A sophomore in high school, I was hopping on the bus around 6am in Daly City, Ca -12 miles south of San Francisco, Ca. My bus driver had the radio on and I could vaguely hear the newscaster talking about a plane crashing. In my young mind, I didn’t pay much attention to it and went about my day. When I got school, my classes were cancelled. Teachers changed their lesson plans to watching the news. School was not cancelled and teachers were encouraged to continue if they felt like they should; no one did. So we watched the news. 1st, 2nd, 3rd period and so forth we did nothing but watch CNN. We were consumed by it. School was out at 3pm and we headed home. On the way home I felt uneasy, empty, disturbed. Nonetheless, as soon as I got home, I turned on the TV. My father working in Nebraska, thousands of miles away, my mother attending church with my sisters, I was left home alone. Thought disturbing and horrendous, I could not stop watching the development of the news. By 9pm, I felt empty. I felt depressed. I felt helpless. Hopeless. Like life had no meaning. That there had to be more. So many people died. So many unanswered questions. The whys. At 16, to be consumed by this…more than 3,000 miles away and feeling completely and utterly destroyed. Man. My problem: not just watching the news. Not just listening. But mentally, visually experience what people were experience. Obviously it’ll never compare but my mind goes there. As I look back now, I’m left with this dark memory of the day. And though I’ve researched and searched for answers, when I remember, I find myself researching again. Hours after hours. And all I’m left with is a similar feeling.