It was still dark in Hawaii when the news came. We were jolted out of sleep into a new reality. Though the islands are among the farthest corners of America, far from the places attacked, our community changed on Sept. 11, 2001, and in many ways, has never been the same.

In those first awful days, things that had never crossed our minds were suddenly keeping us awake, sweaty with nighttime fear. Downtown workers saw their high-rise offices in a new and terrible light. When airplanes were allowed to fly again, they looked menacing in the sky over the city. It had been such a shock to realize that commercial airplanes, a symbol of free-spirited adventure, could be used as weapons.

For months after the attacks, there was widespread fear over what would happen next. A biological weapon? Nefarious powder sent through the mail? Honolulu police and firefighters were called out to dozens of false alarms every time a dusting of flour or talcum got near an envelope. On Kauai, there was a 911 call when “Middle Eastern-looking” men asked about prices at an air-tour company.

After a while, some of that fear quieted, but nothing has ever been the same, even out in the land of sunny skies and rainbow-adorned beaches.

The days of buying interisland coupon booklets and hopping a plane on a whim are gone, as is the impunity with which we carried gifts of food and drink in bags and coolers tucked under our seats. Fishing and even taking photos around airports and harbors is restricted. Visiting friends on a military base is as detailed as applying for college and transportation security jobs are a growth industry.

Not far beneath the surface of every new security measure and every new restriction is the memory of the thousands of lives lost on that day. To mark 10 years since the attacks is a difficult thing to handle. For many people, what happened is hardly in the past. The effects are still present.

So how do you look back on something that doesn’t feel far away or long ago?

In Hawaii, there is a history of carrying on despite the lingering anguish of a sneak attack.

Here, the most easy-going grandmas can smile while telling stories of the post-Pearl Harbor blackouts and calmly showing old photographs of the gas mask drills they were made to do in elementary school. The old men will tell you what it was like to be angry and afraid, but they won’t have any hatred or fear in their voices when they recall the details. Perhaps it’s a mix of shikata ga nai (it can’t be helped), ganbatte (try your best), imua (move forward) and all the other lessons our grandparents taught us that have kept us going the past 10 years, the past 70 years.