This just happened.
Paris under siege. We’ve been told to stay indoors, our eyes glued to the TV. Eleven months ago, the Charlie Hebdo office, just a mere ten-minute walk from my apartment in Paris, was attacked. The following days, Place de la Republique – where I pass by almost on a daily basis buying groceries – was plastered with #JeSuisCharlie posters stoutly placed next to circles of gleaming candle light.
This just happened.
Me, waking up to hundreds of messages on my phone. “Are you ok?” “Where are you?” “Stay safe.” In total confusion, I checked news websites to realize that my city is raped with terrorist acts. Only this time, the number of innocent lives that were lost continued to rise. Surpassing 100, the number would only ascend. From my computer, I recognize where every photo was taken. Four people had been killed in one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants, Le Petit Cambodge. Policemen immersed with panicking folks canvased along Canal Saint Martin where I typically relax with a pint of beer on a gorgeous summer day.
Once more, Paris is making international headlines. At this point, I could hear some sort of shouting from down the street and I immediately grabbed my keys. Still in my pajamas, without any shoes on, I knocked on the door across the hall. My French friends and I share the same floor, my friend Tom embraced me as he opened the door. All I kept repeating was, “I’m so scared. I’m so scared.”
Until 6 AM, a group of us were glued to the TV. Baffled, angry, shocked, and astonishingly sad. My phone was hot from all the international phone calls that came in and out. All I could think of was, thank goodness Asia was still asleep so I could be the first person to let my parents know what was happening and that I was okay. I didn’t want them to find out from the news.
This just happened.
Only a few months ago, I called them to assure my safety from a previous terrorist attack. They were relieved I was flying to Asia only a few weeks later. Parents will always be our protectors. Only this time, my mother is insisting that I don’t wait until Christmas to fly back. She wants me there…now. Who can blame her? What has the world come to?
Thankfully, the one thing that won’t change during the aftermaths of both events is exactly the reason why I love this city: its resilient people, who refuse to live in fear especially during times of tragedy and onslaught. The series of terrorist attacks killed at least 120 people on Friday night. By Saturday afternoon, Parisians covered its somber streets with empathy and compassion. Once again, flowers and candles embroidered Place de la Republique.
Attacked. Aghast. Heartbreak. Fearless.
This just happened.
The world, praying for Paris.
With love,
