I was only nine, but I remember as if it were yesterday.
We were out of school for the day. My mother called me and my three younger siblings into her room. The news was on. As she scrambled for the phone, I watched the second plane hit. I didn't understand what was going on.
It wasn't until I saw the panicked look on her face that I realized it was real.
I sat on her bed, staring at the TV screen even after my mom had turned it off. How could anyone do something so horrible?
The house was silent all day. Even my three-year-old brother was quiet.
When my father came home, we all gathered as a family and prayed for those who were still trapped, and for those who had lost loved ones. I prayed for what felt like hours that night even after we'd finished praying as a family.
I remember going to the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City and secretly being terrified we would be the next target. Every day before I left my home, I made sure everyone in my family knew how much I loved them.
November 2002, my family flew to Europe for a two week trip. Though it was amazing, every time we stepped into an airport my heartbeat quickened. I remember how much security there was and how intimidated I was by the people around me.
When we moved to New Jersey, I remember talking to the families of people who died, or should have died but for some reason didn't make it to work that day. One of those people is my cousin.
I am proud to be an american, and raise my voice in song to my Lord and Savior on this day and all others.
Where were you?