I wish I could say something useful about what’s happened in London. I’ve thought about the many experiences I’ve had, visiting the city repeatedly over the past four years. I thought about the friends I love who were there and how happy I was to hear their voices that morning. I’ve given a lot of consideration to how this will affect the political world, but I’m afraid it will only further galvanize previously held opinions, increasing gaps of misunderstanding, and lead to burning hatred from all sides. I wish there was something eloquent I could say about all of this. Instead my mind is swimming with relief for the safety of my friends, frightened realizations that I have been to all of the places that were targeted, and extreme gratitude that I felt impressed to turn down the offer to attend university in London this year, for there is a good chance I would have moved there by now if I hadn’t decided to stay in the United States. And then there’s the sadness; the intense, nauseating sadness of witnessing pain amidst familiar scenery.
And yet, despite all of this relief, gratitude, and sadness, I cannot say I was at all surprised. Since 9/11 and Madrid, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and somehow it felt like London was expecting it too. The past two years I opted not to venture to the top of double decker buses, I paid attention to my surroundings, I held my breath. As one of my friends said, they never thought it was a matter of if, just a matter of when.
I have every confidence London will be strong and resilient, just as it has for centuries. I just hope that in the oncoming wake, everyone else will be as well.
