IT IS REFERRED TO AS THE KENNEDY ASSASINATION OF “our” generation. The single incident of which everyone, everywhere, will always remember where they were when they heard the news that changed “our” sense of life as we once knew it… Life without terrorism.

Looking back, it’s somewhat strange to comprehend that it has been five years since that hazy day. It seems like a lifetime ago.

On September 11, 2001, I was in San Diego, California. I was living there at the time, working for Transworld Media in Oceanside, coastal San Diego, and living just down the coast in a gorgeous house in Encinitas, with my friends Liz and Sierra. Oh, and Brian the funny surfer who lived in our garage for a hundred bucks a month.

I had spent the night earlier at a friend’s place in downtown San Diego as we had gone out on the 10th and I couldn’t be bothered to drive home, 30 miles away.

I set the radio alarm clock to wake me up at 7am and drive home to get ready and go to work. When the alarm went off, I instinctively hit snooze. An hour later – maybe more – I woke up and panicked that I’d be late for work. I ran outside and into my car and zipped on to the 805-North. Normally the 805 is bottleneck congested at 815am, but traffic was moving steadily. I got on the I-5 North to Oceanside, 40 miles or so away. The Interstate, always busy, was only speckled with cars. I didn’t think twice about it. I was still half asleep.

I rolled into the Transworld parking lot, it was empty, bar for two cars. I walked to the door, and it was opened by Tracy, the then accountant. She was crying. “Go home!” she said. “What? Why? What happened?”

“GO HOME!” she cried aloud, “Haven’t you heard? Go home and turn on the the TV!”

I made it home in ten minutes, speeding down the five, screeched onto my driveway and burst in the front door. The TV was on and Liz, Sierra and Brian were sat around it, eyes glued. A building that looked like the World Trade Centre had smoke and some flames coming out of it. I thought maybe there was a bad fire in one of the offices. No one said anything. I took two steps into the living room, my eyes glued to the TV and then we all saw the plane crash into the second tower.

We all sat there breathless, speechless, for hours and hours. Nobody moved.

The next day I went to work. Oceanside is the biggest military town in southern California. That’s because it’s adjacent to Camp Pendleton, one of the largest US military bases (Marine Corps) on the west coast. It has a daytime population of 100,000 and runs along 17 miles of southern Californian coastline, separating San Diego county from Orange County.

I saw warships, many of them, off the coast of Camp Pendleton. I wasn’t sure if they were emerging for defense, attack or simply routine check purposes, but they were there and it was freaky. We all talked about it at work, all day. Camp Pendleton was less than a mile from our office and it’s a weird feeling to know there are several United States of America military warships a mile away from you, especially after the events of the day before.

We all talked about it. And that day, on September 12, 2001, after staring at these mammoth war ships outside our office, we simply asked each other what’s going on. Were the WTC attacks an act of war or an act of terrorism? Are war and terrorism separate things or are they the same thing? Ok, so if the US is going to attack or invade somewhere, where would that be?

Somebody asked me if I had any idea as to where Osama bin Laden lived? He pronounced the name wrong and threw up some horns when he said to me: “Fuck that dude, man”.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Fuck that dude.”