Scribbles

I wasn’t going to post anything for the twenty-fifth anniversary of the September 11th attacks. Whatever could be said has already been said many times over. I feel it’s mostly performative at this point, so why contribute to that?

Then I saw the flag.

I was driving to work on Saturday and there it was – a thirty-foot Stars and Stripes held up by a crane. It was suspended vertically over a local biker bar. I guess the owners rented it for the “9-11 weekend.”

I didn’t want to think about what happened on that day, let alone commemorate it. Yet that flag made me remember. I had posted my experience on an online forum in 2004. That website no longer exists, but after some digging I found the original text in an old e-mail…

We were living in Singapore on 11 September 2001. Lani was away on business in Hong Kong. She’d been gone a fortnight and had another ten days to go. I was alone in our little apartment on Balestier Road. It was supposed to be a boring day.

I leave the apartment around 07:00, full of coffee from our Morries ten-cup coffeemaker. I hop onto SBS 125 a few minutes later. Buses in Singapore usually arrive pretty close to the posted schedule. They’re not on-the-minute like Japan, yet quite reliable.

Much of the SBS line has television; this bus doesn’t. At least the aircon works. It’s already warm and very humid, so the cool air is welcome even in the morning.

I get off at McPherson Road, and make the mad dash to TIBS 66. It’s two buses ahead and is sure to pull away any second. I zig-zag wildly through the crowd, and just make it. I don’t collide with anyone (this time), so a good run.

The bus is full – as usual. Even though there’s a lot of room in a bendy-bus, I barely make it past the fare-card reader before pressing into someone. TIBS buses haven’t any TV, which is okay. My concentration is devoted to keeping upright as the driver floors it.

The stop we just left is near a medium-sized food court. There’s no aircon. However, one of the stalls inside has the best black-pepper crab on the island. Lani and I are planning to get a whole meal – crabs, giant spicy prawns, veggies, and rice – when she returns from HK. We usually take the bus in then bring our prize home by taxi. It’s way too much food for the two of us, so we’ll invite Mei-Mei and Fanny to help us eat it.

I get off at Ubi road. Another day of work begins. I’m an engineer at a small company that manufactures power supplies. We lost a contract with Apple a few months back. Cisco is also about to give us the bum’s rush. China is taking away our business. Even with its poor human-rights record, the US has chosen to reward it with MFN status. US companies have learned it is more profitable to do business with communist regimes than to isolate them. Who could’ve thought that communism would be a capitalist’s best friend.

It was sometime after 20:00 when we hear the news on the radio – a small plane has hit one of the World Trade Center towers. We all think it’s a tragic accident. I’m about to leave work when the secretary gets a call on her handphone from her husband. He’s a pilot for Singapore Airlines. He tells her it was a jetliner that crashed into the tower. We still believe it’s an accident, albeit a much more tragic one.

I leave work and pick up TIBS 66 for the ride home – another bendy bus. It’s a lot less crowded than the morning run. This allows me to ponder the color scheme of this newer model. The seats are black cloth with colorful sparkles – think drug rug. The teal and orange interior paint looks like a Howard Johnson’s.

I get off at McPherson Road and wait the long wait for SBS 125. They run less frequently at this hour. The stop is in front of Three Rifles Club. I have no idea what they do there. The name seems out of place in a country where nearly all firearms are banned. It’s dark with no one else around. I’m safe, though. This is Singapore.

About twenty minutes later, along comes SBS 125. The aircon is tired. However, the bus isn’t too crowded so it can mostly keep up. A faint odor remains from a busier time of day.

This bus has a television. It’s a Sharp 35cm LCD monitor connected to some sort of tuner. The signal is choppy. Contrast and viewing angle are miserable. I don’t see LCD replacing CRT anytime soon. The tinny distorted audio hasn’t much better quality than the picture. I don’t know why SBS even installs these. Almost nobody watches.

Yet tonight everyone crowds around the tiny screen. It’s Channel News Asia. Their programming is usually like counting envelopes – repetitive and boring. Some passengers stop watching just to look at me. What’s going on?

I see it.

Both WTC towers have been hit by aircraft. It wasn’t just one. Furthermore, they were both airliners! My stomach sours and I feel dizzy. This is no accident. Everyone on the bus stares at the images and doesn’t say a word. I join them in silence.

I jump off the bus and cross Balestier Road then ran up the long driveway to the apartment. I hear the phone ring through the door as I fumble my keys. The ringing stops by the time I get inside. I turn on the television straight away, and switch to CNN just in time to see the first tower fall. They say it’s a terrorist attack. “No shit”, I think. I need to call Lani. That had to be her ringing when I got home. The phone rings again as I reach for it.

M – Hello?

L – Where were you? Did you hear what happened?

M – I saw it on the bus. I’m watching it on TV now. This is terrible.

L – Do you know what’s going on? is it an attack? Is it just New York?

M – It’s an attack, hon. I think just New York. Can you see the images?

L – I got CNN on.

M – Me too… I think mine’s delayed from yours because of the censors.

L – Oh yeah. Did you call your mom and dad?

M – Mom’s at work now. I’ll call dad later – mom too.

L – Are they okay?

M – They’re far from this. They’ll be okay.

L – Mom might be sent home early.

M – You’re right. I’ll call in a little while. Are you at the hotel ?

L – Yes.

M – Lemme’ call you back… this is costing a fortune.

L – I’m using the phonecard.

M – Okay, good. But you’re gonna’ need that to call your mom. Let me call you back.

L – Okay honey.

M – Bye.

click

I call back.

L – Is that you?

M – It’s me. I’m-

L – I heard something new – another crash. It’s not over.

M – Jesus… where? I can’t see it yet.

L – Near Washington, I think. I don’t know the place.

M – Ah, I’m seeing it now. They hit the Pentagon, too!

L – The Pentagon… something to do with the military, right ?

M – Yes… It’s the American military command center.

L – Oh my God, this is really an attack! Who’s doing this?

M – I don’t know…

Lani and I scream together when the second tower falls. We stay on the phone for the next couple of hours. It’s a real mess.

I call my parents and we talk for an hour more. Mom tells me, “You know this will change everything. Nothing will be the same.” This is only hours after the attack.

Unfortunately, mom was right.

Sometime after I wrote this, I reviewed the timeline of events on that day. The Pentagon was hit before the first tower fell. I don’t know why I had it the other way around. Maybe that’s the way the news came in. Maybe it was simply too much for me to process in real time. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to keep the text as-is. I tried fixing the timeline before I reposted it here, but it felt wrong. Sometimes truth is more important than accuracy.

Other than passengers who fought the terrorists in the air, or first responders who saved lives on the ground, the September 11th attacks brought out the worst in most of us. We’ve been told over and over to “never forget.” Yet a useless war, conspiracy theories, and the demonization of our fellow humans is a legacy I don’t need to be reminded of.

I will not commemorate the 9-11 anniversary with an iconic image. No burning towers, grieving families, or recovery efforts at ground zero. No thirty-foot flag. Just a simple unadorned black square.

It’s time to forget. We’ve been scared and angry for twenty-five years. Isn’t that long enough?