Celebrate with me!



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Bing images

Today, September 25, 2010 is the one year anniversary of Healing Morning blog. I checked the dates about a month ago and have been giving thought to what I would write when the specific day rolled around. This past year has opened up the world for me beyond anything I could ever have imagined or dreamed for myself, and blogging was an integral part of this process.


I am, first and foremost, a writer. I have done many different types of work in my adult life to pay the bills, but at my core, I identify myself as a writer. The process of blogging gave me a genre that celebrates writing in a very unique manner. I work as a freelance technical and creative writer, and social media management consultant, so writing is incorporated into my daily work life. Blogging straddles the two worlds of professional and personal writing for me. I manage social media and write blogs for a wide range of clientele, and I also write here at Healing Morning for purely personal satisfaction.

It is here at Healing Morning that I express my innermost thoughts, emotions, ponderings and dreams. Most writers have aspirations to become published authors, and I am no different in that regard. I am currently working on a manuscript that I have every intention of getting into published and promoted book form. Blogging has given me a worldwide audience and valuable feedback that I firmly believe makes me a stronger writer with every single article posted. Writers gain polish by doing more of the same...by simply writing, refining and writing some more.

There is equal satisfaction in growing readership and meeting fellow writers/bloggers from all over the world. I have developed incredibly strong, beautiful friendships with many bloggers here in the United States and across the world in myriad countries. The friendships blossom in the most lovely way as we all exchange stories, read one anothers' writing, post comments and genuinely appreciate the interaction that blogging gives us.

I have learned even more to trust my own instincts, and as a result, fairly early on in my blogging experience, I co-founded Authentic Blogger on Facebook. Authentic Blogger is one of my proudest accomplishments, as it provides a supportive community for fellow bloggers to post their work, grow their own readership and gain more exposure in the blog-o-sphere. Our group grows a bit more slowly than some blogging groups, but we like it that way - being authentic is the whole purpose and Mission Statement of the Authentic Blogging concept. Through this group, I have met more talented writers and have a rock solid relationship with my co-founder and business partner, Duane Scott. Like many other blogging friendships, this is one in particular that I am confident will be a lifelong relationship.

I hear that there are thousands of blogs started daily that become 'orphaned' in a short span of time, meaning that the people who created those blogs just abandon the effort and walk away. At this point in time, I do not see this ever happening for me with Healing Morning blog. It is an intrinsic part of who I am. The very title describes me in infinite detail. 'Healing' encompasses my very heart and love of a holistic approach to life and extending myself to others in a peaceful, loving, optimistic fashion. 'Morning' is a play on my name, Dawn.

The day that a girlfriend and I sat at a local Panera Bread and she showed me how to set up a blog shell, I never dreamed that I would be where I am today. The name, Healing Morning, came about in the most natural manner and I look back now and marvel a bit at how absolutely perfect the title remains. I will never change it. I am definitely a creature of habit, so I tend to hold on to certain things for recognition purposes on a public manner. This is vital in the world of blogging, I think, so Healing Morning will always be a strong identifying factor for who I am as a writer.

Where will this new year take me and Healing Morning? In the past year, it has introduced me to new people and experiences on a global level. I am proud to report that I am a contributing writer for Aromatique Essentials e-zine in Australia - this is the wonderful brainchild of my dear friend, Julie Nelson who is talented in all things aromatherapy related. I am also a contributing writer to the blogging website called Live and Inspire Magazine, based in Malaysia.  I am a contributing blogger on Writers Rising blog, which introduced me to even more wonderful blogging friends. Never could I have dreamed up such opportunties for my writing to span the world in this manner, and to be very well received. Any writer will tell you such experiences are deeply personally satisfying as well as just plain delightful! To know that people around the world are reading my writing and enjoying it enough to extend invitations to me to become a contributing writer for their projects is the highest compliment I can think of receiving.

Yet another completely unexpected and somewhat overwhelming opportunity that came from Healing Morning blog was my first radio interview on Starclear Radio. The focus of Starclear Radio is to shed light on all manner of spiritual experiences, and it gave me the chance to dip a toe into the larger media and publicity pool and realize this is something that I am capable of doing successfully. The interview went so well, in fact, that I was invited to return for a full hour long show in January 2011. The confidence of Starclear's co-founders, Jeffrey Seelman and Amy Lamb, in me was warming and encouraging. This again shows the incredible power that blogging and social media put into our hands. Without venturing forth into the world of blogging, I would never have crossed paths with Amy and Jeffrey. It did happen, though, and is another reason to celebrate this first year of blogging.



