9/11/2001 is the first day I started writing in a diary almost daily and did so for the next 17ish years. I remember feeling so overwhelmed with emotion, crumpled up on my bed watching event coverage on my big-ass box TV, that all I could think of to do for some temporary relief was to write. I was in 5th grade and was lucky to have had an angelic GT teacher Mrs. Peña that got our whole little crew together so we could watch the events unfold live together.
These diary entries are sacred to me. They're trying so desperately to grasp such a grown concept from a place of pure empathy, although it seems my regard for factuality was a bit skewed (first of all 20,000 people did not die and I also had not visited NYC at this point in my life so I wasn't very authentic in my emphasis on location). I respect my extravagant patriotism and also my signature deco, both of which I will be incorporating in all future professional endeavors.