I was eating lunch in a café, just across the street from the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, when my phone connected to Wi-Fi and news of the Brussels attacks flooded my notifications. My mother had sent me numerous texts asking if I had seen the news, demanding the names and numbers of every person I was with, and asking if I was safe. Facebook was asking me to “check that I was safe” so that friends and family would know that I was unharmed.

I sat for so long staring at my phone in shock, that a waiter came by and took my plate away -- there was still an entire plate of food left, but my appetite was gone. Brussels had been the target of a terrorist attack. Brussels, a beautiful and friendly city that I had only just been in two days earlier. I had landed in the Brussels Airport, and I had used the Brussels Metro system. I had walked the streets of the city and loved every experience, from the hospitality, to the food, to the entertainment. Every person in Brussels had been welcoming, and the city itself was so alive. I could not believe that something so horrendous could have happened there.

I did not know if I should be scared, angry, relieved -- relieved that my travel partner and I were okay -- or sad. I still do not know what the appropriate response is. But then and now, overwhelmingly I am sad. I am so forlorn at the evil deeds humans are capable of doing toward one another.

Just as my travel partner and I did not know how to react to the shock of the attacks, Paris itself seemed confused. Security, police, and military all scattered across the city. Within a few minutes, the Notre Dame area was flooded with military personnel in bulletproof vests and military vehicles were parked beside the cathedral. Paris security was on high alert. The citizens of Paris were a different story, though.

After leaving the café, I met with a friend who was supposed to show me around the city. Not just a Frenchman, but a Parisian, this friend reacted very differently to the attacks than I expected. He was sad that the bombings occurred, but he refused to be frightened. “Being scared does nothing,” he said. “If you are scared, then they win.”

Leaving Paris was much more difficult than entering had been, since the attacks only happened once I was there. There were many more hoops to jump through during security; for instance, my travel partner and I were both patted down, something I had never experienced in my life. My friend’s baggage was searched, although there was nothing suspicious among his things.

If I had been in the United States during the attacks, I would have been a click away from being informed on the facts of the bombings. Everyone would be talking about it right when it happened, but then would continue on with their usually scheduled programs.

Being in Europe meant that it was impossible to ignore the reality of the attacks. The few days I was in Paris, the Belgium flag waved on every street, and the Belgium colors were hung across the city. The Eiffel Tower showed black, yellow, and red during the extent of my visit.

When something terrible happens in Europe, or the Middle East, or Asia, or Africa, or Australia, or even South America, it is so easy for the people of the United States to ignore it, or to not fully digest the reality of what happened. But when Brussels was attacked, the entirety of Europe was affected.

I want to remember what that felt like to be in Paris during the Brussels bombings. I want to remember how real it all was when I looked at the Eiffel Tower, standing so tall in black, red and yellow. I want to remember that even when something happens far from home, it still happened and it happened in someone else’s home. I want to remember that even if I can choose to not be affected, that does not mean I should not be affected.