In the summer of 2012, I had embarked on an adventure which I previously would never have dared. After getting accepted to a student ambassador program called "People to People," I was informed that I would get the opportunity to travel abroad to five different countries: Italy, France, Switzerland, Austria and Germany. Since I had never stepped foot out of the USA, or even that far away from my state, I was eager and filled with excitement to see what this adventure would bring.

Traveling with other kids my age -- all of whom I had never met -- was a bonding experience within itself. We had essentially become a family brought together by an abundance of nerves and a thirst for adventure.

Although most of my journey spent in Europe that summer was filled with fun times and laughter, one part struck me the most among the rest.

While traveling in Austria, our second destination of the trip, we were told that we would be visiting a concentration camp. Of course, none of us were exactly pleased to go: whose idea of fun is that? Little did I know that going there would forever change me and my peers.

The moment the bus pulled up to Mauthausen, I could immediately get the sense of heaviness in the air. I remember the weather was gray and cold, but looking at the buildings alone gave me chills.

Stepping into the camp, since we were given the opportunity to walk on our own, I was surrounded by silence. Everyone was quietly taking in the energy. Once I made my way from building to building, I felt an indescribable weight on my chest. It was close to the feeling you get before you know you're about to cry as it builds up in your throat.

I couldn't get over the pervasive energy of the place. Yes, the camp was comprised of stones, wood and buildings, but they were so much more than that. I constantly felt an uncontrollable need to cry, although I really didn't want to. I wanted to leave, but a part of me knew I should pay my respects and continue the journey.

I was facing a building labeled "Krematorium," which translates to 'crematorium' from German. I had a strong feeling that going down into this building was going to be overwhelming for me, but before I could even think about it, I felt myself already moving down the steps, as if I knew it was something I had to do.

I remember the vastness. Sprinkler systems hung above a bare and dingy, concrete floor. The only way I can describe it is feeling as if I was alone in a room full of people. I could feel the energy and presence of a heavy emptiness, a nothingness that pressed heavily down on my shoulders.

I tried to take pictures while I was down there, but for some inexplicable reason, my camera wouldn't snap the pictures. And when it did, they came out blurry and out of focus. I suddenly decided I couldn't take the energy in the space anymore and I climbed up the stairs to the surface. When I had been reunited on the main level of the camp, I remember making eye contact with my friend and the two of us began to sob.

You learn about the Holocaust and its terrible aftermath in textbooks, classes and television, but actually setting foot into the place where so many innocent people lost their lives is a sensation I will never forget. Writing about this is getting me choked up, which is why I strive to get my point across.

After visiting Mauthausen, I made an internal promise that I would do whatever it took to make sure something like this could never happen again. Whether it be small personal prevention or advocating for a more peaceful future, I promised myself that I would give everything I had to prevent it from happening.

Human capacity is a fascinating concept. The things we feel are just and right to do to other people of our kind, brothers and sisters of the human race, will always strike me. They should strike you too.

Know your history, learn about why you have the things you do, and educate yourself for a better future by learning from your past. I strongly believe that everyone should go through the same experience I did. Until you put yourself in the atmosphere and steps of the past, you'll never understand the present and your potential future.