I was born and raised in Canada but lived most of life in the U.S.A. I had been to the WTC, the South Tower indoor observation deck on the 107th Floor years before 2001. The express elevator from the beautiful plaza and lobby was so fast it made your ears pop. It was an incredible complex of buildings which normally contained 50,000 people.

I was back in Burnaby at a job when someone told me about the attack. I didn’t believe them. Went into the hallway where someone had a TV, just in time to see the 2nd plane hit the South Tower where I had once visited! My heart felt like it had been ripped out. I broke down on the spot. I still get sick remembering. I knew the world would never be the same, any remnants of idealistic innocence I had left, vanished in that heartbeat. I was up 24/7 for a week watching events, disbelieving. I wanted to be back in the States with my friends since no one here seemed to understand what I knew – life would never be the same again. The world had just gone mad! I cried all the time. People in Vancouver kept saying it could never happen in Canada, but it could. They didn’t think it would affect them, but it did – in many aspects of their lives.

I can’t be in downtown core areas with towering buildings now, claustrophobic. I won’t work in a skyscraper. For a year every time I heard a jet or sirens, I cried and shook and had anxiety attacks. The 1st anniversary I took boxes of pastries to my local fire station to thank them for their jobs. They had invited NYFD first responders to BC for a post-stress ski trip and shared their stories with me. Traveling back and forth between Canada and the U.S. became increasingly difficult and stressful and I no longer felt like a citizen of a united world, but a fractured one where everyone is a suspect and a threat.