WTC Watch: broken hearts
- It has been four days since the biggest terrorist
attack in the USA, however, I can't seem to get over
it. No such a word has invented to discribe my
feelings. I am stunned, horrified and at the same time
angry at those who are making me go through with it. I
am trying to lift my spirit or give hope to others
however how do I really do it. Still the pictures of
the WTC and Pentagon makes me cry. It is a
overwhelming feeling. Everytime I see the broken
picture of Pentagon memories comes and clusters me. I
remember the times when I drove by those streets with
friends and family. That is home. It is almost like
one went to work or school in the morning and when
returned only to find that the home has been destroyed
by fire or some other natural destruction. Only this
time it wasn't nature but the hated in human hearts. I
can not take this emotion which is suffocating me in
the corner. Sometime I think people who died are
actually in better place than us. They are with God.
We are one, who are still living have to cope with it
and come back to in term with our daily life. Last
night I was even afraid to ask my other half how is he
doing? I could see the pain in his face. He works in a
hospital. Organizing blood drive, taking care of
patients, and listening to tv, radio, and people all
day long about the emotional distress, he is broken up
into pieces. I tried to tell a joke or two to cheer
him up just for moment. However, all my attemt failed.
How do one cheer up someone when that person herself
broken up inside. My sister tells me she is even
scared to turn off the light at night. Seriously,
there should be a manual how to cope with something
like this. I always believed talking about my sorrows
and pain will make my heart feel lighter but now I
find myself in a territory where the more I talk about
it the heavier my heart fills with sorrows. I try to
lift my spirit thinking and dreaming about the happy
times however, my memories are also playing tricks
with me, too. I can't think anything beside tuesday
the 11th. Every one saying from coming monday
everything we will go back to our normal everyday
life. All I think none of us will ever be the way we
used to be before Thuesday. This incident will always
hunt us in our memory and it will take a entire life
time to get over. Rest of our life this date will
remind us the horror of ones hated and we will relive
this day everytime september comes into our life or
when our next generation ask us what was it like back
- this is a speech that I just gave at a local vigil, please excuse the
grammatical errors. They only exist because I wrote it like I would speak
Hello and Assalamu Alaikum. I am an American Bangali Muslim. I was born
in New York, in fact I was born in City Hospital of Elmhurst. I lived here
in Maryland practically my whole life. I loved going to New York. I love
shopping, and just hanging out there. I love going on the subway in New
York, and loved seeing the Brooklyn Bridge. I enjoyed visiting for the
millionth time the statue of Liberty, Empire State building, and. . . .The
I saw it live. I was watching the news and I saw the first building
collapse. I burst in to tears. I couldn't control myself. I went in to
the Stamp Student Union, at University of Maryland College park. That's
where I go. And there were a bunch of people standing around watching the
TV. My classmate, he was trying to work his cell phone. I didn't really
know what happened, so I asked someone else. He told me that my classmate's
dad worked at World Trade Center. At that moment, I wanted to just run in
the bathroom and cry. Later we found out he was okay.
Yesterday was the first time I drove by the Pentagon, and the site of it
was just disgusting. I felt like throwing up. I went all over the stores
trying to find American flags Friday. They were all out. I was so very
I have been mad, sad, angry, frustrated, depressed, everything this whole
week. And I know, I'm not the only Muslim who feels that way. Many watched
the second plane hit live. Many knew people who worked in the Pentagon and
World Trade Center. Many Muslims have lost family members in the World
Trade Centers and Pentagon.
And to say. . or to feel that we are not AMERICANS, is not only a personal
insult to us Muslims, but it's also a personal insult to each and every
single American in this country!!!!
After all the huge terrible deaths and vandalism that happened this past
Tuesday, there have been more incidents against us Muslims. Various Mosques
have been trashed, and filthy writing have been all over it. Two girls were
stabbed at Tyson's Corner, VA. A guy in Arizona was murdered only because
his beard seemed too long.
The American Gov't, the Muslims, and the rest of the American Public
seemingly are all standing together. But for some reason there is a break
in the middle. If we can't stand united, how are we going to win this war
against the terrorists? Because remember, the terrorists have no religion.
I hope all Muslims have, and are still doing their share of giving blood,
providing supplies, or just simply praying. We have to be able stand
stronger than the terrorists, and just show how caring we really are and how
twisted and horrible the "so-called" Muslims are. I hope we can do our
share in explaining the correct definition of Jihad instead of the false one
given by the terrorists.
