When I came up to school in Boston, my mom warned me that the city was dangerous. And, yes, inherently cities are dangerous, but Boston? Really, mom? Are we seeing the same city? While some parts are not-so-safe, Boston is a lot safer than others I have visited.
That is until the beginning of this week when we’ve had a terrorist problem.
I know I’m writing this somewhat jokingly and I don’t mean to be offensive. It’s just: it feels like our whole world has been turned upside down and shaken and I don’t know which way is up. Monday happened and the shock was palpable, but Boston kept trudging on. We went to work past National Guards. We attended classes even as police patrolled almost every corner of every street. I walked to work down cordoned streets, amazed at the quiet that Boston never seems to succumb to.
Then this normalcy shattered when I was woken up this morning by a phone call from my mom. It felt like Monday all over again–people calling to ask me if I’m okay, if I’m alive, and I don’t know. I wanted to murmur I was sleeping as some excuse to forget any of this was happening.
How do you carry on with things like these? Boston tried normal, but that didn’t work. Now we have, really, martial law, and, hopefully, that will work.
In all honesty, it feels like a dream and I’m waiting to wake up: find out I overslept and that I’m running late to work.
But we’re not waking up.