiny island no matter who you are or how crazy your ideas. There is beauty everywhere in every form and plenty of people to appreciate it. I love this place. When I feel the energy radiating from it I am filled with hope and I see infinite possibilities. This place is a part of me. An extension of myself in some form. I don't know how many people can understand that type of feeling but it is powerful. All I want to do on a day like today, a tragic anniversary, is express my love of this place. I will remember- and move on, because we have to.