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Bing images

 There are endless reasons for me to sit here, smiling as I write. My world has broadened and become enriched in so many ways that I imagine my Spirit has extra facets deposited all around. I envision my own Light and writing talent to be a cross somewhere between the soft, lambent glow of a lustrous pearl and the bright, exhuberant blaze of a multi-faceted diamond. I have a calm, quiet sureness with my writing that is married to a dash of on the ceiling energy and appreciation for the occasionally absurd moments in life. I like to think that reflects in different ways in different blog articles.

I look forward to another year with Healing Morning blog. More friendships, new experiences and new triumphs await. For now, I celebrate the past year and I thank each and every person who has taken time to visit my blog page, leave kind comments and clicked to follow my work. I invite you all to celebrate with me!
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

365 Lessons-Lesson 266: Walk through the Pounding Rain

When the rain comes (rain being a metaphor for anything difficult) the tendency is to run for cover. Why not walk through the pounding rain? Why not walk out in the midst of it all exposed? What could happen to you? Maybe something unpredictable is in your cards; a turn of the tables, so to speak.

This morning at around 9am, my husband was eager to go walking. I looked outside at the clouds of doom and raindrops already starting to fall and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball in my bedroom with warm, fuzzy socks on.

Instead, I threw my non-waterproof raincoat on (sin in Seattle) and headed out into the elements. In the car driving over the Ballard Bridge, the rain was coming down in sheets. This was not walking weather, yet we were on our way.

Once at the park, there was no turning back. We were hiking and that was it. The rain started to let up a little as we got to the beach. All the sudden, amongst the barnacles, broken clam shells, seaweed, and a mad circle of seagulls, I saw too little eyes peering up at me on the beach. I almost stepped on this tiny, little thing.


What was it? Could it be a baby Harbor seal? The mother had left it on the shore in search of food. The little guy looked scared. It made little squeaks at us. I knew not to touch it or move it. If the mother smells human hands on her baby, she will abandon it. I was worried, however, that the mother had forgotten where it was. It was so far up on the shore now.

A sudden break in the rain had revealed this angelic creature to my husband and me. I couldn't help but take it as a sign. Seals, as you may have read from earlier posts about my book writing adventure, have a important meaning to me.

I had to go out in the pouring rain to find this jewel. My jeans were now thoroughly soaked, but we kept walking. We were committed to the walk and no sleet, hail, lightening, thunder, or hurricane was going to stop us.

Lately, I've been a bit saddened. I haven't heard from several blogging friends who used to comment regularly on this blog. Where did they go? Are people still reading it or am I writing it just for me. Should I stop writing it? Should I put it aside? Do I have anything more to say? All these thoughts go through my head and then I remember one very important thing.

I've committed myself to this walk. Let the rains come, I'll continue on. When things get difficult or boring or monotonous or I feel like I'm at the end of my rope and I'd rather turn back, go inside and hide under the covers, that's the time to continue I've learned.

The seal was a hidden jewel in the rain today. Something I wouldn't have seen if I decided to stay indoors. When we least expect it we will find that everything we were hoping for is already there, waiting for us in the pouring rain.

Also on my blog Lessons from the Monk I Married.

What do you believe?

Recently I was interviewed by a high school student for a class assignment. His topic was Religion: Creed, Community, Calling and he asked me a lot of questions pertaining to my upbringing, my exposure to religion, my parent's views, and my own beliefs.

In telling him how I've come to an agnostic standpoint, I realized a lot of things about my own belief system ... how it developed over time and why I don't feel guilty anymore about not

being religious.

My parents weren't as devout as, say, my grandparents.

We visited a temple once a week or once every two weeks (there wasn't any set day or commitment), mom chanted the Hanuman Chalisa (a specific prayer for the monkey god) every morning after showering (a practice she started when I was severely sick as a four-year-old and which she continues to this day), dad didn't eat egg or chicken on Tuesdays (it's a common custom for those who worship Hanuman), and we would do puja on Diwali (the biggest and most important Hindu celebration).

Aside from these things, I didn't see my parents fasting for every other god (with hundreds of thousands of gods to worship, they'd never be eating anything!), nor did I see them travel to specific places in India just to visit temples (as a lot of their peers did).

