25 Years to the Day, and You’ve Forgotten

I was four years old at 8:46 AM on September 11, 2001, when American Airlines Flight 11 hit the North Tower in New York City.

I don’t remember much about that day, but I recall being ushered into a room with no windows- what my 29-year-old self now realizes was the storm shelter at Park Drive Daycare in Palmyra, PA, where I lived at the time. The teachers were tearful, yet they treated us with a level of joyousness and love that made me genuinely excited.

That’s how they framed it to us: "Don’t worry, Mommy and Daddy are coming early! You’ve been so good today that you get an early dismissal to go be with your family." Eerily, I was excited. I was such a daddy’s girl, and I wanted nothing more than extra time to wander the candy aisles at the local Weis Market with the person I loved most in this world.

When I look back, I’m in awe of how those teachers managed to swallow their own terror, protect our innocence, and make one of the darkest moments in history feel like a reward for the newest generation: Gen Z.

There are no words that can truly capture how horrible that day was for America. I couldn’t grasp the severity of what was happening as it unfolded- I was only four years old, after all. While I don't remember life before 9/11, I have a firsthand account of growing up in its aftermath. And it is not the picturesque, totally free place the mainstream media depicts.

Fast forward to today: September 11, 2026. I am 29 years old. I have bills to pay, a Golden Retriever to feed, and in so many ways, I am struggling to survive as a single Latina woman. I am an easy target for people with power and money, and target me they do.

I’m sitting on $22,000 in student loan debt. I lost my corporate job at Trend Micro after attempting to terminate an Australian employee who was living in the U.S. on the company's dime. And on July 5th, 2026, I was brutally assaulted by guards employed by the state of Texas. Systemically and personally, I have been victimized- and not one person in this country has come to my rescue. I do everything completely alone. Not by choice, but because those are the cards I was dealt as the daughter of an economically disadvantaged family.

I write this blog to process a lifetime of trauma. I don’t write seeking pity, nor do I have some undying quest to embarrass the people who’ve abused me. I write because I need support. I write because I want to heal. And I write because every single time I tell my story to a professional paid to listen—lawyers, counselors, government officials, judges, business partners—they brush it off (or fail to respond at all), as if the cascading effects of abuse don't directly impact every aspect of my quality of life as an American woman. It’s a shame, and it breaks my heart all over again every single day.

At 11:47 AM today—exactly 25 years after that attack on American soil—Trend Micro’s external legal counsel sent me an email. They’ve claimed defamation, while sneakily asking for any evidence I have regarding the claims I’ve made against their senior leadership.

It is glaringly clear that the leadership at Trend Micro has zero care or concern for the harm they’ve caused me. Instead of enforcing an ounce of accountability or offering genuine support in the aftermath of their own mistakes (and of my personal tragedy) they’d rather rack up massive legal bills trying to intimidate me into silence with baseless threats of defamation.

I might be an angry woman, but I am not a liar. I am a business partner, and I have a bachelor’s of science in psychology, so I understand the inherent importance of good documentation.

This isn’t just about me; I am painting a picture of how badly we’ve forgotten what happened to so many innocent Americans. These entities have the opportunity to do better. I’m a victim. I’ve asked for help time and time again, only to be stonewalled and met with emails that likely cost this organization thousands of dollars anyway. Instead of choosing integrity, they stray further from any moral compass and actively make things worse for me, and for them.

Twenty-five years ago today, 2,753 people went into work to make an honest living, pay off their debts, and build a good life for themselves and for their families, and simply never made it out alive. Those souls went to work, and just like that, they were gone. There’s been no real retribution or justice served for what happened on September 11th, 2001 (look up Abbey Gate for more proof of that).

I pray those victims rest in peace, but it’s not lost on me that the entities employing those individuals most likely wouldn’t have done right by them on any other day of the year if their bottom line was the thing on the line.

That is the American way. Corporations control everything, and under an administration that prioritizes increased profitability above all else, there is a razor-thin gap for empathy, kindness, or love for your neighbor, colleague, daughter, friend, or employee.

That gap seems to shrink each day, and Trend Micro’s behavior only exemplifies how lost we are as a society obsessed with more, more, and more. This Taiwanese cybersecurity company continues to wreak havoc on my life. I’ve been blackballed from the cybersecurity industry, I am constantly evading eviction notices because I lost my stable income, and they’re so upset that their executives might face backlash that they hire external lawyers to try and silence my voice.

That doesn’t feel very “land of the free, home of the brave.” It doesn’t feel like those in charge care for their American sister. But that’s just my opinion.

It’s been 25 years ago since that horrible day, and things have only gotten worse in America.

It’s my prayer that we start to do better. Those lost souls deserve it, I deserve it, and you deserve it too.

I’m not sure how we can begin to do better, but I know it takes a village.

Bake your neighbor some cookies, send a handwritten thank you note, and try to spread a little more love in a country driven by policy enforcement and a relentless need for more. Shop small, spend time in nature, and come back to humanity.

Maybe it really is that simple.