It's unimportant where I was or who I was with on the morning of September 11th, 2001. I remember and that's good enough. I feel like it's kind of bizarre for people to tell that story to each other. It was a Tuesday morning, most of us were doing incredibly mundane things that have no need to be rehashed.
Here's the thing about 9/11: there is an immense disconnect for me.
I am not a patriotic American. I have had citizenship since I was 18 and as of yet, my American passport has not served any other function than being my only proof of citizenship. All of my travels have been done on my Canadian passport.
I do not know anyone who lost anyone on 9/11. A friend of mine had a parent working in the Pentagon who was fine. That's as worrisome as it got in my world.
I do not know anyone who has lost someone in the resulting wars overseas. A guy I know from high school served a couple of tours in Afghanistan. That's the extent of how much the wars have influenced my life.
I despise the Patriot Act, but I have every option to go home if I want. I can pack up and move whenever I decide I want to do that.
I literally have no personal connection to any of it. It's just a terrible, tragic event that happened. And whatever sadness I'm supposed to feel over it (or so I'm told) would only be disingenuous. So I am not sad. I am the same as I am every other day.
If I listen to everyone today, that makes me a monster. But a friend of mine I knew in Prague posted the following as his Facebook update and I think it's accurate: "Cue the shallow and insincere patriotic remarks."
It's not that I don't care that it happened, it's just that I won't put on a sad face just so I can pretend that I'm doing the suitable amount of grieving (or any grieving at all).
I am going to go to a Ukrainian Festival and eat potato pancakes, drink some Ukrainian beer, watch some folk dancing, find me some very pretty men with their sharp Slavic features, hear some increasingly drunken Ukrainian conversation, and make friends with the little old ladies from the old world who make the cool painted eggs. Because that's what I do on random Sundays.
Here's the thing about 9/11: there is an immense disconnect for me.
I am not a patriotic American. I have had citizenship since I was 18 and as of yet, my American passport has not served any other function than being my only proof of citizenship. All of my travels have been done on my Canadian passport.
I do not know anyone who lost anyone on 9/11. A friend of mine had a parent working in the Pentagon who was fine. That's as worrisome as it got in my world.
I do not know anyone who has lost someone in the resulting wars overseas. A guy I know from high school served a couple of tours in Afghanistan. That's the extent of how much the wars have influenced my life.
I despise the Patriot Act, but I have every option to go home if I want. I can pack up and move whenever I decide I want to do that.
I literally have no personal connection to any of it. It's just a terrible, tragic event that happened. And whatever sadness I'm supposed to feel over it (or so I'm told) would only be disingenuous. So I am not sad. I am the same as I am every other day.
If I listen to everyone today, that makes me a monster. But a friend of mine I knew in Prague posted the following as his Facebook update and I think it's accurate: "Cue the shallow and insincere patriotic remarks."
It's not that I don't care that it happened, it's just that I won't put on a sad face just so I can pretend that I'm doing the suitable amount of grieving (or any grieving at all).
I am going to go to a Ukrainian Festival and eat potato pancakes, drink some Ukrainian beer, watch some folk dancing, find me some very pretty men with their sharp Slavic features, hear some increasingly drunken Ukrainian conversation, and make friends with the little old ladies from the old world who make the cool painted eggs. Because that's what I do on random Sundays.
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