On being half a world away
Every year for the past four (and Randy past five), we've been in China on September 11. In my family we still try to remember it as my sister Meg's birthday, but we all know that since 2001, that will forever be eclipsed.
Every year for these past four years, I've entered the day as I would any other. September 11 does not hold as much meaning in China as other dates. It's not that the date and its significance isn't acknowledged, it's just that this country isn't as affected by the anniversary.
As the afternoon turns to evening, I want to breathe a sigh of relief. Another September 11 has passed, I think, without some other event. But then I remember that September 11 is only beginning on the other side of the world. My sense of solace is yet premature. As I'm eating dinner, millions of Americans are waking up to a new September 11. The day is only just beginning, and for them it remains to be seen whether they, too, will get to end the day with a sigh of relief.
On significant days like this, I find it hard to turn in at night. My September 11 only has about another thirty minutes left to it, but in the US, it must drag on for another twelve hours. I want to keep vigil with the news, on television and online. Believing I could wake up to horrifying news, I cannot possibly go to sleep. I know; it isn't like my insomnia is going to change the course of events already in motion.
That's the struggle of being half a world away. Physical distance is tough. But the time-of-day keeps us at an emotional distance that is just unbearable.
Every year for these past four years, I've entered the day as I would any other. September 11 does not hold as much meaning in China as other dates. It's not that the date and its significance isn't acknowledged, it's just that this country isn't as affected by the anniversary.
As the afternoon turns to evening, I want to breathe a sigh of relief. Another September 11 has passed, I think, without some other event. But then I remember that September 11 is only beginning on the other side of the world. My sense of solace is yet premature. As I'm eating dinner, millions of Americans are waking up to a new September 11. The day is only just beginning, and for them it remains to be seen whether they, too, will get to end the day with a sigh of relief.
On significant days like this, I find it hard to turn in at night. My September 11 only has about another thirty minutes left to it, but in the US, it must drag on for another twelve hours. I want to keep vigil with the news, on television and online. Believing I could wake up to horrifying news, I cannot possibly go to sleep. I know; it isn't like my insomnia is going to change the course of events already in motion.
That's the struggle of being half a world away. Physical distance is tough. But the time-of-day keeps us at an emotional distance that is just unbearable.
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