so it's september 11th.
a day that now is recognized in history books. a date that is older than all elementary school children.
a date filled with dread for those capable of remembering, and a date forever filled with guarded urgency, felt alongside utter patriotism and gratitude for humanity.
i remember reflecting on 9/11, as it is now called, and thinking that no other date in human history is filled with so many different projected emotions.
for south asians, it is the day where we took the place of our japanese brethren and had finally experienced that rite of passage that is true blue collar hatred and racism. the problematic nature of classist society--the lack of education-- causing our families to be targeted in any and every capacity. temples and gatherings were secretly or openly watched. students couldn't engage in cultural discussions for fear of being thought of as extremists.
and to this day, a gathering of brown students is often seen as having a radical islamist leaning even if every member is peaceful. maybe especially so, for we are most dangerous as a quiet possibility of utter chaos than chaos itself.
of all the places i could end up on this twelfth anniversary, i was at my old elementary school. the elementary school where i heard the shot heard 'round the world, as it were. the space where i felt the impact of those words. knew more than my classmates at which buildings had fallen.
my family had a nice picnic on the observatory deck only two years prior. i remember the giant towers like i remembered the irreverence i had for new york streets and the boredom i had seeing skyscraper after skycraper--to a seven year old, they all are just slabs of gray metal. but these were special. these had flags from all around. my grandparents clicked a picture with the one from india.
and those bulidings were gone. my shock caused my brain to fry on overdrive. when i got home on the early buses that were shuttled expediently from 10am onward, i was bursting with questions for my father whose gaze did not waver from the aging tv set in our front hall. "WHY did it happen, appa?!" I remember asking, pleading. And he, not more or less knowledgable than me in that moment, had to stay calm and gave me some calming answer.
that year, i read the conflicting reports. the turbaned peace-keeping sikhs being assaulted on trains, whilst everyone and their brother bought flags. I myself sold some flag pins for my school because i wanted to do my civic duty. I was so lost in my role as an immigrant. I felt i had to prove my own belonging. we got our hard-won green cards that year. I remember that moment when i read "permenant resident". I got chills. I was finally belonging in this country that had adopted me with open arms at the age of 5. the country which had seasons, and apple-picking, and children frolicking in parks year-round. I was ecstatic. I read the news daily. I never stopped reading about the situations in iraq and afghanistan. I read time magazine for kids and when that didn't suffice, i braved reading the real newsweek and time that my father had ordered.
so to be brought back seredipitously to where i found out about all this and went on my cultural journey? it was something i didn't appreciate until my mother brought to my attention. I was shocked. Life has a funny way of bringing you back to those defining moments. for me, 9/11 ended up being one of those act or regret moments. i'm glad i acted, even at the age of 9.
xoxo,
maithreyi
a day that now is recognized in history books. a date that is older than all elementary school children.
a date filled with dread for those capable of remembering, and a date forever filled with guarded urgency, felt alongside utter patriotism and gratitude for humanity.
i remember reflecting on 9/11, as it is now called, and thinking that no other date in human history is filled with so many different projected emotions.
for south asians, it is the day where we took the place of our japanese brethren and had finally experienced that rite of passage that is true blue collar hatred and racism. the problematic nature of classist society--the lack of education-- causing our families to be targeted in any and every capacity. temples and gatherings were secretly or openly watched. students couldn't engage in cultural discussions for fear of being thought of as extremists.
and to this day, a gathering of brown students is often seen as having a radical islamist leaning even if every member is peaceful. maybe especially so, for we are most dangerous as a quiet possibility of utter chaos than chaos itself.
of all the places i could end up on this twelfth anniversary, i was at my old elementary school. the elementary school where i heard the shot heard 'round the world, as it were. the space where i felt the impact of those words. knew more than my classmates at which buildings had fallen.
my family had a nice picnic on the observatory deck only two years prior. i remember the giant towers like i remembered the irreverence i had for new york streets and the boredom i had seeing skyscraper after skycraper--to a seven year old, they all are just slabs of gray metal. but these were special. these had flags from all around. my grandparents clicked a picture with the one from india.
and those bulidings were gone. my shock caused my brain to fry on overdrive. when i got home on the early buses that were shuttled expediently from 10am onward, i was bursting with questions for my father whose gaze did not waver from the aging tv set in our front hall. "WHY did it happen, appa?!" I remember asking, pleading. And he, not more or less knowledgable than me in that moment, had to stay calm and gave me some calming answer.
that year, i read the conflicting reports. the turbaned peace-keeping sikhs being assaulted on trains, whilst everyone and their brother bought flags. I myself sold some flag pins for my school because i wanted to do my civic duty. I was so lost in my role as an immigrant. I felt i had to prove my own belonging. we got our hard-won green cards that year. I remember that moment when i read "permenant resident". I got chills. I was finally belonging in this country that had adopted me with open arms at the age of 5. the country which had seasons, and apple-picking, and children frolicking in parks year-round. I was ecstatic. I read the news daily. I never stopped reading about the situations in iraq and afghanistan. I read time magazine for kids and when that didn't suffice, i braved reading the real newsweek and time that my father had ordered.
so to be brought back seredipitously to where i found out about all this and went on my cultural journey? it was something i didn't appreciate until my mother brought to my attention. I was shocked. Life has a funny way of bringing you back to those defining moments. for me, 9/11 ended up being one of those act or regret moments. i'm glad i acted, even at the age of 9.
xoxo,
maithreyi
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