September 11, 2001

Today is September 11, 2026.

Twenty-five years.

I still remember the tenth anniversary. I remember thinking how long ago it seemed, but at the same time how strangely fresh everything still felt.

The same happened twenty years after.

And now it’s twenty-five.

I don’t think it really matters whether it’s two years, twenty years or twenty-five. Some things just stay fresh.

I was thirteen years old on September 11, 2001.

It was a warm afternoon here in Europe and I was sitting at my desk doing my homework.

At some point my dad called me from the living room.

He told me to come and look at the TV. There were pictures of some kind of film being made, apparently involving my favourite buildings (World Trade Center).

I ran downstairs.

Before I even got there, I saw the second plane hit the other tower live on television.

I just froze.

I stood there staring at the screen. I was thirteen and I simply couldn’t understand what I was seeing. I remember feeling completely cold and just thinking: this can’t be real, this can’t be REAL!

The CNN headlines made it clear pretty quickly that this wasn’t a movie.

It was real.

I sat there almost glued to the chair, staring at the TV for the rest of the day.

I remember one shot in particular. There was a helicopter flying very close to the towers. There was smoke everywhere. I remember actually shouting at the TV: “For fuck’s sake, land on the roof already and start getting people out!”

I had no idea. So young, yo naive.

I didn’t understand that the roofs weren’t some kind of giant rescue platform, or what the smoke and damage actually meant. I just saw a helicopter right next to the building and thought it could land there and save people.

At thirteen, that was how I understood what I was seeing.

The news channels kept showing more and more.

My dad and I were trying to figure out what was happening. Then came the Pentagon. Then Pennsylvania.

I started to get scared.

I was far away, but suddenly it didn’t feel far away at all.

A few weeks earlier, one of my good childhood friends had moved to Canada. He had been talking about visiting friends in New York during the summer.

That made it even more personal for me.

Outside, the windows were open and I could hear the neighbours talking to each other over the fences.

Nobody really knew what was happening.

They were just trying to make sense of it.

Then, completely without warning, one of the towers collapsed.

The talking outside stopped. Just like that.

I remember feeling almost sick.

Hey wake up! This couldn’t be real. Things like that didn’t just happen.

Then the second tower came down.

And I remember starting to wonder what would happen next.

Was this just the beginning?

Was everything going to continue falling like some kind of domino effect?

Who would be next?

I was scared.

It’s probably a cliché to say that September 11 changed the way I saw the world.

But it did.

And I think it changed the way an entire generation saw the world.

Twenty-five years later, I still remember that afternoon at my desk, my dad calling from the living room, the television, the voices of the neighbours outside.

But more than anything, I think about the people who lost their lives that day, and about everyone who was left behind. And I think about all the people who helped in whatever way they could, the heroes who stepped forward, the journalists who were there to see it and tell the rest of us what was happening, and everyone else who played even a small part in helping.

I can only say that I will never forget.

I believe that what I experienced that afternoon was experienced in some form by thousands of people and kids all over the world. We were far away, but for a moment the whole world was watching the same thing and trying to understand what was happening.

Twenty-five years later, we still remember.

We must never forget.