USA. New York, New York. 2001. I was sleeping in my dorm in New Haven when the first plane crashed into the World Trade
Center. My roommate came in and shook me awake. I followed him into the living room and
saw our friend Emily curled into a ball, her eyes peeking through her hands. I turned to face the
TV and moments later the second plane hit. After a few hours of confusing coverage I went for
a walk. Some people seemed distraught but most went about their day, shopping for groceries
and heading to class. Several weeks after 9/11, I visited New York on assignment for my college
newspaper. Ground Zero was closed off and a faint dust lingered in the air. The blocks around
the site of the attack were filled with rapidly disintegrating posters of the missing. Someone had
erected a plywood stand and left pens and sticky notes for passers-by to write their thoughts on
the attacks.