I knew I was a Hindu and that Muslims and Christians went to their own temples. They revered a different god and celebrated different festivals -- but that didn't stop me from sharing lunch with them.

In fact, I loved the sheermaal (saffron-flavored bread) a Muslim friend would get on occasion and had told my mom I wanted a church wedding when I grew up.

She smiled and said that's what Christians do.

"Does it mean we can't?" I'd asked.

"No, it's their custom. Our custom is different," she replied.

"But it doesn't mean we can't do something that's different, right?" I inquired.

She dismissed the conversation by saying, "No, it doesn't mean we can't. But there's a lot of time to your marriage."

I was only nine years old.

But even as mom and dad hung on to their beliefs, their religious customs, they never once forced anything down my throat. I celebrate Eid with my Muslim classmates and went to mass with my Christian friends.

The beliefs my parents tried to instill in me had more to do with humanism than Hinduism: don't be malicious, don't hurt anyone intentionally, don't steal, don't lie, respect differences (of caste, religion, beliefs), and be generous.

Some people say that's what Hinduism is about. It's a way of life.

Perhaps. But organized religion has made it so difficult to weed out the lifestyle from the customs. Customs that feel like shackles more than anything else.

I've never understood fasting for religious purposes or been able to come to terms with the hypocrisy of worshipping all these goddesses but then giving second-class treatment to women in real life.

Even as a kid, I questioned the rationality of religious edicts and growing up the questions never went away.

But I couldn't voice them without hurting a lot of people. You see, while technically one has the choice to follow a religion (or not!), our social structure doesn't allow us the guilt-free liberty to exercise that choice.

While my parents wouldn't force me to go to a temple, the general expectation would be that I'd accompany them. More so with my in-laws given how overtly religious they are. They'd be hurt if told them I questioned the existence of god. More so because I am a woman.

Men are supposed to be progressive and liberal. Women are supposed to be the moral compass and leash men in.

I wouldn't be able to have any rational discussions with them and at the end of it, it would come down to a question of faith.

Their faith in something that defies explanation. Mine lying within myself and those around me.

Some people might think that my coming to the United States prompted this sudden change of heart. Not entirely true.

My belief system didn't change per se, but my detachment from organized religion intensified.

In Iowa City, I didn't feel the "need" to go to a temple or to pray ... and with that realization came a sense of freedom. I felt that I could talk to people and question the existence of god without fear of repudiation.

I understood that fear was the main reason why people were so religious ... fear of family, society, failure, death... Religion provided folks with a support system. A false sense of security but a very real sense of community.

I didn't need that, but without asking for it, I automatically got affiliated with another community -- that of the non-believers.

And it certainly wasn't a sudden change of heart.

It was a series of discussions with my husband and with non-Indian peers and colleagues that allowed me to explore my beliefs and challenge the ones I had grown up with.

The only "religious" thing I still do is the Diwali puja -- folding my hands and chanting hymns I don't understand. And the one and only reason I still perform that annual ritual is because it's comforting.

I am halfway across the globe from my family and all the memories of that festival have centered around that ritual...it is those memories that I harken by going through the motions at home.

Some people have told me I'm spiritual. I'm not sure spirituality is an all-encompassing general term ... Everyone has their own take on spirituality and what it means to them.

I still haven't deciphered what it means to me, although others have told me that my travel experiences, my writing, and my thirst for knowledge are all the things that connect me with my spirituality. They tell me it's my calling.

For me, though, this whole spirituality thing is still inconclusive.

So, what do I believe? I believe that everyone should have the opportunity to explore their self before choosing which (if any) religion or spiritual belief to subscribe to. And it should be ok if they don't subscribe to anything. We don't have to have names and labels for everything, do we?

Self awareness leads to self confidence and when you know your self and know the reasons why you're doing what you're doing, life automatically becomes more meaningful.

You stop living in fear and you give to others not because you're told to, but because in your life journey you have come to realize that it is the right thing to do.

We spend so much time blindly following customs and traditions in the name of religion; we foster hatred for those who follow a different religion, and yet we don't fully understand our own belief system.

We don't know who we are, what motivates us, what inspires us, what our purpose in life is.

I believe in myself and in humanity. I believe all of us have good hearts.

If each of us took some time to introspect, to reflect, and to question our actions, we'd be a much more peaceful world community.

So, what do you believe?

This article is also published at Desicritics and can be found on my blog.

Is Love Enough ?

