“Sheep,” I corrected her.

“Wait, you live on a farm?” asked another.

And somehow, everyone in the department believes that living 5.7 acres, being from Boerne, TX, and having sheep constitutes living on a farm. My arduous attempts to disuade this notion led to nothing.

“This makes so much sense,” said my associate editor.

My eyes rolled.

But I came home to my siblings playing washers in the backyard.

We helped my dad out with yard work and drove a tractor/lawn mower.

And my mother makes her own peanut butter.

Oh, the memories.

Some background is necessary for these photos because the circumstances in which they came about are somewhat peculiar. Firstly, it just so happens that this post shares a connection with my last post on the Matisyahu concert I shot in San Antonio. After the show, I was approached by a fellow photography enthusiast and we exchanged information. Long story short, we planned on getting together over the Christmas break and eventually decided to go downtown to the San Antonio Riverwalk to take photographs.

It was the infamous reputation the Riverwalk holds around this time of year that drew us; Christmas lights strung up and down the various paths it takes. But as you will see, there aren’t many Christmas lights prominently featured in the photographs I chose to share. I guess I just didn’t see them, or, perhaps I wasn’t there to see them.

“Tuesday,” I mumbled, slightly confused by the question. 

But the rest of my classmates, slightly more awake that morning, gave the blindingly obvious response. 

It has been 11 years. 

On this day each year, people ask each other, “Where were you?”

I remember being in the middle of recess on a softball field with my classmates of the 4th grade, and hearing that the World Trade Towers had been hit by planes. I probably had no knowledge of their existence before that day. On the television at home I watched the behemoth buildings collapse and the clouds of dust flood the streets of New York City with the awe and terror that any 10-year-old could have felt upon witnessing such a profound moment. 

You can probably remember what the world seemed like at that age: far away, strange, and on that day it became dangerous. But that was the rest of the world, not the small town in Texas I grew up in; not my life. Little did I realize what a profound impact that day would have on my world.

My home in the country unknowingly became a Cold War bomb-shelter, to quote New York Times Columnist David Carr. My adolescence at a sheltered, private Christian school was filled with anti-Muslim (or anything non-Christian) rhetoric and a general attitude of narrow-mindedness. I couldn’t stand the hate against a people my teachers knew nothing of. Why had we defined the moderates by the extremists? I was under the watch of over-zealous men and women who committed treason against education and free-thinking. This divide between what people were telling me and what I saw as common sense widened as I grew up.

I entertained a variety of futures through my grade-school days: astronaut, astronomer, civil engineer, writer, poet, etc. Creation and Exploration. But each fell through and I soon found myself in a semester photojournalism class my junior year of high school. 

Four years later and here we are. I study photojournalism, Arabic and anthropology at The University of Texas. I plan to work in the Middle East documenting a world that was so foreign but now so clearly relevant, just another of the far reaching effects of 9/11.

11 years after the fact and I’m finally realizing the undeniable influence that day had, and continues to have on (my) life. I don’t know if somehow I’ve been trying to make sense of what happened through all those years, but if I have been, I know I’m not the only one. 

I’m not trying to say, “9/11 changed my life because …”

I’m saying there is no escaping what happened that day, and to forget would only inevitably lead us back to that dark day again.

That is why we should never forget. 

We landed at the Kona International Airport around noon yesterday, Hawaiian time, and disembarked the plane directly onto the tarmac. Despite having never done this before, I really didn’t think much of it. But we left the airport with our bags without taking a step inside a building.

So that’s the first thing I learned about Hawaii:

1. A lot of stuff is outside; including the airport, the check-in desk, and the Catholic Church in Kona.

We really didn’t do all that much our first day on the island other than church and swimming at the resort pool. And clearly, I didn’t take many pictures either. My apologies. Oh, and…

2. There’s a lot of lava rock on Hawaii, like, everywhere.

Day 3

I started today off with a run around the resort area. I passed a few other like-minded (or similarly crazed) individuals and eventually found myself on the King’s Highway Trail, a footpath built in the early 1800′s that extended around most of the island (also made of lava rock).  After getting groceries and overpriced bathing suits (which brings me to lesson 3: EVERYTHING is marked up on the island, even Macaroni Grill) we made it to Beach 69, named after the old mile marker it was located at.

We rented some snorkeling equipment and swam over coral beds at the beach. *pictures need to be developed. This brings us to my next lesson:

4. Don’t touch anything in the ocean. It will either die, or bit you.

also…

5. There are no beautiful women in hula skirts and coconut tops just walking about the island. Also, most attractive women visiting Hawaii are with a significant other (so far). Needless to say, this was a little disappointing for myself and the brothers.

All in all it was a great day. Kudos to mom for taking pictures at the beach.

quotes of the day include:

“And then, I had to poop really bad.”

“Where’s China?”

“China is big!”

*various photo credits, including myself.