I am not okay. I'm in free fall. Since Wednesday, nothing has been right. I was given no time, no space to process. Thrown to the wolves that are finals and packing and moving out. For the first time in my life, I don't have the energy to cram all night for finals. For the first time, I am not satisfied with the 15 page paper I cranked out in 4 hours. For the first time, I experience a breakdown, where all my systems fail me and only my bed seems to offer any comfort.
Am I even allowed to grieve for this? I was in my room. There was no threat to my safety in reality. But there was in those 3 hours. In those 3 hours, I had to think about the possibility of saying goodbye to this wonderful world, or some equally wonderful person that belongs in this world, to a firearm placed in someone's hand who has no business holding that firearm. It happened. Our school went into lockdown. I feared for the lives of my loved ones. I feared not teasing Baba again, not hugging Maa again, not fighting with Bhaiya again. It happened. My fear, my shock, my inability to process my surroundings- they are all valid.
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Ever since the shooting, I have been feeling a host of emotions. Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Melancholy. Exhaustion.
I search for the words but they don't respond to my calls. For the first time in a long time, I have no desire to discuss, dissect. I am still. Living, the exact same, but with a part of me just kind of- gone.
My family is witnessing the loss of one of our own at the hands of a gun in the wrong hands. My family consists of thousands of injured souls, all of whom are fumbling to make sense of a mindless tragedy. Locked in the safety of my room with my roommate and a friend I've come to consider family Masha'Allah, the panic and terror that crept up my spine was only amplified by the thought that my best friend was crouched on the floor in a room in Public Affairs; another friend who I’ve come to consider a part of me, trapped in a lecture hall, letting me know that they are getting all the updates that I am trying to send him over and over again from every single GroupMe; the friend that takes care of me when I'm delirious at 4 am, sitting on her bed, terrified at the rumors of a possible shooter near Sproul Hall; thousands of peers, mentors, scrambling for cover while SWAT teams stomp into and around our home in the hopes of halting the violence before it spreads.
We are all so immune until we aren’t anymore. Another school, another parking lot, another shopping mall, but never mine. Well this time, it was mine.
An article has been making the rounds- beautifully written- how we are all thanking God and our lucky stars above, that at least this wasn’t a planned act of terrorism, that it was just an isolated incident of a rogue student exacting revenge on his professor for whatever heinous crime he held the professor guilty of. And we are lucky- there was no massacre, no stream of slain bodies carried out in stretchers.
Just two.
But it happened. It happened in my home. In the bubble that I live in, the bubble that I swear to protect, and that swears to protect me. Not poked with a needle, but obliterated with a gunshot.
Most of the Vigil felt fake, superficial. Why is the mayor telling me he knows how he feels? He was on the phone with the Police Chief, getting live updates every minute the event unfolded, sitting in some conference in some building, far away from my home, while I received a total of 3 alerts, with no details, no depth, no assurance. I felt bitter that this man that doesn't have a clue what it felt like at the time, this man that simply cared about how to publicly "handle" this situation, got so much more than me, or my best friends, or my staff, or my professors. While they sat terrified, unaware of the severity of the situation, trying their best to help the students hang on to the shreds of sanity they had left, men like the mayor and the city council chief or whatever, were getting minute-by-minute updates. They didn't know; they couldn't possibly know.
Yet, something happened at the Vigil. When the speeches ended and Siegel concluded the ceremony, we all lit up our cellphones and held it up to the sky. Our entire student body, our faculty, functioning as a whole, leaning on one another. Everybody offering up their empty shoulders. It was... electric. We were standing together, our arms tired, our hearts heavy- but here we were. Together, unified, sending a message to the heavens that we may be broken, but damn right we're trying to put ourselves back together.
And this sentiment has only continued to echo through the days. Only messages of positivity flooding social media. Only kind touches on the shoulder. Only whispered urges to go talk to someone if we are having troubles with dealing with the implications of the shooting. And in that, I find solace. I find solace in knowing that within 3 hours, numerous safe spaces had opened up on campus; I find solace in knowing that during the shooting, every status update on social media was flooded with messages of being in safety, and hoping for the same for others; I find solace in knowing that the vigil had thousands of bodies standing in solidarity, fighting for peace with every burned candle and every poster. I find solace in belonging to a community that is choosing strength and positivity in a time when it is so easy to fall apart and lose hope in humanity.
On Wednesday, ours became the 186th school shooting since Sandy Hook. On Wednesday, we etched our names into the cave that is filled with echoes of peace and kindness in the face of turmoil. The gunshots can never drown out our voices. We are Bruin Strong, and we will show the world that acts such as these are not capable of breaking an entire community. We will heal from this. I have to believe that, and I hope you do too.
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To my friends and family back at each of my previous homes: I love you all immensely, and your words of love and comfort have not landed on deaf ears. Alhamdullilah, I am still kicking. Just taking a while to process is all. Please do not take it personally if I do not want to interact with you one on one, I am just trying to keep my head above water until finals end. In sha Allah, me and my UCLA family will make it through this, and knowing that we have all of your love, blessings, and prayers with us means the world, and helps us immensely in our recovery from this tragedy.
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