Most who read my Blog would be aware that my marriage went through some interesting times over the last four years which resulted in me now being separating permanently from my ex-wife and best friend of 17 plus years.

In more recent times I have watched another best friend’s marriage disintegrate into a bitter, hateful situation when both sides are always defensive and looking to get the next point over their partner. Their relationship has descended into a win at all cost “ War of the Roses ” and both parties have resorted to using their 3 kids as cannon fodder against each other ( even if they are unaware of what they are doing ).

Another friend is currently going through a domestic abuse hell from her partner that has resulted in criminal charges against her ex-husband and she is now living 24/7 with the fear of him turning up and finishing the job he had started.

And then last night I was talking to a another ( 20 year plus ) friends wife only to be told in secrecy that her marriage is a complete sham and that from the moment she walked down the aisle she knew it was the wrong thing to do but felt trapped and unable to get out of the marriage. She informed me that her wedding day tears walking down the aisle were not tears of happiness but tears of sadness and regret of what was happening.

The sad truth is I’ve only listed four marriages above but in reality I could run off a list of twenty or more friends and associates who’s marriage did not stand the test of time.

Yes, I too know people who have been married for very long periods, including my parents who have been married 50 years and my sister who this week is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary, but they are the minority, an ever decreasing group who have to date stood strong against all that time, marriage and life has thrown at them. Some are still there out of genuine love, some out of long formed habit and some out of fear of being alone.

How does this happen between two people who once loved each other openly and unconditionally ?

I have many thoughts about relationships but since my marriage did not survive you may not want to put too much weight onto my beliefs, many are probably off the mark but all are qualified by real relationships that I have either been a part of or have observed first hand.

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I think the first big killer of any relationship is the fight for control within a relationship, I have not yet seen a relationship that is 100% amicable where both parties agree on everything all the time. That I think most would agree is impossible and a fantasy world saved for day time sitcoms.

Every couple will have disagreements, every couple will attempt to “ Negotiate ” a compromise and every couple over time will feel like “ They ” are the ones that ALWAYS have to compromise, every couple will start to resent the inability to have it their own way and will feel more and more like “ Their opinion doesn’t matter anymore to anyone ”, individuals start to feel dis-empowered, lost and without a voice. The power battles start and suddenly the decision over which show you both watch or the colour of the new blinds takes on an illogical level of importance that is more deeply rooted in the need of each individual to be heard than it is about the actual topic.

Another big issue I feel is an ever growing phenomenon in marriage for the need to “ Change ” or “ Fix ” those silly little flaws in our partners. Just about, actually ALL relationships that I have observed have started independent, but before long at least one side of the relationship ( if not both ) attempt to change the other half, to “ Mould ” them into a mirror of themselves. While opposites attract it makes for hard work to constantly negotiate a compromise and inevitably one will attempt to conform the other so that the day to day existence of a relationship becomes less work and easier.

Can you remember when you first moved in with your partner ? Can you remember the small insignificant things that shouldn’t have mattered but in reality drove you mad with frustration. Did they leave the toothpaste lid off ? Did they not close the wardrobe doors when they were finished ? Did they want to watch their shows all the time instead of your shows ?

I believe that in most relationships this is natural and one side will always be willing to give that slight bit more than the other. The issues come into a relationship when one side feels that they have paid their dues and given more than their share of ground for the relationship but are constantly asked to give yet more.

Finally I think the third big killer of marriages is “ Jealousy ”, unless it was an arranged marriage ( which is a whole other story ) we all would have met our partners at some type of social gathering, be it Church, the Pub, Through Friends ect .. we as humans are social creatures, we thrive on connecting with others, in fact we cannot survive in isolation.

Yet despite our partners having multiple friends of both sexes when we met them it is amazing how many partners don’t TRUST their partners to remain social outside of the marriage. I ask you this question, “ Would you allow your partner to go out to dinner and a movie with a member of the opposite sex alone ? ”.

If your answer is no I would ask YOU why ? Do you not trust them ? Do you not trust the other person ? Do you not trust yourself in the same situation ?

Without trust in any relationship you have nothing.

It is YOUR issue that YOU need to deal with and carry the burden of. It is not for your partner to carry your insecurities for you or to resolve. You do not own your partner and therefore have no rights to restrict or control their life.

On a lighter side, I have a young nephew about to marry one of the most beautiful souls I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, they really do seem to be the real deal, a couple that will stand the test of time. Everyone is excited about their wedding day which is such a refreshing feeling in today’s cynical world.

