ConnectionI'm not American but I remember the day. I was 14. My family and I were at my grandmother's house. The television was on. The news ribbon on top of the screen caught my eyes, something about an accident at the World Trade Center in the USA. I called to my family and we all gathered in front of the television, waiting for the news to come up. And when it did, we all watched the footage in horror. The impact, the burning towers, desperate people jumping off from the windows, papers flying everywhere, people hurt in the streets and covered with white dust.
I wanted to believe that it was just another Hollywood movie but the deep sinking feeling inside me telling it was real. This was real. People were dying at that very moment. It was a horrible realisation.
I was millions of kilometers away on the other side of the world but one thing connected me directly to this tragedy. I am a Muslim and I can't for the life of me understand why such a horrible act was done by these people who called themselves Muslims and martyrs. I believe they did not die in martyrdom, and are now paying for the lives they took and destroyed.