Home is where the heart is: New York post Sept. 11

Strolling through Central Park on Saturday, I watched thousands of people enjoying a sunny day. Baby Boomers roller-skated in a little rink. Twenty-somethings tossed Frisbees and relaxed on the grass. A small crowd gathered to watch a man as he attempted an escape from the straight jacket and chains wrapped around him. Some small children ran around, while others created sidewalk chalk masterpieces.

Childhood drawings colored the path, but it was one picture in particular that caught my attention -- a picture of the Earth.

It was labeled, "Happy World" It was nice but fairly standard. It was the inscription -- the words "die Osama die!" that marked the difference. It was alarming, and yet not completely unexpected.

The tragedy of September 11th struck the nation like none other. For many, there was not only a loss of the na‹ve belief of U.S. supremacy, but also a loss of loved ones. As a Penn student I felt far removed from the chaos. I witnessed community members grieving on a much smaller scale. I knew that New Yorkers were more greatly affected and traumatized than others, but I simply didn't realize the magnitude of this event.

I knew there were losses, even in my former high school. It was shocking and at the time it struck me, but as I thought about 9-11 less, I thought about those affected less. It was only in my trip back to New York that I started to realize that the city had been transformed from the greatest in the world to one of the most bereaved ones.

After the Spring semester, I calmly made my way home. Other than slightly heightened security at Philadelphia's 30th Street Station, my trip was nothing out of the ordinary.

Most notably, as the Acela Regional approached Penn Station, I heard the child sitting behind me gasp out, "The skyline!" She seemed very excited for a minute or so, glad to be visiting the famous city. Suddenly, however, her happiness turned to anxiety. The girl asked her mother if the terrorists were going to hurt her or her mother when they went to New York City. She continued, frantically speaking about 9-11 and those "bad men."

The girl's brother, equally young, matter-of-factly remarked that those "bad men" had crashed planes into buildings and killed many people. Their mother began to tear up. But when the children asked their mother why she was crying she abruptly denied it.

Instead, she shifted the conversation to what they would do

at their hotel.

Two other passengers started their own 9-11 conversation. A gentleman leaned across the aisle to the woman across from him and said that he was more nervous traveling, even by train, as a result of 9-11. She agreed, weighing in with the fact that before September

she had always flown from

Washington, D.C., to New York City.

This woman was on the train because of her fear. Not just in September, not even in the same calendar year, but the events of September 11th have kept her from life as usual.

I realized the limited exposure that I had while at Penn. My environment at college had been affected. People were terrified for a few days. As the weeks passed, the shock and TV exposure wore off. By the spring semester, 9-11 was rarely, if ever, discussed. It seemed odd that each time my parents called me 9-11 came up; it was strange thinking about it when the events had already been discussed and presumably, were over. I still went to class everyday, still studied, and carried on with life as usual.

I rarely thought about Osama Bin Laden or September 11th, but clearly, my family and everyone else in New York did and continues to do so. Since I have been home, not a day has passed where fear or expressions of grief have not been uttered relating to 9-11.

Co-workers anxiously mention it when talking about their vacation to another country. A passenger on the bus casually speaks about terrorism. New Yorkers have not dropped it; New Yorkers seem to always keep 9-11 in their consciousness.

Any conversation might flow into a discussion of tragedy, terrorism or fear. People may have become accustomed to it around here, but as someone so removed from NYC, it is quite different.

I'm not sure if it is better or worse that my Philadelphia existence allowed me to put the tragedies of September 11th to the back of my mind. I was able to return to a normal existence, essentially free from fear. I lost sight of how important the tragedy truly was and is.

Only one thing is certain -- in the next several months I will be constantly and consistently reminded that I am still a New Yorker, and that New York will never be the same.

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