I consider this to be one of the most beautiful photos I've ever seen. It's heartbreaking though. This man, whose identity is unknown (as far as my knowledge goes), jumped from the twin towers when they were destroyed eleven years ago. His pose, so graceful, and seemingly serene, is surreal. It's tranquil, in the face of all this danger. And it's so sad, because this is the fall of someone who has given up, but who would rather fall to his death, than die in the tower.
I remember September Eleventh, two thousand and one, the same way I remember things that happened only one year ago. I was woken by my sister, I think, and I ran downstairs, not understanding why she wanted me to go watch TV at this hour in the morning. I burst into my parents bedroom, and my mom was sitting on the bed, watching the news. Despite the fear that I now know my mother must have been feeling, she never once showed that fear to me. I cannot recall her being scared, yet I know that there is no way she wasn't. I love and respect her so much for that. I was already scared, but if my mother had acted upon the fear she must have been feeling, I would have been a complete mess. I remember going to school, not knowing what to do with my messy brain, and then having to rewatch footage in every single class, which only terrified me more. My Dad worked in a small warehouse-like building at the time, and even though there was no reason he would ever be targeted for a terrorist attack, I was so scared for my daddy. I thought for sure he would be attacked.
So that's my 9/11 story. I can't imagine how horrible it must have felt to actually know someone who died that day. I can only be grateful that all my loved were not harmed.
As my roommate pointed out, it's interesting that we went through this at such a young age (approximately eight years old), because now we will be the oldest living people someday who actually remember the details of the event. Those younger than us might have a hard time being legitimately aware of the events, and therefore when we're one hundred years old, we'll still be telling the story, and they might be a bit fuzzy on the details. Just a thought, I suppose.