It’s been ten years.
I wanted to write today to convey some kind of grief or remembrance for that tragic event, but in truth I’m struggling to find the words. However, I couldn’t possibly let this go past without at least attempting it.
All over social media today I’ve seen friends and family talk about that day, where they were or how they felt. I was 9. I feel awful saying this, but I can’t remember a thing. I don’t know if I was at home, I don’t know if I was at school, I was simply too young to truly understand. I feel blessed in the fact that although I lived in London at the time, this major tragedy didn’t directly affect my life as it did hundreds of others. I wan’t there, I didn’t experience it, I didn’t know anyone who was there, and for that I feel selfishly lucky.
Today, as a Londoner at heart and a member of the press, my day has been solely focussed on remembering the 7/7 bombings and all it’s victims – injured or deceased.
And I am proud.
I am proud that London carried on moving. I am proud that we continued to use public transport just hours after. I am proud that whatever those horrible men wanted to achieve, they failed.
I am proud when I read the countless stories of our doctors and policemen and serviceman racing to help. I am proud when I hear all of the stories of regular commuters and passengers doing everything possible to help injured people.
I am proud when I hear stories of survivors achieving life long goals: like Gill Hicks, the Australian woman who lost both her legs and went on to compete in the 2012 Paralympics.
In truth, I am proud to be a Londoner.
I love our City. It’s beauty, it’s strength, it’s resilience, it’s truly kind heart. I love our nature of helping others, I love how much we pull together, and I love that every single time a trauma hits us, we continue to rise from the ashes.
I love you London.
Stay Sassy, and Rest In Peace.