September 11, 2001. Seventeen years ago today. It’s actually almost impossible to wrap my head around how long ago that was, or the fact that my country suffered what it did that day. I still remember exactly where I was and how it felt when I watched the towers go down, as if it had happened yesterday.
A few weeks before that fated day, I had accepted a modeling contract to work in Seoul, Korea. I had bookings lined up, and was looking forward to a new adventure. I had no idea as I boarded my plane that sometime, while I was up in the air, other passengers, in other planes, would never make it to their destinations. I had no idea that, while I was en route to Asia, my country would change forever.
I arrived in Seoul late at night, and after greeting my manager and new roommate, I went straight to bed. Completely ignorant as to what was happening on the other side of the world. I woke up the next day to find my manager and roommate both staring, pale faced and open mouthed at the television. They were watching the BBC and what I saw looked like clips from a movie. Maybe something Will Smith could step into and save the day. Surely this wasn’t really happening?
I sat on the sofa with them and, for hours, took it all in. I remember my heart felt like it had traveled to my throat and stayed stuck there. I could only half breathe. I had just been in New York shooting for a client. I had friends who lived there. Friends who, I later found out, were just blocks away when the planes hit. Some on their way to meetings in the World Trade Center itself. Friends who, by the grace of God, were running late, got lost, or otherwise weren’t in the buildings when they were supposed to be. One of my favorite clients in Miami lost his sister that day. She had kissed her husband and kids goodbye that morning, expecting to see them after work. She never came home.
Writing this is difficult even now, almost two decades later. The shock, sadness, and anger I felt then still creeps up when I think about that day. After what seemed like an entire day of watching the carnage and devastation unfold on a screen, I remember getting up to call my family and check on them. Get their perspective. See how things were on the West Coast. I couldn’t get through. Even though they were all in LA….a far cry from NY….phone lines were unavailable. I couldn’t get through for several days after. It was on the third day that I finally heard a voice from home.
My boyfriend at the time, called and begged me to come home. He told me how quiet everything became in Portland…I later heard from family that the same happened in LA. Everyone started hanging the American flag in front of their homes, and from their cars. Everyone came together….but the silence was deafening. My country was in mourning. My country was in shock.
My roommate in Seoul, Jacques, was from Nice, France. I remember him doing all he could to help me get my mind off of things and stop panicking. He told me how much the French really did love Americans, and how he knew his countrymen would come to our aide. He took me around the city, taught me what little Korean he had picked up in the few weeks he’d been there, and pulled out his American flag t-shirt and beanie. He wore them almost daily as a show of solidarity. I helped him set up a hotmail account and taught him how to use email. We made bulgogi and bibimbap with our manager. We left the TV on just to see and make sure nothing else was happening.
We wandered our neighborhood of Itaewon and tried our best to kill time. There was an American military base nearby and anytime we saw one of the soldiers, there was a new sense of admiration and respect that welled up in us. All of our bookings and castings were cancelled. The textile companies and ad agencies in Seoul were mainly backed by investors in New York, so everything had come to a halt. My boyfriend kept calling and begging me to come home. My family thought it would be best if I wasn’t so far away. I ultimately made the decision after 2 weeks to break my contract and go home. The anxiety of being away from all of my loved ones during a time like this was too much.
It took ages to get through to the airline, and even longer to change my flight. Things had changed for everyone. When I got to the airport, it was a different scene than when I had first arrived. Both in Seoul and in Portland. There were armed soldiers and police everywhere. No one was smiling. There was a sense of fear and hesitation amongst everyone, both travelers and staff. Flying home, the plane was silent. Eerie. I had never experienced anything like it.
I had been traveling around the world every 2-3 months for the five years prior and had never experienced a flight so devoid of sound and human interaction. I think we all knew what was possible now. We all held in our hearts what the passengers on those planes must have felt when they knew they would never arrive at their destinations. We all just wanted to see the faces of our loved ones at the end of that trip. To touch them, hug them, and feel our feet firmly planted next to them.
Almost a year later, I flew back to New York to shoot with a client and met with a friend at Ground Zero. We walked by the pictures, flowers, and candles left for the departed, and for those still missing. I can’t describe in words what the air there felt like. The energy. The only thing I can compare it to, was what it felt like when I went to Mauthausen while in college. Something changes in a place where so many souls are lost. A sadness lingers. Perhaps forever.
We may go on with our lives…seventeen years later….but I know that none of us will ever forget what happened that day, or the lives lost, or the heroes created.
header photo by Joerg Wunderlich @pixabay
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