My friend posted on Facebook, reassuring everyone she was okay. She was in Paris for the weekend, a country-hopping luxury trip we study abroad kids take for granted. I had been there just weeks before, basking in the fall beauty with a stomach full of crepes, macaroons and rosé. So when I heard about what happened, it hit me hard. I was floored. How could this happen? I felt like the Charlie Hebdo attacks were just yesterday, something this prominent couldn’t be happening so soon after. Acts of pure hatred like this hit me harder than anything else. It takes days to recover my mental health after shootings; sometimes I won’t be able to get out of bed. And sadly most of the time, I’m not so upset by what has happened (the numbness is terrifying) but more so by how people react. So when I read the live Twitter updates out loud to my roommate, I wasn’t just waiting to see how high the death count was; I was waiting to see how the world would paint this act of terror.

I exhaled as I saw an immediate outpouring of love on social media. People were sending prayers, posting articles about loving one another, offering support, telling the phone numbers of help lines, marking themselves “safe” on the Facebook app, and changing profile pictures to the colors of the France flag. I had just done this last one myself when I saw that Mark Zuckerburg had changed his picture to the French flag too, so I “liked” it. This action made the comments on his photo open up, to which I read some things that I wish I hadn’t. There was hate. Amidst all of this love I had just seen, there was hate.

“Why don’t I have the option to change my flag to Syria?”

“How dare you choose to love France more than the rest of us when things like this happen every day in other countries!”

"130 lives is nothing compared to the 200,000 being lost in the Middle East!”

I understand where these people are coming from and I understand their anger, but now is not the place nor the time for that. I think what these people are trying to get at is that we are treating Paris’s deaths as more important than any other death. This isn’t the point that I’m trying to get across when I say #prayforparis. Of course I feel awful for the people in Syria and Lebanon; what’s going on in that part of the world is equally as terrible as what happened in Paris. But right now, I’m taking time to notice, give love, and send condolences to those affected in Paris.

You aren’t reminding me that there are other deaths in the world. I know that. You are derailing the love that I am sending to victims in Paris. No one deserves to die a violent, hate-inspired death. Can I not grieve for these families? These victims? This beautiful town that has been stained with the blood of almost 200 young deaths in one single night?

So yeah, we should be paying more attention to other catastrophes that are just as terrible as what happened to Paris. Of course I still think of the lives lost in earthquakes in Japan and Mexico, the bombings in Lebanon and Syria, and many more deaths around the world. But that doesn’t mean we should be taking away from the struggle that the French are going through right now. We shouldn’t have to put down one struggle to make another one known. Pushing down the pain and suffering that Paris, France, and all of Europe is going through right now isn’t going to make any other cause rise up. It will only divide and isolate us even more. Putting one group of deaths above the other isn’t the answer.

Let’s take time to recognize and love everyone. I have seen love for Lebanon, Syria, Mexico, Japan, Germany and so many other countries along side of France. It’s beautiful. I can see the world coming together like a connect-the-dot puzzle. So instead of saying, “What about (insert other country here)?” on my Facebook profile picture, I implore you to join with me in sending love and solidarity to Paris, and then to the rest of the world.

I look once again at the French flag. I see crimson and think of the deaths. I see blue and think of the tears shed around the world. But I see white and think of hope. There is always hope in my heart after tragedy. Maybe this time we can do it. We can all come together and hold hands like a game of red rover. “Red rover, red rover, we call our enemies over!” They’ll run to us, of course, but this time, our love is too strong. We won’t break. We’ll stand together.