Yesterday marked the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, in New York City.
Twenty five years ago today, something happened that changed the world forever.
I caught 102 Minutes Inside the Towers on the History Channel, a documentary that tells the story through the voices of survivors who lived through those terrifying minutes inside the World Trade Center.
As I watched, my heart ached.
I cried.
There were so many emotions running through me that I honestly cannot even describe the feeling. Listening to survivors speak about their ordeal, the fear, confusion, desperation and sheer nightmare they experienced, made the events of that day feel incredibly real, even 25 years later.
I cannot imagine the nightmare these people suffered through.
I cannot imagine what those who lost their lives must have felt in their final moments.
And I cannot imagine what their families went through, waiting for news, hoping for the best, fearing the worst, and eventually having to face a reality no family should ever have to endure.
Yet, through all those emotions, there was one feeling that became stronger than everything else.
Gratitude.
Because I am still here today.
And that thought is deeply personal for me.
Twenty five years ago, I was supposed to be in New York.
I still remember the early days of August 2001.
My boss and I were in discussions about a trip to New York to meet with people from Robb Peck Real Estate. Their office was located on Broad Street, approximately one kilometre from the Twin Towers.
I remember the plans so clearly.
We were supposed to arrive in New York on September 9, which would have given me a couple of days to tour the city before our meeting on September 11.
I was excited.
New York City had always been a city I dreamed of visiting from the time I was a child. I watched so much American television, especially Beauty and the Beast, and New York seemed like this incredible, magical place that I had always wanted to experience for myself.
I told my mum and my family back in Singapore about my plans.
Mum was thrilled for me because she knew how much I loved New York.
Then, a few days before the trip, it was cancelled.
The meeting was postponed to October.
At the time, it was simply a change of plans. A disappointment, perhaps, but nothing more.
I had so much on my plate with work that I even forgot to tell my mother that the trip had been cancelled.
I had absolutely no idea that this small change of plans would one day become one of the most significant moments of my life.
On September 11, I was in a meeting at my office in Massachusetts.
My phone was blowing up with calls from overseas.
Again and again, it rang.
My heart dropped.
I immediately thought something terrible had happened to someone in my family back in Singapore.
Why else would they be calling me so desperately?
What I did not realize was that they were calling because they had heard about the terrorist attacks.
I didn't know.
I was completely unaware of what was happening.
It wasn't until after my meeting, when I finally called Mum back, that I found out.
I could hear everything in her voice.
The relief that I was alright.
The anger that I had not answered her calls.
And the panic she had felt because she had no idea whether I was in New York and caught in the middle of everything.
As she told me what had happened, I remember saying, "I didn't go."
I immediately checked the internet.
And my heart just dropped.
I could not believe my eyes or what I was seeing.
The Twin Towers.
The smoke.
The devastation.
The people.
The sheer horror of it all.
My first thought was about the people of New York.
I was devastated for them.
Only later did another thought hit me.
I could have been there.
I could have been in New York.
I could have been somewhere around Lower Manhattan.
I could have been on my way to that meeting.
I could have been walking through the city that morning.
I could have been caught in the middle of that unimaginable chaos.
And then came the questions.
What if the meeting had never been cancelled?
What if I had arrived in New York on September 9 as planned?
What if I had been walking around Lower Manhattan that morning?
What if I had been inside one of those buildings?
There are so many "what ifs" that I will never have answers to.
But perhaps we are not meant to live our lives trapped in the questions we cannot answer.
Perhaps we are meant to look at the life we were given and ask ourselves what we are going to do with it.
I believe God had plans for me to remain here.
Not simply to exist.
But to live.
To love.
To serve.
To help wherever I can.
To be there for the people who need me.
To make a difference, even if sometimes that difference is small.
I don't pretend to understand God's plans. I have learned that I don't always need to.
There have been many moments in my life when things did not happen the way I expected. Plans changed. Doors closed. People came and went. Life brought heartbreak, disappointment and challenges I never imagined I would have to face.
But 9/11 reminds me of something very simple.
Life is precious.
We make plans for tomorrow as though tomorrow is guaranteed.
We book holidays months in advance. We arrange meetings. We make promises. We assume there will always be more time.
But none of us knows how much time we have.
That is why I am grateful.
Grateful for every morning I wake up.
Grateful for my family.
Grateful for the people I love.
Grateful for the people God has placed in my life.
Grateful for every opportunity to serve.
Grateful for every chance I have to help someone, encourage someone, love someone or simply make another person's day a little better.
I don't want to waste the gift of being here.
As personal as this story is for me, today is not about me.
My heart is with all those who lost their lives.
It is with the families who were left behind to carry a pain and nightmare no family should ever have to endure.
It is with the husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends who never came home.
It is with the firefighters, police officers, paramedics and countless first responders who ran towards danger while others were trying to escape.
It is with the survivors who have carried the memories of that day for 25 years.
And it is with every family that has had to learn how to live with an absence that can never truly be filled.
Twenty five years is a long time.
But for those who lost someone on September 11, I imagine there are moments when it must still feel like yesterday.
A birthday.
An anniversary.
A photograph.
A song.
A familiar place.
A memory that suddenly brings someone back into your heart.
Time does not erase love.
And it certainly does not erase the lives of those who were taken too soon.
I think about the people who left home that morning expecting to come back later that day.
People who had plans.
People who had families waiting for them.
People who had dreams they never got to fulfil.
People who had no idea that an ordinary morning would become their final morning.
That is why I believe we should never take life for granted.
While we are here, let us love more.
Let us forgive more.
Let us be kinder.
Let us help one another.
Let us be present for the people who matter.
And let us remember that sometimes the plans we make are not the plans that ultimately unfold.
Twenty five years ago, a cancelled meeting changed the course of my life.
I will never know exactly why that meeting was cancelled.
But I know what I choose to believe.
I believe God protected me.
And I believe that if He gave me the gift of being here, then I have a responsibility to make this life count.
To continue loving.
To continue serving.
To continue helping wherever I can.
To continue doing whatever good I can with the time I have been given.
Because life is a gift.
And every day we are given is another opportunity to do something meaningful with it.
Today, my heart is with every victim, every survivor, every first responder and every family who continues to carry the weight of September 11.
May God comfort those who still grieve.
May we remember not only how they died, but how they lived.
May we remember their names, their families, their dreams, their laughter and the lives they left behind.
Twenty five years later, the memories remain.
So do the lives.
So does the love.
So do the stories of those who were taken far too soon.
September 11, 2001.
Twenty five years later, we remember.
May we never forget.
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