Growing Up; September 11, 2001

I was in 5th grade. Just a 10-year-old little kid. I woke up that day feeling horrible, as I usually do every morning before school. I performed my typical routine: woke up, went to my parents' bathroom to wash up, got dressed, went to watch TV. As I was sitting on my parents' bed about to turn on the TV, the phone rings. It was weird to me that someone would call this early, but I figured it was just my dad calling to say he had forgotten something at home before he went to work. My mom picked up and went straight to the TV to change the channel. There was a picture of a building on fire, nothing too out of the ordinary for me at first. After all, someone must've forgotten to turn off the stove or something right? My mom had a worried look on her face, but shook it off and walked me to school anyway.

As I walked into my classroom, I already knew something was different. The TV in the room was on to an actual TV channel and Mrs. Diakatos, my teacher, was flipping through the channels. Every channel showed the same building(s) on fire. I wondered why it was such a big deal. After all, it's not like the Sears Tower was on fire. In fact, I didn't even see the Sears Tower in the shot. It took me a while to realize the headline on the bottom of the screen read "World Trade Center; New York." Then it was replay time and the full force of what had happened hit me square in the face.

Two planes had just flown straight into each of the World Trade Center buildings. It looked somewhat surreal. As if it was something straight out of a video game. I don't think anyone had believed what they just witnessed, because I sure as hell didn't. The principal suddenly started speaking on the intercom. I can't remember exactly what he said but I will never forget the tone of his voice. Usually a strict (and generally disliked) man, his voice now wavered. Soft, calm, as if comforting a child after his or her parents had died. He told us the school was on lockdown, no one was to leave the building. Chicago was now under threat of an attack and downtown was a mere 15 minutes away from school. That was the first time I heard the word "attack" on this day. And 10 years later, I've heard this word more than any other verb in the entire dictionary.

He told us that in a situation like this, it was important that we all stand united and hold each other up. He continued to say that we must continue to live our lives like normal, even though this would probably change our lives forever. It was for a good 10 minutes that he spoke. Although I'm unable to recall exactly what he said, I knew something was horribly wrong. The classroom was silent. He paused for a minute before he said parents were called to pick their children up from school and take them straight home. I went home and the only other thing I can remember from that day was the image of planes flying into the WTC towers.

Then came the media.

Storming in with pictures, stories, videos of bearded men and the word of the century, "terrorist", the media had a field day decade. The words "Islamic" and "Muslim" were thrown around a lot too. The media helped put it together: Muslim terrorist attacked the United States in declaration of Islamic warfare.

Haha what?! Let's take a second here...

The Quran states: "Whosoever kills a human being, it shall be as if he had killed all mankind, and whoso saves the life of one, it shall be as if he had saved the life of all mankind." -5:32

Also, the root of the word Islam is "salaam" which literally translates to "peace."

Now, don't get it twisted. I'm not in any sense saying Muslims do not ever fight or have never engaged in warfare. When it comes to dealing with corruption done against you or if you are in self defense of yourself or your people, you are allowed to fight back. Basic street rules right? You do your thing, I'll do mine. We're different, but it's all good. However, you mess with my family, I will come after you. It's not an Islamic thing per se. It's just how we are as humans.

So now back to these Muslim terrorists. I don't care what you think, a terrorist is a terrorist. I could care less if they are Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, black, white, Native American, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, etc. A terrorist is a terrorist. And by no means have I, or will I ever, defend Osama bin Laden for his actions. (I won't get into any conspiracy theories, but Osama "claimed" responsibility for the attacks, so I'll run with that.) Let me make this clear: Osama bin Laden and his group of little terrorist friends should not be considered Muslim. Not only did they kill innocent people, but they sacrificed their own lives for it. Islam absolutely forbids the taking of one's own life just as much as it forbids taking the life of an innocent soul.

That's that. Please keep in my mind that I am in no means an Islamic scholar and anything that I have said wrong is my own mistake.

Now, back to the topic.

A week after September 11, it was life back to normal. As normal as you can get at that point, I guess. Everyone was standing united, holding together and trying to move forward. American flags were being put up everywhere. Including in my own household. After all, I am born and raised an American. My parents are American citizens. When people ask me where I'm from, I respond with Chicago. Regardless, Muslims were in a bad light. And suddenly, I wasn't allowed to say I was American. I was brown. I was for sure born in Afghanistan and raised in a terrorist school like everyone of my skin color.

But I wasn't thinking about all of that when I was 10. I say all this in retrospect. When I was 10, I rode my bike to the park to hang out with my friends. When I was 10, I had some guy start spewing curses and hateful words across the street from his broken down Bonneville. When I was 10, I rode home scared to death while this guy followed me all the way back, cursing and yelling the whole way. No one stopped him. When I was 10, I was forced to grow up.

I learned quickly that responding with hate and anger would be the wrong thing to do. I learned that I shouldn't associate with Muslims if I wanted to avoid slander, but at the same time, I shouldn't stray away from my religion.

In 2001, I found my identity.

My name is Sifat Ali. I am a Muslim before all else. I am a Chicagoan, born and raised. God willing, I will spend the rest of my life in Chicago. I am a city kid who likes taking risks and having fun. I go to college in the middle of a cornfield because that's what it's going to take for me to achieve my dream. My American dream. The one where I own a nice house, a nice car, enjoy my career and raise a family I love. I am tolerant. I am patient. I respect the Constitution of the country I live in and I vote for what I believe is right. I try my best to respectfully disagree with issues that I am opposed to, while faithfully agreeing with those I support. I do not live in fear because of the media's unbending reminder. I mourn the lives of those lost 10 years ago on this day, but I am not caught up on this. I have moved on and am standing strong because those are the values and morals I've been taught growing up. I will never forget September 11, 2001 but I will never let it consume my life like it has the media. I am an American. And after falling down 10 years ago, I have gotten back up. When will you?