|
Dear friends,
I want to first thank
all of you for your love, prayers and thoughts over the last few days.
A lot of you are aware that I worked in Manhattan while a few know that
I called the World Trade Center my home away from home.
I want to share with you some of the horrible things as well as acts of courage that I witnessed on September 11, 2001. There are two purposes for this letter: the first is quite selfish—it is the start of my journey towards the healing process; second, I want you to continue to pray for the fallen victims and their families and especially for the firemen, policemen, rescue workers and construction workers who are working against time to find life beneath the rubble.
Tuesday morning started for me as every morning did for the last year: twelve programs to debug and twenty emails to return. At 8:42 AM, there was a dull but loud thump. The building swayed back and forth. On a normal day, the twin towers swing about 2.5 feet in each direction and I have never felt it.
Everyone looked dazed and confused. At first, we were told to get under our desks, then to get under a door. I followed instructions but was skeptical if these two places would protect us as we were on the 70th floor of the North Tower. Someone yelled out that we should start walking to the emergency stairway. I found two friends and held their hands as we began our descent. I had a faint thought that I was going to die that day. I said the Lord's Prayer over and over again. I asked for absolution.
The exodus was orderly.
People were calmly making their way down while speculating what had hit
us. We did not think it was a grave situation. The 1993 bombing left the
building in great shape and virtually everyone was able to get out. About
twenty stories down, we saw smoke coming up at us. A fellow was able to
make a call out on his cellular phone and found
that an American Airline twin-engine jet has hit our building. We determined
that this was probably an overworked pilot who lost his bearings.
At the half way mark,
everyone was instructed to stand to the right. Burn victims and handicapped
people were allowed to pass. With buckling knees and tired feet, we encouraged
each other to carry on. We saw many fire fighters walking up with heavy
life rescue equipments. Some of them had to stop on every floor because
the climb was impossible and the oxygen tanks felt like lead. We put our
hands on these individuals
and thanked them for their bravery. And yet, they were the ones who told
us that we were going to make it. We did not know that we would live and
that they would die. Their faces still haunt me.
On the 44th floor, I was able to catch a glimpse outside the window. There was almost a serene quiet as I watched debris falling like confetti onto the courtyard. There was more panic now. We were told to walk briskly but cautiously. With smoke rising up and water pipes breaking below, we covered our noses and waded down ankle deep water.
My two girlfriends, Kim and Linda, and I met a British lawyer, Mark, who became our companion for most of the trip. The foursome made it down to the first level of the North Tower. I looked out at the courtyard again and saw the ground buried in debris and glass. I started to cry for the victims on the airplane that hit us.
Rescue workers and policemen rushed us along and told us to cover our heads as we emerged from the building. They also instructed us to walk north towards Broadway and to not look back. We walked north but we looked back. Both towers were on fire. The sight was horrific. People everywhere fleeing, gawking, taking pictures, and getting interviews.
We wandered about
for a few minutes and stumbled upon Tribecca, a nearby neighborhood. Mark
had a friend, Zack, who lived there and we were invited to rest in his
apartment. When we got inside, Zack informed us that the Pentagon has
just been hit. I scolded him for telling such an awful joke. And then
I saw the footages of the Pentagon on fire and the South Tower
of the World Trade being hit 18 minutes after the thump.
As soon as I was able to digest these events, we saw the south tower crumbled to the ground through Zack's window. Shortly after that, my building followed suit—20 minutes after we got out.
The next few hours were spent in agony. We did not know if we were going to be attached again from the air, underground, or just by crazy people with bombs strapped to their bodies. We were frightened to hear airplanes flying above us. But we were quickly put at ease when we found out that they were US fighter jets protecting our skies.
I am home safely now. It took eight hours to make what would normally be a three-hour drive from NYC to Rhode Island. Trying to get out of the city was a logistical nightmare. All bridges and tunnels were blocked off. Trains and buses were running on a limited basis. People were wandering around aimlessly. I walked several blocks from Tribecca to a frenzied Penn station and sardined myself on a train to Newark Penn Station. Jersey was equally chaotic. A car was waiting to take me home.
The giant cloud of smoke that dominated downtown was the only reminder of what was once several beautiful buildings that represents not only commerce and economic wealth but also the strength and unity of many nations.
I have never loved this country more than this previous Tuesday. In a time of crisis, we are all standing united to help one another. I know that these terrorist acts and the aftermath will take a long time to get over. But I have faith in God, our government our democratic values. God bless America.
