Gray tops nodded their way through the bristles of September air, with no clouds to kiss the ash. Thousands entrenched in debris ran as fast as their legs could allow, fending off the shivers of fear searing from their spine to their feet. Sirens swallowed the air, then sunk in the dust like a weight in a lake, not to be heard again. The only thing drying the tears from the eyes of the survivors was the blood on their hands from holding the bodies of their loved ones, and the pillars of infamy cracked at the bow and came crumbling down, burying every man, woman and child on its way.

Fifteen years ago, I couldn't comprehend this. I was a mere eleven years old, tripping over my shoelaces to make my way to an elementary school class. Little did I know this Tuesday in my eleventh year on earth would be the deepest darkness our country had seen since World War II. I remember sitting in my third-grade classroom wondering why my friends were being picked up early, one by one, and being taken home. It wasn't until I left the school at the end of the day and was taken home by my mother that I found out why. I walked through my front door and I felt the discomfort seething from wall to wall, as though to slice a sadistic smile in the atmosphere. I slowly walked into my tv room, and my eyes bore the image of the thick gray smoke smothering what seemed to be half of New York at the time. I turned to my parents and asked them in an uneasy voice, "What happened?" What my mother said to me, as simple as it was, rings as clear in my head today as it did when she said it fifteen years ago: "We were attacked."

We were attacked. Not just New York, God rest the souls of those who passed on that horrid day. No, not just Manhattan. We were attacked. I stood, frozen, eyes latched onto a television screen which had publicized the peril of my brethren, my fellow Americans and my family. My tongue could only chisel the words my mother spoke so defeatedly, "we were attacked". My breath, no longer tempered, fought to keep up with a speeded heartbeat beneath my chest. We were attacked. The country, for which my forefathers and ancestors gave their lives, has had its offspring plucked from home by cowards who hate our country and freedom because they just want to. We were attacked.

Fifteen years ago, our lives were challenged, our freedoms were threatened, our family was scarred. And on that day, in the midst of evil burrowing into our pillows at night and drinking our peace until it shriveled, do you know what we did? We united. We fought past the tears, grit our teeth and fought to bring our country back from the brink of immense peril. We stared death in the face and said "No". We picked up our arms, stepped into the devil's home and we gave him hell. We avenged our fallen, and we bore the scars in our fight to bring justice to our family.

We stood firm, and didn't budge. Fifteen years ago, we watched buildings crumble and watched our loved ones die. We proved that tears aren't signs of weakness, but of strength. We stood on love and truth, and we showed the world that they can do whatever they want to our buildings, but our spirit will never be shaken.

But somewhere along the way, we lost our way. We've become too focused on ourselves. We've given up the image of our country as a family and we curse those who don't have political affiliations parallel to ours. We've taken our nose from the grindstone and closed our eyes to much. What was once a unified spirit of warriors has become a dissolved body of spirits, each one encased in an aura of self-entitlement, seeking only to fulfill their selfish needs.

As the fifteenth anniversary of September 11th arrives, I look back on how we grew as a nation and wonder what happened to push us off course. What great power could have possibly broken the bonds of family enthralled within our spirits, and brought to potent life in our unification? When did we stop looking at each other as family?

I honestly don't know. And it breaks my heart each time I find myself dwelling on this country. I love my country, from the hair on my head to the marrow in my bones. My heart beats day in and day out with love for this country, my home, my family. As I take my breath on this anniversary, I remember the power, I remember the strength and the love that poured from our bones into each other in the days following the tragedy, as we rebuilt, recovered and rebounded. I want to see us united again, as one, but not at the cost of a national tragedy. So how, then?

Our wars of old had been fought for a reason, and our struggles of new are engaged equally with reason. The coldest pits have been overcome, from the liberation of the tyrannical British monarchy in 1783 to the upheaval of our flag in 1812. We've mended the cracks billowing across our nation in the 1860's and erected the gauntlet of technology to heights unmatched. We emerged from a depressive economic fallout and crushed the beast of foreign evil in 1945.

These accomplishments came not at the hands of chance or vengeance, nor from the seed of an evil heart. We, the people, have come through the loops of time and accomplished more than any other nation because of one common factor: love.

It was love that brought us to stand against oppression, it was love that gave us the motion to free ourselves from tyranny. Love moved us to reunite a nation infinitesimally torn, to rally across miles of oceans to protect our own. Love brought our soldiers to stand up and face death head-on, giving up their yesterday so we can have today. Love is what brought us to rally around New York, latch hands, clean the streets, hold our loved ones when they couldn't hold themselves up. Love kept us from caring about political affiliation. Love kept us from caring about what faith/religion anyone belonged to. Love brought us together.

This isn't a nation built to be about selfishness. It's built to be about selflessness. Dark times may return, but will our hearts remain light? Greater enemies will emerge, will we stand? Will we fight? Will we love our neighbor and our family and fight to protect them? We, the people of the United States of America, are made for a purpose. If we can rebuild from the horror that was 9/11, imagine what we could do when the sun is out and the sky is clear. Imagine what we could be for those who have lost inspiration. Imagine what we could accomplish if we could only just humble ourselves, take up our arms and stand together.

My promise to my country and my family is to always strive to be a man of truth. My promise is to never let the differences amongst us get in the way, to love each and every person as they were endowed to be by the forefathers before us and the foundation of this country. My promise to my family is to always keep you as a family.

What's yours?