MEDITATION XVII

I finished my last day of classes as an undergraduate today. I wanted to take Snapchats for friends and post a brag-worthy Facebook status about it, like many of my peers before me. But today I felt hollowed out. 

It's there, hidden in the recesses of the brick facades of campus halls. It's there, in my boisterous friend's quietude. It's there, by the way professors thanked their students for coming to class today. It's there, even if I try not to pay attention to it. Even if I try to imagine that today is a normal day, the legacy of the campus shooting remains a shroud that many wore. I cannot take it off. After all, how can I? I am walking, talking, and breathing in a school that was shut down for hours on end due to an act of violence and terror. It was on national news networks, with scenes of police hunting for a shooter through grounds I have walked through countless times. My identity is sewn into this school, and with it, the events that happen on its grounds.

With next week comes graduation and many commencement ceremonies. Last week, I could not wait for them. After yesterday, I know that numerous speeches will reference the tragedy, the need to come together, the need to stay strong, and the need to move forward. I don't want to sit through that many speeches. I don't want to have to remember being jolted awake to numerous texts of "are you okay?" and "please be safe." I don't want to imagine the terror I felt at the news of a school shooting, and the worse dread I felt when I remembered that two beloved friends of mine were slated to have a final exam in that very building at that very time. I don't want to recount hours and hours spent pacing alone in my dorm suite, messaging countless friends asking for their safety, and learning that they were barricaded in rooms that don't lock. 

It's not out of avoidance, as if not talking about it will make it go away. I am thoroughly conscious of the fact that nothing will unmake the events of yesterday. But it is too loud.

Countless news vans and reporters have been traversing the grounds, especially the Engineering IV building. They wanted to call students during lockdown, not caring that sounds can alert a shooter to a live presence in the area. So, they had students message them, and make reports based on "legitimate reports," also known as rumors. They make reports on the scene, comment upon it and make news out of misery. They make conjectures about the shooter's motives, and then give infamy to the shooter for causing so much havoc. As if that's not what all deranged shooters want - the attention, the infamy. Look at who shot John F. Kennedy, or John Lennon, or any of the other countless people who have infamously assassinated people of note or tore school communities apart. The media do not justice to any person in this nation with this vulture-like behavior.

Today also brought the crazies out. One person was outside Kerckhoff Hall, screaming that we needed to repent for our sins. "Look at what happened yesterday," he crowed. I thought that was the end, but it got worse when I reached Bruin Plaza. Another man was screaming that we needed to thank God that "the bullets didn't kill us." I am normally very good at ignoring these people, but today I wanted to hit them. They clearly had no empathy, and so I wanted them to experience horror. I wanted them to fear for their friends. It was fleeting, but my hatred filled me to the brim every time they opened their mouths.

As someone who does debate, there are some things that do not need to be commented upon. Sometimes there are no words to be had. Right now, I don't want to have a commentary on gun rights or mental health or grades or feminism or anything that gives others grief. I am hollow and full of static. I do not wish to fill it at this moment. I know I write about "constantly running" and "always striving towards something higher," but I found that right now, I don't want to. I just want to stand still. Please, give me a moment to breathe and just exist.

I flinched as I walked past the Engineering IV building today on my way towards Westwood. Yesterday, I saw it swarmed by police through the live newsfeed. Today, it is as if nothing happened. I don't want this to be how I remember UCLA or my graduation.

As I contemplated the past forty-eight hours, I realized that the saplings planted along Westwood Boulevard leading up to campus have grown up. They're now large enough to give shade to pedestrians on the sidewalk, and I was brought back to the time I strolled down Unter der Linden on an golden September morning in Berlin. It was quiet and sunny. A susurrus of wind blew through my hair. Perhaps that is the measure of grace I have been looking for all along.