They really do stand as a beacon of hope for us all and of what is right about this world.

So please raise your glasses and toast with me to “ Mathew & Lilly ” as a reminder to us all of what it was once like and of how it should always be.

4 years in India, 2 years of Shambhavi, 1 wandering woman

This September I’m commemorating the fourth anniversary of living in India. I don’t say celebrating, because it is a bittersweet landmark. Four years of intense soul-searching and questioning of life’s very fundamentals.

I can say with more confidence that I am celebrating my two year anniversary of attending the Inner Engineering program and being initiated into Shambhavi Maha Mudra, which has catapulted me on yet another journey–this time a never-ending inner one, facilitated by this and my other Isha Yoga practices. I can also saw with certainty that had it not been for this initiation, I would not have made it this long in India! Below, you can read more about this rocky journey…

“I don’t want to go,” I said as we were on the plane to India in July 2005. That was the first of many trips. But alas, there has been no turning back.

As I awoke this morning, the same nagging “I don’t want to be here” tormented me. I have a very strong escapist urge: to go back to the comfort and convenience of the West, where I’ve been for a mere two months.

It’s baffling to me how, before I left in July, my attitude was so different. I was as settled as I ever have been here. My mom says it’s human nature to adjust; people even got used to living in concentration camps. The parallel, though controversial, is somewhat appropriate. I’m both victim and agressor.

I spoke to Savira, a fellow blogger and yogini from Living Laughing Breathing, who is also re-adjusting to life in India. She aptly said that there’s a battle waging within me between the part of me that wants to be here and that which doesn’t. I’m not sure the two sides can ever be reconciled! This culture shock has taken me completely by surprise–I would’ve thought I was beyond it by now and nothing about India could phase me.

But it seems I’ve gone soft, lost my defences. The smells, the noises, the fear and utter disgust all bombard me like I’m back to square one. How can I actually be choosing this life over other, more sheltered, more straightforward ones? Even I’m baffled and can’t provide a rational answer.

Maybe my life should go back to normal, whatever that means. Maybe I should settle down and stop seeking more. Maybe I should start having clear goals. Maybe I should know what I want out of life and have a clear plan of how to get it. But I don’t know. Is that such a crime?!

This article is also published on my blog. Hope you join me there...

Nothing Good On The Menu

Or: How to Manage A Loved One With Major Depression

Depression is ferociously difficult for everyone involved, in that ordinary measures don't even bear consideration. A sensible person sleeps when they are tired, eats when hungry and drinks when thirsty; when sad, might weep or pause for melancholy reflection; might laugh when amused, retort when offended, change the channel when bored, etc. The mildly depressed will dutifully follow their doctor's orders and consume their medicine on schedule and perhaps even receive a modicum of surcease, blessedly returning to such prosaic matters.

The profoundly depressed view such normative responses to stimuli with deep suspicion; their own emotional perceptions having brutally waylaid them their entire lives, people around them quick with platitudes, condescension, disbelief or resentment, they are not conditioned to be 'solutions-oriented'. The deeply depressed withdraw into ever-increasing alienation because with one's back to the wall that's at least one direction that the lacerating winds of psychic agony won't come from. In extending a hand of solace, offering a bridge to fellowship, the healthy person's most sincere gestures appear to the seriously depressed person as threats.

Guilt is a potent self-fulfilling entrenchment for the person with major depression. It's bad enough feeling overwhelming guilt just for breathing and taking up space; the unavoidable inconvenience that one's illness causes others is like salt in the wound. We really don't want to be any trouble, thanks we'll stand, I'll give you $100 if  you let me sleep in your garage - just for one night. And no amount of backpedaling, shit-eating or genuflecting will sooth the sting - there we are, still breathing, much too loud.  And make no mistake, it's an incredible pain in the ass dealing with us, overtime with no pay. Nothing is ever simple, no interaction or transaction free of the most byzantine and unnecessary complications. It's even worse if our illness is constellated with others - borderline PD, schizo-affective, adult ADD, and so on.  We forget the appointment or date or birthday or anniversary, miss the bus, take the wrong bus, lose our bus pass, etc.; then we descend into a slough of despond over it, become almost violently defensive, attempt suicide or cut ourselves with razor blades, overdose, set fire to the garage, etc.

