Three years ago, at dusk on September 10th, my boyfriend and I spun our bikes down the entire west flank of Manhattan, what feels, in effect (because of the scenery change) like distance. In reality, it is 13.4 short miles. Fresh to New York City, we vowed with the open-heart of newcomers to explore the cracks. This bike ride was the start. As spotted London Plane trees gave way to the behemoths of midtown and eventually to the hip of downtown, we pedalled by completely unaware of what everyone else on the island was aware of. Because though we are Americans, the physical history of two crumbling towers was not imbedded in us. We didn’t know this space when the World Trade Centers existed. We only knew the aftermath. New Yorkers felt the empty space. As interlopers, we were disconnected.

As we neared what we could not yet recognize as ground zero, we noticed droves of people moving inland, police officers cordoning off streets, a solemn collective buzz–the tell-tale signs of a gathering. We shrugged at each other and chalked it up to the wild ways of New York. “Must be some crazy event!” I laughed out loud, letting the wind whisk my voice out to the Hudson River.

It’s embarrassing now how oblivious we were to the date or the occasion. Later we learned that at the exact moment we coasted by on our bikes, on the eve of September 11th, President Bush stood at ground zero to address the world, the nation and New Yorkers. Hence, the crowds.

If I had paid detailed attention… to my surroundings on that bike ride, nebulous time would have plotted its fancy-footed self on a graph and the island of Manhattan would have exposed its boundaries. We would have been placed.

After that morning in 2001, my college-graduate heart was reshaped slowly from a distance. Those who call this home had their hearts reshaped in an instant. When land reshapes, those who dwell there have no choice but to reshape.

I wonder what growing has happened in eight years.

From my tiny isolated non-New Yorker perspective I only know one static fact and one tangible change:

September 11^th is still my deceased grandmother’s birthday. 

I can count at least two American friends who have moved to what many would call Muslim countries.