On Sept. 11, 2001, the 900 students that comprised my private school in Miami, Florida, gathered in the auditorium to kick off “spirit week.” We bowed our heads in solemn prayer, as our guest speaker, preacher Ken Freeman, urged us to accept Jesus Christ as our savior. My eyes clasped shut, I let in the reality of the moment. I took a deep breath as Goosebumps crawled along my neck. I was a 13-year-old eight-grader and this was the climax of my Christian school upbringing. But as I accepted Christ into my heart, New York City was forced to accept tragedy and loss—the World Trade Center had just been attacked.

Gasps and cries echoed throughout the dim auditorium–some had family, friends, and loved ones in New York. Having never visited NYC or heard of the twin towers, I was lost in a haze of confusion, nervousness and fear. Was this what it felt like to believe in Jesus? I had heard that spiritual transformations often came with a sign, but had my religious conversion resulted in the panic, tears and frenzy that had overtaken my school?

Fast-forward through high-school, college applications, two years at New York University and a semester of traveling abroad in Europe. Eight years later, as New Yorkers are moving on, I find myself revisiting a past I never quite understood.

At the World Trade Center Tribute on 120 Liberty Street, people in suits and black coats determinedly walk towards their destination, seemingly oblivious to the gaping hole around them. Cranes, tractors and a slew of construction workers toil within the gated confines of ground zero. For a $10 entrance fee, a guided audio tour takes you around the perimeter of where the towers once stood. I crane my neck to look up at the tallest building surrounding the site–the towers were twice that height. Rising 110 floors, each floor was an acre in size.

The tour guide whispers in my ear the brutal details of the attack, sending a permanent chill over my body.
*2,749 people were murdered
*220 stories of steel debris was all that was left after the collapse
*The south tower came crumbling down in 10 seconds
*Parts of the plane and human remains were scattered all over the plaza—as blood dripped down the windows.

The sun piercing the large windows overlooking the site isn’t enough to warm me from the terrible tragedy I am reliving. The heart-wrenching voices of survivors unsettle my mind. A woman stifles her tears as she recounts what it was like for her son:

”My son sat in school until 3 p.m. as each child disappeared. They were calling the names of the kids as soon as someone arrived to pick them up. When he finally heard his name, my son ran as fast as he could, but when he saw my dad, he said he knew we were dead. We would have been there to pick him up.”

I experienced 9/11 through a TV screen, over a thousand miles away. But visiting the site and letting the memories of survivors be my guide, Sept. 11 felt real for the first time. I could visualize the tragedy, inhale the putrid smell of debris and human remains, and feel the sorrow of such an immense tragedy—it was a conversion all over again.