Friday night’s attacks in Paris hit home. Very close to home. It’s hard to process my own feelings right now, let alone find the words to express them. My aunt and cousins used to live across the street from the Bataclan. One of those cousins was at the Stade de France for the France-Germany match. I have two sets of friends, both with young children, who live rue de la Fontaine-au-roi. The images I watched on newscasts that evening and throughout the weekend were not the Paris of tourists that’s typically shown in the United States, with the obligatory accordion background music. This was my Paris. These were my streets. This was my home.
I wish I could be home in times like these. But I am not. So like in January, following the shooting at Charlie Hebdo, I gathered with friends, this time in front of the statue of Lafayette near the White House. There’s so much to process and think about already, just being able to speak French and hear French being spoken all around made me feel better already. I know that things are going to be ok. We’ve been through worse. But right now, I don’t really want to think or speak about it, so I will just leave you with pictures of two moments that warmed my heart over the weekend.