Today is a day for remembrance. Some people remember 9/11 with nostalgia as a day when Americans came together. Some remember it with cynicism and indifference. I remember it as a surreal day when raw emotions overruled rational thought.

The attacks occurred my freshman year on a Tuesday. I remember because I had a psychology discussion that morning — funny what you remember on days like these. I had just left the shower and was walking down the hall when my RA broke the news.

“Did you hear?” he asked, his eyes wider and more enthusiastic than normal.

“Hear what?” I asked.

“Someone crashed a plane into one of the Twin Towers,” he explained before leaving for class.

I hurried to the end of the hall and poked my head into the room across from mine. Four to five guys living in my hall huddled around the TV.

“Oh god, what’s going on now?” I asked, groaning. I believed it was the latest in string of TWA crashes in the 1990s.

The news said otherwise.

The hypnotic footage of the planes crashing again and again drew me into a morbid malaise, but I snapped out of it after a few minutes and went to my room to get ready for class.

The clearest sky I’d seen in a long time greeted me outside. I remember how clear it was because I kept staring out of fear a plane might swoop down like some dragon breathing fire down on all of us. Fortunately the sky was blessedly free of flying objects.

People on the sidewalks and streets seemed to mill around rather than walk with a purpose.

Emotions on their faces ranged from fear to anger, but each grimace coupled those feelings with confusion. We were all confused. Why would someone do this to America?

Rumors, numbers, and explanations filled the air much the way students fill the streets whenever large lectures let out.

I heard the names Hussein and bin Laden tossed around as possible suspects. Fatalities from the attacks ranged from a few thousand to the hundreds of thousands, depending on who you asked at the moment. Some blamed Israel, others Iraq, but no one knew if the attacks had ended or would continue. I was afraid to walk around in public for the first time in my life.

I arrived to class just as discussion started. The attacks were the only things we could talk about. Our TA asked how we felt. I told her, “I don’t feel comfortable in a government building.” Most of the class seemed to share my sentiment, and the TA dismissed class.

I walked down to the IMU. A large crowd gathered around the big-screen TV. We saw world reactions to the event. Most showed support; the one exception came from footage from Palestinian refugee camps. People in them cheered. I still remember one woman praising the attacks and how my blood boiled to hear it.

Anger gave way to fear as coverage shifted back to New York. I thought of my step-sisters living there. I wondered how close they were to Ground Zero. I overheard a girl desperately trying to contact her father, who worked at the Trade Center.

I still don’t know if she ever reached him.

The terrorist attacks were on everyone’s minds in Russian class. The teacher entered and solemnly told us about the attacks and how she believed it was Saddam Hussein’s work. Hussein as mastermind wasn’t the laughable concept it is now. No one knew who was behind it then. No one knew anything.

The emotional roller coaster rode through a candlelight vigil the university arranged on the Pentacrest that night. Most people spoke comforting words, but again emotions shifted violently when someone blamed America’s support for Israel. Some time passed before we all regained our composure.

Some details from that day are clearer than others. I remember more emotions than facts, perhaps because it was an emotional day, rather than a rational one.