Sure we take the pills. Most of them. Most of the time. But pills just take the edge off - make the madness slightly more manageable - they don't get your shit together for you. If the pills are working, eventually we'll have to get out of bed; if they are not working, we have to actually pick up the phone, call the doctor and tell her they're not working. Either way, we have to actually take them, as prescribed, to find out.  We have to actually take a shower, get dressed, and go to work in order to find out whether or not we can.  And that takes more courage than is quantifiable.





There aren't really any hard-and-fast rules for handling life with a person managing major depression or major depression plus whatever.  Either they were up front with you from the get go - "Before we go any further, I think you should know something about me..." - or they lied about it, or they were lying to themselves about it, or they didn't know, i.e. hadn't yet been diagnosed.  We can go for years thinking it's not us, it's just that life and the universe generally suck so bad it's pretty much unbearable, and we will tend to surround ourselves with people who share this viewpoint.  Being told that we are actually sick and the world is basically neutral is such an intense revelation, it might actually make us sicker (and our behavior more problematic) for a while.  None of the old coping mechanisms for maintaining a good front are effective any more.  It seems to take forever to adjust to all these strange new chemicals fucking up our brains in ways that even the doctors don't understand completely.  We go back and forth between paranoia and trust on every issue, major and minor; we blame everyone else for everything, then blame ourselves for everything, and eventually after a big swim find a middle ground to stand on.

Understand that the person in your life going through this doesn't want your pity, your coddling, your caretaking/codependent behavior, to be rescued, or to not be held to any of the normal standards of relationship one may reasonably expect from anyone without an illness.  What we do want is for you to remember that we're sick.  It's useful information.  That way when we actually accomplish things, you can think to yourself, "Wow, he actually did that."  Not that we want you to hold us to a lower standard than others, as explained above.  When we fail, understand that we don't need to be cut slack any more than anybody else - "What did I expect, after all he IS crazy..." - just remember that, ha ha, yeah, we probably already know we failed and don't need to be reminded.  What we DO need to be reminded is to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get back in the ring.  Don't give us some treacly rah-rah routine - this isn't the Jerry Lewis Telethon - we're not a starving child you're supposed to be horrified for on those TV commercials trying to capitalize on your guilt.  We're just people with a particular set of challenges, JUST LIKE YOU.  So don't take care of us, just remember what we're going through, and maybe that knowledge will help you to be prepared for hard-to-manage behaviors, like spending our last dollar on cupcakes for the kid when we should have saved it for the bus.

Sept. 11, 2010: Let the healing begin

1815 IST, September 11, 2001. 6:30 to 7 p.m. was break time.

I had been preparing for the Test of English as a Foreign Language and the Graduate Record Examination for three weeks now.

The exams were later next month and the pressure to do well intense.

If I failed to get a good score, my parents would have me married, squashing my dreams of pursuing journalism professionally.

Music was my only saviour right then. But not having a music system at home made me turn to the television.

An image caught my attention: clouds of smoke billowing from two deceptively familiar towers from the popular TV serial Friends.

Was it? No! Oh my God! No!

I switched to CNN. The World Trade Centre was no more.

Terrorists had attacked America. The invincible, powerful, glorious land of opportunities had woken to a black Tuesday.

It was sheer panic on every news channel. And it seeped into me.

Thousands of miles from Ground Zero, I could feel the tension, the tears, the agony, the shock.

Sirens blowing -- that was the only sound.

Statistics began pouring in a while later and one could see the Indian broadcast media focusing on the number of desis trapped in the debris. Names and numbers from agencies that employed Indians in the twin towers were being splashed across. Several discussion panels were being hurriedly arranged.

The talks were centred not so much on what had happened, but its aftermath.

Everyone was awake. I remember not having dinner that night. The sombreness of the event had touched everybody.

For me, it was a state of anxiousness.

Here I was, up all nights practicing American English, quantitative reasoning and verbal analogies, and there America was burning. A hundred possibilities raced through my mind.

Perhaps, I could just continue freelancing for magazines. Or do a course in India somewhere. Maybe I could just listen to my parents for once, and get "settled"…

To take my mind off the chaos being broadcast, I went online. Although we didn't have Facebook or Twitter then, every single news website had only one headline: America Under Attack.

Online, the emphasis was on "I am safe Amma and Appa" messages. The STAR news message board was inundated with frantic one-liners from the kin of those studying or settled in the U.S.

Rediff.com had put up a special chat room to facilitate such messages. MSNBC was broadcasting live coverage of events in downtown Manhattan, especially for its Indian audiences.