I'm just going to now leave everyone with this poem I wrote in English
class last year. It was written just because I had to, and I didn't believe
it could happen. I won't read it in its entirety, just selections of it.
They were the ones, who laughed us to tears,
Dressing up as cows. Will marry their high school sweethearts,
One with a dancer, the other a cheerleader.
Now the two girls wait for their return.
He was the one, destined to design cars,
A beloved lacrosse player, a menace on the field;
A menace on the lot, beware of him and his car.
Who to warn now, the opposing terrorists, or him?
He was the one, loved by everyone.
Yale or Harvard, couldn't decided.
Our homecoming king, our friend.
His bleeding heart wants to go home. Now.
Why do they have to be the ones?
They are the ones with the future,
With potential, with love.
Being somewhere they don't even want to be.
Two would come back dead,
Two lucky to stay alive.
One a cripple, can't drive, can't play.
The other can't talk,
Can't laugh, can't cry.
Sits there and looks
With blank, empty eyes.
Maybe it's just me, but last Tuesday was described in this. Remember,
together we can cry, together we can retaliate, together can we recover, and
only together can we learn how to smile.
----- Original Message -----
From: <Asif Saleh>
Sent: Saturday, September 15, 2001 8:47 PM
Subject: [ALOCHONA] Diary of Broken Spirit
- Dear Friends,
A Chinese-American colleague passed on the following news item from the
Oakland Tribune in Oakland, California.
"About 1,300 Muslims -- including 300 from Bangladesh -- were working in the
World Trade Center and are missing and presumed dead, said Souleiman Ghali,
president of the Islamic Society of San Francisco...."
If true, nearly 25% of the dead would be Muslim and about 6% are
Do we have any confirmation of such numbers?
- Dear All,
Yesterday I was reading an excellent piece of early '70s that I want to
share with you as i found it appealing still in the present world context.
Original: Orlando Leon (1970s Venezuelan young poet) ; Translated from the
Spanish by C. Schuftan
Rosalia Sanchez has seven children,
twelve diseases, three abortions,
and a shanty and garbage for a sociologist's fruition.
Rosalia is twenty seven years, one hundred years, five thousand years old.
For fifty years, one hundred years, five hundred years,
Rosalia has needed to eat.
Who wants to buy the eating machine of Rosalia?
Who wants to buy five hundred years, five hundred Rosalias?
... not making a technical point about the quinquenia?
Rosalia is a maid who once had a policeman, who once had a share-cropper,
who once had a child, ... seven times a child.
Rosalia is made of bones, is made of flesh; the same as a cow, the same as a
but without a pasture, without a coup.
Hay for Rosalia! Maize for Rosalia! Rice for Rosalia!
For five hundred, one thousand, twelve thousand years, since the times of Ur
Rosalia has wanted a staple food to eat.
When they were painting in the caves of Altamira,
Rosalia was twenty years old, had three children, and the moon was
Rosalia has always had three children,
twenty years of age, one abortion, and the moon was shining...
Pregnant, Rosalia lives under a bridge.
I can see Rosalia. Rosalia is lucky to live in an organized world!...
Rosalia fills forms to ask for a little house.
Rosalia stands in line in the Ministry of Public Health, lines lasting five
with a pissed child in her arms.
-The President says: "No citizen will... , etc."
Rosalia indeed lives in an organized world...
There is a Constitution, Human Rights, Prostitution, the Church.
But, if Rosalia doesn't have enough to eat a biscuit,
how can she understand the palpitations of a refrigerator,
or to soak in milk an automobile,
or lying on a sofa switch-on a record player?
And this is Civilization, now that Rosalia cannot squeeze,
at five o'clock, a jazz in tea?
Rosalia has to live in an organized world!
We have already gone to the moon:
"I'll drop you a line from the moon, love!"
Potatoes in photosynthesis, carnations in photosynthesis, roses in
Through a chemical orchard the insects will fly.
But Rosalia has seven children,
in midst of Civilization,
a metaphysical Civilization that cannot solve the problems of Rosalia...
How many years is it that Rosalia has been going with her children from dung
from Constitution to Constitution, from God to God!?
Rosalia is twenty seven years old, one hundred years old, five thousand
Rosalia has dung in her dreams,
Rosalia dreams about dung,
But dung is not herself.
