Crying for the destruction of my safe place

When I was in elementary school, there was a man who killed a bunch of people hiding out in my city. My school went on lockdown. Everyone was safe.

When I was in middle school, there was a shooting at the gas station my dad was at. He was safe.

When I was in middle school, a boy in my class had a hit list and a knife. They found it in his locker. He was expelled. Everyone was safe.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was at a school dance. A fight broke out and there were loud pops. Someone yelled “gun.” We ran as fast as we could, thinking there was a shooting. Turned out it was just a fight, balloons were popping, and everyone freaked out. Everyone was safe.

I have at least 10 more stories like this. But I’ve always been safe. I never felt safe though, until I moved to Boulder. There, I felt safe. And I hate all the people saying that these things happen in Colorado. Not Boulder. The Boulder bubble is real. Everyone has the same beliefs, everyone wants to be friends with everyone.

Today, there was a mass shooting in Boulder. In a grocery store. In my grocery store. I lived right next to it. I walked there all the time. 10 people are dead.

Let me tell you something about Boulder: it’s the friendliest city in the  world. When I first moved there, someone on the plane offered to show me around, an Uber driver wanted to show around, someone at a bus stop wanted to show me around. When I went to a cafe alone when I first moved there, a table saw me sitting alone and they invited me to play cards with them. Every time I went somewhere, I met other people. Friendly people, kind people. People who are sincere and honest. Who truly want everyone to be happy and have fun. There’s a sense of community. And a feeling of safety. I used to walk around the city at night without a care in the world. My safe place… no, my SAFEST place experienced the worst tragedy. A mass shooting at a grocery store. I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.