Sunday, October 1, 2017, the city I have called home since birth was brutally attacked. I remember seeing a notification pop up on my phone while the attack was still taking place.

I thought, "No. This can't be right. Not my city. Not the city where my parents and friends are. That can't be possible."

But it was my city. Horrified, I watched live footage of bullets raining down on hundreds of innocent people. There were so many gunshots. So many. And as I watched I knew I was witnessing the deaths of many good people. People I wasn't sure if I knew or not.

I frantically made calls and texted everyone I could think of. Days went by before I heard back from many people.

Monday I became a ghost. Whether people saw me or not, I am not sure. No one even seemed to notice what had happened. I wandered from class to class aimlessly, silently. People around me laughed and chattered while I frantically checked Facebook to see who had marked themselves safe.

Life moved quickly all around me while time seemed to stand still and I seemed to move in slow motion. Friends asked if I was okay and whether or not I knew anyone who was shot. I did not know the answer to either question.

As it turned out, I did not personally know anyone who was injured or killed in the attacks. Yet, the days following the attack were full of emotions I did not know how to process. I watched on social media as friends and family attended candle lighting ceremonies, prayer services, blood drives, and other outreach programs.

I witnessed community members coming together to take people in and volunteer to help in any possible way. I watched from the computer in my tiny dorm room, feeling helpless, because I could not participate in any of it.

As I walked around my campus in days following, I was appalled at how little anyone seemed to care about what happened. Never since I have arrived at my school have I been so angry and ashamed of the lack of empathy my peers and faculty showed for a tragedy. It was just another shooting.

Another statistic.

Another reason to improve gun control laws.

There were no emails sent out by the faculty, as there have been with past shootings. There was no moment of silence at the beginning of chapel. Most of my professors did not even bother mentioning what had happened. It took four days after the shooting for them to lower the flag to half mast.

People around me did not understand why I was so grief-stricken. I felt those around me become frustrated with the deep sadness that weighed on me all day, every day. I had never met those who died, but how many times had I walked past them in the mall or on the streets?

I had lived in the same city as many of them my entire life, and now it would be a little darker because they were no longer there.

But it's more than that. Someone had attacked my home. These people died about twenty minutes away from the house I grew up in. I had been to Mandalay Bay for concerts, field trips, and birthday parties. I could picture it all so vividly in my mind, but thinking about all the blood and the lifeless bodies that littered the ground is still too much to bear.

My Las Vegas, I would give anything to be there with you, grieving as a community, instead of a thousand miles away, alone and helpless. The pride I feel as I watch everyone come together to donate blood, feed the families of the victims, build memorials, raise money, and countless other things is truly unparalleled.

My heart breaks every minute of every day thinking about how much pain runs rampant in your streets, and how much love has arisen from the pain. It is unlike anything I have ever seen in my nineteen years of life. It is the most united our city has ever been. I know you, and you are stronger than this tragedy.

You are Vegas strong.