Today on the subway while I was on my way to the newsroom I saw a lady, sleeping, she had a t-shirt on with a button of a mans face. A firefighter.

Where were you when you found out about 9/11?

There’s not a lot I remember from my childhood, but I vaguely remember that day.

I don’t recall my emotions, or if I was even emotional at all when I first found out about what happened. All I remember from that day was that a girl was pulled from my first grade class, we were all wondering what was happening, and the teachers telling us that everything was okay, but I didn’t believe them. It wasn’t until I got home that day and was watching the news that I found out what happened.

I have been numb to most news of any sorts for as long as I can remember.

When I asked friends of mine, one said “It’s weird that I can remember shit like that but I can’t remember if I unplugged my hair straightener.”

Another friend recalls her father picking her up from school and watching the towers fall on TV, the same experience that many of my peers had.

“I didn’t have much of an emotional response because I didn’t understand,” said another friend.

Our response to that day was different because we were so young and had a small understanding of the world but also because we didn’t live in New York City, a city so far away from us. We watched it all unfold on TV, as if it were a show. It didn’t seem real to me.

I went to the Newseum in D.C. back in March 2018 where they have an exhibit about the coverage of 9/11. There was a short documentary called “Running Toward Danger” (you can watch it here) about the journalists who covered 9/11. In the exhibit they also have pieces of debris from the towers. That was the first time I ever felt emotions about 9/11.

Being at that exhibit, around all of that, I felt the heaviness of it. Every time I go to the 9/11 Memorial in New York, I feel the same. The air feels different.

In the newsroom today, everyone was sharing their 9/11 stories, where they were, who they knew, the people they knew that were affected by it.

“It opens a wound every year,” said someone in the newsroom, talking about the memorial service they hold every year. A wound that will never heal for some.

Being in this city, that I now call home, getting to know these people who lived through it, and how it affected their lives, I feel like it somehow has become a part of my life as well. I feel the sadness in the air when they talk about it.

I just can’t help but think back to the lady on the subway this morning, I wonder what her story is, how did it all affect her.