This marks the 20th anniversary of the Chinese government crackdown of student protesters in Tiananmen Square. In the past few days, I have been inundated with interview requests about my coverage there in 1989 and about a famous photograph I made. It is a picture of a young man halting the advance of a column of tanks near Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China. Many call it iconic, but honestly, I call it a miracle because the picture was almost lost due to a miscalculated film speed setting. To make matters worse, I had received a massive concussion from a rock a protester threw that hit my head. The Nikon titanium camera had absorbed the shock — and saved my life. I also had the flu.

I have always been a war photographer wannabe. I followed all the work by legendary shooters like Robert Capa and Eddie Adams. The only problem is, guns scared me even more than cockroaches. I have never claimed to be any kind of hero, so when all hell broke loose on June 4, 1989, in Beijing, I was photographing in total panic mode. All the students that had been so joyously building the Goddess Of Democracy and singing with little children were now running for their lives. Chinese soldiers were slaughtering their citizens.

After escaping back to the Associated Press office that night, I felt guilty for not going back out on the street with one of the biggest stories of the century. But I was too sick, too injured and just plain scared to death. The decision probably saved my life.

A couple of weeks ago, the BBC flew me back to Beijing for a 20-year retrospective on the "Tiananmen Incident," as the Chinese government likes to call it. I was just blown away by all the changes since I was last there in 1995. Huge office structures and a Starbucks on every corner. It reminded me of a cross between Las Vegas and Disneyland. All the bright colors and activity reflected in pools of water during a spring shower. People seemed happier as well. That heavy feeling I experienced before was missing. Even police were more receptive to being photographed. So perhaps there had been positive changes in China?

As the BBC film crew walked me through the interview process at the Beijing Hotel, I had a very strange feeling as I peered over the sixth-floor balcony where I shot the Lone Man. There were flagpoles in the way and it looked like some added entrance work had been extended but it was the same place — only two decades later.

I flashed back to being irritated when the man walked in front of the tanks and I told the American student, Kirk, that he was going to screw up my composition. I never fully realized its importance until days later.

Just before I left Beijing, I recall walking down a beautiful, wide, tree-lined street near the Ritan Park in Beijing. It was so peaceful and I found it so hard to believe that 20 years earlier, security in white suits were roaming those same streets killing and arresting people. I suppose the real significance felt with my famous photo is that it reminds me every day just how lucky I am to still be alive.