9/11…
I remember that morning as if it were yesterday. I was living in Washington State, on a quiet lake where the mornings were usually calm and peaceful. The reflection of the trees on the water, the steam from my tea, and then, out of nowhere, the news broke through that stillness like a siren in the soul.
I remember standing there, frozen, watching those towers fall. My heart broke for the people, the chaos, the disbelief. Like so many others, I cried, prayed, and clung to hope that somehow the world could be pieced back together. For a long time, I accepted the story we were told, that it was clear, tragic, and black-and-white.
But time changes things. It changes us.
Years later, I started asking questions, not out of disrespect, but because something inside me wouldn’t settle. The pieces didn’t quite fit. The official reports, the footage that disappeared, the way certain things were brushed aside or explained away. It all started to feel like a puzzle with missing parts.
I’ve read, listened, and watched enough to know that history isn’t always as straightforward as the headlines say. There are layers, agendas, and truths that slip through the cracks of what we’re shown. And maybe that’s what growing up, or waking up -really means: learning to question what once seemed solid.
I don’t claim to have the answers. I just know that day marked a turning point, not only in the world but in how I saw it. The innocence cracked. The trust faded. And I began to realize that sometimes the stories we’re told serve power, not people.
Even now, when I see the ripples on a still lake, I think of that morning, how fragile peace can be, and how easily truth can drown beneath the surface if we stop looking.
It taught me to listen to my gut, to seek my own understanding, and to stay awake in a world that often lulls us to sleep. I may not know the whole truth, but I know to keep questioning, and to keep my spirit sharp enough to feel when something doesn’t ring true.
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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