A week ago today, life got a little too real. I was at work when I started getting scary text messages from friends asking if I was okay, if my family was okay. I immediately looked at the news online and saw there had been terrorist attacks in Paris, my city, where so many of my loved ones live. The news reports barely had any information to provide. They were talking about several attacks, but were unsure of the number of victims. I called my family in a panic. Texted my friends. Made sure everyone was safe. I spent the hours that followed with a huge knot in my throat, waves of tears taking over me every time I read the updated number of victims. This week has been a dark and terribly sad one. We are all scared, shocked and so angry. This is a heavy topic for a blog post, but one I feel I needed to address, as I cannot bring myself to not mention it, or the reason behind my silence during the past few days. I am mourning, we are all mourning. While I grew up with terrorism, sometimes refusing to go to bed because I was scared my parents would die in a terrorist attack on their way to work, it was never on this scale, never so vicious and personal. I strongly believe our duty now is to honor our dead, love fiercely, live without fear and trust our political leaders and our brave soldiers to fight terrorism.
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