Love Binds Us All
ਪਿਆਰ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਸਾਰਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਬੰਨਦਾ ਹੈ
It was September 11, 2023. I was on a business trip for Harbor Freight Tools, flying from San Jose, California, to Love Field Airport in Dallas, Texas. It was a cool morning in the bay, and the security line was a breeze. I chatted with some fellow Sikh men in the queue who were flying to Los Angeles. Soon after, at 5:46 AM PST, an announcement came over the intercom, asking passengers to observe a minute silence in memory of the first responders who died on September 11, 2001.
Some of us stood up for that silence, which stretched beyond 60 seconds. Shivers ran through my body, and I felt my eyes moisten. That silence transported me back in time.
It was a crisp Michigan morning twenty-two years ago; Scattered larch leaves lay on the ground as if signaling what was to come. My supervisor, Kim, and I had just finished our early morning ritual of replacing trash liners, sweeping walkways, and tidying up building entrances before the students of Western Michigan University arrived on campus.
Around 8 AM, I went to my apartment nearby to grab some tea and breakfast. It was there, on live TV, that I watched the horrendous attacks of 9/11 unfold, a moment that would shape the trajectory of my life and the lives of many in the Sikh community.
In the aftermath, America grasped the importance of understanding what had transpired. Fueled by the media’s insensitivity and ignorance about Sikhs, my religion became a lightning rod for backlash and hate.
After graduating from Western Michigan University, I moved to New York City a few months later to start my professional journey. Slurs, intimidation, and public profiling became the everyday norm, creating a haze of overbearing hatred. As I felt the delicate siege of winter, it seemed as if I would never again see spring. Callous name-calling in public squares hurt me the most, especially when it was from a person of color. I often mustered courage and told them, Brother, I don’t expect that from you.
It was September 11, 2023. I was on a business trip for Harbor Freight Tools, flying from San Jose, California, to Love Field Airport in Dallas, Texas. It was a cool morning in the bay, and the security line was a breeze. I chatted with some fellow Sikh men in the queue who were flying to Los Angeles. Soon after, at 5:46 AM PST, an announcement came over the intercom, asking passengers to observe a minute silence in memory of the first responders who died on September 11, 2001.
Some of us stood up for that silence, which stretched beyond 60 seconds. Shivers ran through my body, and I felt my eyes moisten. That silence transported me back in time.
In 2023, my Californian circadian rhythm eagerly grabbed breakfast to silence my hunger. I bought a toasted bagel and hot tea, as I often did when I worked for a year in the Upper East Side of New York City. After enjoying the crunchy bagel, I boarded my flight. With each step in the hollow jetway, it felt like I was finding light at the end of a dark tunnel. In reality, I greeted the crew at the entrance to the plane and requested a selfie.
When the plane taxied, Southwest Love signs were present everywhere, and I knew this was no ordinary flight for me. My epiphany to be present and acknowledge my vulnerabilities when faced with adversity has changed my life forever. Ink, creative expression, and gratitude are my companions for good. I know no matter which way the wind blows, the light within us is bound by Love.