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So... today is the anniversary of the terrorist attacks. I, myself, was not personally affected by this tragedy--i.e. I don't have anyone I love living in New York. The sheer magnitude of such an act is what really leaves the biggest impression on me.
Why would someone do this? I know that's a question so many people ask, but that doesn't make it any less pertinent. Did it happen because we became too lax, too haughty in our beliefs that we couldn't even imagine something like this happening to us?
If that's true, why couldn't we imagine it? Terrorism happens in so many countries, whether they're European or South American or anything. Why did we think we were different?
And why would someone hate us so much that they would kill thousands of innocent people who had nothing against them?
I suppose I tend to attempt getting into people's heads--that's why most of my writing is in first person rather than third person-- I search out the faults and weaknesses, the strengths, and the loves of each character and try to present them in a way that makes them human. Not perfect, but human.
But I can't comprehend hate.
Is that a good thing, for me, I mean? I've always heard that I was too liberal, too naive, too trusting of the basic goodness of human nature to understand how bad things can be.
I believe anyone can be redeemed.
Even when, by all other accounts, they can't.
My heart hurts for all of those people who were lost that day--not only the people who were killed in the Twin Towers themselves, but those on the planes, and those who died because their crime was helping their fellow man.
I weep for the people who believed so strongly that America deserved to know tragedy that they were willing to die for it.
The world used to be beautiful for me, pure, drawn with straight lines and vibrant colors, and all that mattered was the heart, the *inside*, the part of everyone that no one ever really sees.
Because of what happened here, on this date, I discovered that I was blind to millions of shades of gray and black.
I wish the colors would come back.
Why would someone do this? I know that's a question so many people ask, but that doesn't make it any less pertinent. Did it happen because we became too lax, too haughty in our beliefs that we couldn't even imagine something like this happening to us?
If that's true, why couldn't we imagine it? Terrorism happens in so many countries, whether they're European or South American or anything. Why did we think we were different?
And why would someone hate us so much that they would kill thousands of innocent people who had nothing against them?
I suppose I tend to attempt getting into people's heads--that's why most of my writing is in first person rather than third person-- I search out the faults and weaknesses, the strengths, and the loves of each character and try to present them in a way that makes them human. Not perfect, but human.
But I can't comprehend hate.
Is that a good thing, for me, I mean? I've always heard that I was too liberal, too naive, too trusting of the basic goodness of human nature to understand how bad things can be.
I believe anyone can be redeemed.
Even when, by all other accounts, they can't.
My heart hurts for all of those people who were lost that day--not only the people who were killed in the Twin Towers themselves, but those on the planes, and those who died because their crime was helping their fellow man.
I weep for the people who believed so strongly that America deserved to know tragedy that they were willing to die for it.
The world used to be beautiful for me, pure, drawn with straight lines and vibrant colors, and all that mattered was the heart, the *inside*, the part of everyone that no one ever really sees.
Because of what happened here, on this date, I discovered that I was blind to millions of shades of gray and black.
I wish the colors would come back.