That evening (Manila time), I had just gotten home from work, and was feeding the stray cats outside my door, when my roommate told me that the WTC in New York had been hit by a plane. Like so many others, I initially dismissed it as a freak accident, and played a little more with the cats, until my brother texted me to say that it looked like terrorism.

I joined my roommates in front of the TV, just in time to see the second plane explode. After several minutes numbly watching CNN, I speculated that this was the kind of event that starts world wars.

I was up till 2am reading blogs, gathering quotes, and of course scraping what news I could from whatever sites still had the bandwidth to deliver. As I settled into bed, I admit, with some wry shame, that part of me awaited a pretrib Rapture.

I was not particularly shocked, awed, or amazed at the catastrophe — partly because of natural Filipino jadedness, I suppose, a result of the way our country is incessantly pummeled by manmade and natural disasters; and partly because of distance. It was, after all, happening on the other side of the world.

Today, a year later, I’m here, on this side. It’s a bright and clear day, and the a cool wind blows flags at half staff. I really don’t have any other perspective to offer — but I can point you to The Dane, who puts it in context quite well.