Will I Make Friends?
If I had to give a one word answer - yes.
Congratulations and welcome to Tufts! I vividly recall the excitement which washed over me when I committed…
“Gillian, there are reports of attacks in Paris.” My eyes snapped from my computer screen, where I was two thirds of the way through my work shift, to my neighbor. “It's breaking news, they're not sure what's going on yet.” I shuddered – this couldn't be happening again. My fingers trembled over my keyboard as I typed the query in Google, and clenched into fists as I read the reports of 3 preliminary shootings in central Paris.
That's how it all started, at 4 pm on Friday, November 13th, a day that the French would generally consider lucky. Work halted immediately, as my life ground to sickening stop: home was under attack. My phone rang, revealing a call from a close friend, also at college in the United States. “Have you heard? It's January 7th all over again.” Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over my cheeks, as emotion overpowered me. By the time the evening was over, and 4 more places in Paris had come under siege, my face would be red and puffy, stained by countless tracks of teardrops.
My friends came and went quietly from my room, sitting next to me, holding my hands, offering silent solidarity. The voices of French news broadcasters echoed down the hallway, somberly announcing each horrifying development, each new death toll, each new assault. Eventually, deep into the Parisian night, the immediate crisis was concluded, and I retired to my own night of fitful sleep.
It's hard to be so far from home when such tragedies happens. For the Charlie Hebdo attacks, I was sitting in school when we learned of the shooting. I dealt with the situation in the midst of friends and family, never alone in my pain. Here, although surrounded by people I love and who love me, I felt alone, isolated. I was 3,500 miles from the place I was born, glued helplessly to the television, watching it get torn apart. I eventually went out for a walk around my dorm building, and immediately felt guilty – my friends couldn't go outside and get fresh air; the French government had ordered everyone to stay inside except in cases of extreme emergency. There I was, torn between a feeling of relief at not being in danger, yet burning with desire to hop on the next plane to Paris, to be where I felt I should.
Last year, on a typical Friday night, I would have been out with friends, most likely in the very neighborhoods that were directly affected by Friday's attacks. The 11th and 12th arrondissements are vibrant places, brimming with restaurants, cafés and concert venues. I've been to the venue where the hostages were held many times, and know the layout by heart. As soon as the exact location was revealed, I knew it couldn't end well – it's not easy to get out of the Bataclan, even when there's no emergency. It took one of my best friends and I a solid 15 minutes to get out of the hall after the last concert I went to there, in March of this year. As I watched the scene unfold, I felt sick to my stomach: every street corner the armed forces were at, I knew. It hit too hard, too fast – had the attack occurred before September, I would have probably been there. And though I wasn't, my mother was in the area the day before, and two of my closest friends were on a street next to one of the sites 5 minutes before the attack. Death had brushed them, and I thank my lucky stars every few minutes that it didn't knock them down.
It's been a rough couple days. Sadness hits me in waves, and longing for home has intensified. But Tufts has been there to pick me up when I'm feeling down. My professors have been wonderful, inquiring as to the safety of my family and expressing genuine concern. My friends have intensified their usual hug regime, and made it clear that if I need to talk, they're here. Meanwhile, I'm in constant contact with my friends from home, comforted by knowledge of their safety. The world can be a cruel place, but Tufts, despite its distance from home, has made it a little less harsh. I couldn't ask for a better school to be at in a time like this.
From Medford to Paris, I send my love and support. We shall prevail, and rise stronger and more unified than ever. Peace trumps terror always, and the city of love will not fall. We are liberty, we are solidarity, we are Paris.
If I had to give a one word answer - yes.
Congratulations and welcome to Tufts! I vividly recall the excitement which washed over me when I committed…
My two homes are very far apart.
The Great Plains that raised me are roughly 1300 miles away from Tufts. It takes plenty of planes and lengthy layovers…