A Morning to Remember

I still cannot forget that morning. December 7, 1941. The air was eerily

calm, yet a faint tension lingered, like the world was holding its breath.

I opened the window and looked out—the waves of the ocean rolled gently, almost mocking the

chaos that was about to descend. I thought to myself, “Just another ordinary morning,

the usual routine.” But little did I know, this morning would haunt me forever,

not only changing my life but shaking the very soul of everyone around me.

I opened my diary, my fingers trembling slightly as I ran the pen across the page.

Sitting at the small desk in the airbase room, I held my cup of tea.