- CIA, FBI & LAPD
The CIA, The FBI, and the LAPD are all trying to prove that they are the
best at apprehending criminals. The President decides to give them a test.
He releases a rabbit into a forest and each of them has to catch it.
The CIA goes in. They place animal informants throughout the forest They
question all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive
investigations they conclude that rabbits do not exist. They petition
Congress for more money for rabbit-detecting satellites.
The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads they burn the forest,
killing everything in it, including the rabbit. The FBI informs the press
that the rabbit was a baby rabbit molester, and obviously set the fire. The
agents involved are given medals for their bravery.
The LAPD goes in. They come out two hours later with a badly beaten bear.
The bear is yelling: "Okay! Okay! I'm a rabbit! I'm a rabbit!"
picked off the Internet in 9/97
Bangladesh Says Will Allow U.S. to Use Airspace
DHAKA, Bangladesh (Reuters) - Bangladesh's caretaker government said Tuesday
the United States could use its airspace and other facilities should
Washington decide to launch a military offensive in the region.
``Bangladesh has accepted a U.S. request to use its airspace, port and
refueling facilities and access to sea,'' a senior foreign ministry official
``Bangladesh totally supports steps (taken by the U.S.) to build a
multinational coalition against terrorism,'' said Shafi Sami, special
assistant to the caretaker authority on foreign affairs.
The caretaker authority, headed by former chief justice Latifur Rahman, came
to the decision two days after the U.S. administration issued the request.
Rahman has a three-month constitutional mandate to govern Bangladesh until
an elected government takes office. The country is set to hold a
parliamentary election on October 1
Bangladesh earlier condemned last week's attacks on the World Trade Center
and the Pentagon (news - web sites), and said it would support any
international move to fight terrorism.
- Dear Alochoks:
The article below is taken from the latest issue of Modern Maturity. It is
about the poet Maya Angelou. Read it. It will make you feel better about
whatever might be going on with you.
Poet, author, teacher, living symbol of courage and determination, Maya
Angelou rose from poverty in St. Louis, Missouri, to the steps of the US
Capitol, delivering a poem at the first inauguration of President Bill
Clinton. IN between she walked a torturous journey that saw her an unwed
teen mother, waitress, prostitute, madame, singer, dancer, and actress.
In her now classic auto-biography, "I know Why the Caged Bird Sings," she
reveals that she was raped at age eight and stopped speaking for six years.
Modern Maturity recently sat down with Angelou in the sun-filled breakfast
room of the author's home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where she is
Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University. Here's
what she had to say about...
Courage: I think you develop it the same way you cook or develop muscles.
You don't start off witha beef Wellington. You start off with a hard-boiled
egg, then an omelet. Before you know it, you are doing a frittata. Where to
start? Walk out of a room where there are racial pejoratives bandied about.
Any of them. From "honky" to "nigger" to "Jap" to "kike." Anytime you hear
them, say, "Excuse me. I'm sorry. I know this is poison. I cant stay here."
If you don't have enough courage to say that, then just say, " Ooh, bye!"
Whatever, get out. You cant practice kindness, generosity, fair play without
Failure: I've encountered many defeats. Without defeats, how do you really
know who the hell you are? If you never had to stand up to something - life
can walk over you wearing football cleats. But each time you do get up, you
are bigger, taller, finer, more beautiful, more kind, more understanding,
more loving. Each time you get up, you are more inclusive. More people can
stand under your umbrella.
Poetry: I was frightened, and thrilled, and excited, and terrified to be
asked to write a poem for Clinton's inauguration. However, I am an African
American woman, and it's not unusual to be asked to do the unusual. So I
said, "Yes, of course." And then I spent the next three months praying a
lot, shaking in my boots, and writing the poem.
Family: My father wasn't a very nice person alive. I don't think he got any
better dead. I just don't speak of him. I have an uncle I speak of, Uncle
Willis, who was his brother. He taught me math so well that now, 65 years
later, I can add as fast as a calculator. Just zip. I think now about my
grandmother, my mom, my Uncle Willie, and I think of who we really are -
black people, white people, and Asian and Spanish people - and who we could
be. And the thought makes me smaller than a mustard seed and larger than
After I read this article, her strength in the face of so many struggles
became a source of strength for me too. I also realized, that if this
country[USA] can create such a wonderful human being out of all her
sufferings, then this country still provides hope for me. I hope it provided
you the same kind of inspiration that it did for me.
Little Rock, AR