I distinctly remember CNN's website being down that night. They had put up the bare minimum they could on their homepage. That was their way of coping with the whopping traffic the site was receiving.

The Net only added to my panic. What was I to do? Would my parents agree on sending me to the US after this? Would the American embassy shut down? Would I even get a visa? Would there be terror strikes in India now? Would I be killed just like all those people who rammed into the towers?

Questions -- so many of them! Answers – none.

It was only after I got an email from someone in Vadodra, Gujarat that I began thinking what the tragedy meant for others. The e-mail requested me to forward the message to as many people in the U.S. I knew, and bid them to do the same, in an effort to reach a relative in New York who was not answering his phone or responding to emails. This was a human connection. It was not so much about the politics or the economics of the world in frenzy – it was about people.

I felt rather small that moment. Thousands of people had lost someone close to them in a tragedy the modern world had never witnessed before. The barbarism was unparalleled – and here I was thinking how it would affect my plans.

This selfishness was extended to the way the local media was working, too. Although the news was 'America's nightmare' the stories were about 'India's concerns'.

For America this was all so new. For Indians facing terrorism for a long time, it was just one of those really bad days. Not that the media did not sympathize. Not that the common man did not care. But we had our own issues.

What implications would this attack have on Indo-American relations? Would there be increased cross-border firing? How would Pakistan react? Would America drop bombs on Afghanistan now? Would there be a Third World War? These were just some of the questions popping up.

A national daily ran a report next morning. It said reserve battalions in Jammu and Kashmir have been deployed and the borders with Pakistan and Bangladesh and those in peninsular India were on high alert following the attack on the U.S. The headline of the piece was "Terror strikes India."

The implications of the terrorist attack on the world's greatest superpower were far reaching -- more than the masterminds behind this attack, could ever think of.

I've witnessed eight anniversaries in the U.S. since and the memories are still as vivid, the pain still as fresh.

Only now, we're turning against each other with more hatred and greater passion.

This country is seeing more intolerance, more skepticism, and more unrest. We're letting the terrorists finally achieve what they set out to do on September 11, 2001. We're helping move their agenda forward by letting that terror live inside us.

Our first instinct then, as it is now, was to look out for our own. To preserve what we held dear to our hearts. To do what served our self-interest best.

But not at the price of democracy. And never by putting humanity on the line.

Sitting halfway across the world, it was those images, those stories of men, women, children and families that struck a chord in everyone's hearts ... I didn't know anyone personally but I found myself crying at the unnecessary tragedy that had introduced itself into these people's lives.

And today, sitting in the country where it all happened, I find myself shaking my head at the unnecessary debates about a mosque being built on Ground Zero. My mind doesn't even know how to react to plans of burning the Quran.

I hear the constant chatter about how fearful we are, or should be. I read the tweets, the headlines, the barrage of messages that tell us to never forget 9/11.

We won't. We can't.

What happened this day nine years ago will be etched forever in the hearts and minds of everyone who witnessed it, no matter what part of the world they were in.

But it was the past. And we have the power to choose the future.

How will we honor the memories of the lives that were lost on 9/11/2001? By "avenging" the death of almost 3,000 Americans (remember they were not just "white" Christians, but also Jews, Sikhs, Italians, Indians)? Or, by recognizing that we are a nation of immigrants and in our diversity lies our strength?

I still see reports from India every day of countless soldiers in Kashmir falling prey to a political battle between two neighboring countries. As diplomats engage in a war of words, young men from small cities kill and are killed by nameless strangers.

Nameless strangers -- that's what they are to me, to each other, to you.

Nameless, faceless strangers -- those 3,000 people who died on 9/11 ... that's what they are to most of you.

It's senseless why those people died. It's asinine that so many people around the world continue to be killed in terror attacks every day. But it's even more senseless to fuel that fire with our own ignorance and fears.

9/11 brought a lot of people together -- let's remember the outpouring of love and support America received as a nation. Let's not forget how it united this country, irrespective of religion, race, or class.

Let's focus on the good.

Let today be an anniversary that celebrates courage and humanity.

Let it be a day of remembrance and renewal.

Let it be a day of healing, of understanding, of tolerance.

Let 9/11 stand for something that's strong and beautiful.

Let it be about the people, not the politics, the powerplay, or the world religions.

This article is also published on my blog and at Desicritics.