a journal entry i couldn't bring myself to write on paper

TW: gun violence

I remember despising the idea of attending Florida State University when my parents brought it up. As someone who is not from Florida AND who doesn’t care about football, I saw FSU like every other mid-state school you find around the U.S.

I remember fiercely refusing to even schedule a tour—until I did. And it was love at first sight. I remember thinking and saying, “It looks like the University Sims pack.”

Still, the blurred red vision of Florida scared me a little. What if they are all orange-tanned MAGA people? But after many plot twists, I ended up choosing to study at Florida State and moved to my beloved Tallanasty.

Contrary to what I believed, I found a diverse and accepting community full of people who shared my passions. I went to drag shows, midnight movies, and even a pet-a-llama event on campus. I went to frat parties, film parties, and rave parties. I met every sort of person imaginable, with every possible major you can think of. I ran across Landis Green with my arms wide open with one of my best friends, just because life is good sometimes around here. I walked late at night to Wescott just to see a friend dive into his 21st birthday fountain. I secretly stole toilet paper from Sally Hall because I was too lazy to buy my own.

And then—Campus. You can argue with me about how great FSU is, but no one on this planet can deny how gorgeous our campus looks. Every time I’m walking alone, I feel like the main character of a movie that hasn’t yet been released. The garden is beautifully kept year-round, and every building looks like a castle. I don’t even care that much that the bathrooms are kinda shitty. There’s something so historical about this place.

Maybe it’s not about how it looks—but the idea that you’re a student here, just like so many before you, enjoying life in the best place you could be. There’s an unspoken sense of belonging that you can only feel at FSU.

That is until today.

I can’t take myself back to that moment, because at the time, it didn’t feel real. A gun is a violent tool, and that is its sole purpose. I have never seen a gun in real life, or at least, not one that is out to be used. That’s why I can’t fully grasp the idea of another student pulling one out. I’ve seen it in movies—I’ve seen Tarantino movies! I know what a gun can do. What feels foreign isn’t an American maniac pulling out a gun to kill. What feels foreign is that it happened in a space that felt so sacredly safe in my mind. In a place less than two miles from the Capitol, where politicians allow guns to go unchecked every single day. It feels illogical.

It’s not surprising the shooter is a Trump supporter—because, let’s be honest, everyone’s aunt is, right? What’s surprising is that at a school that offers so many opportunities to connect with people who share your beliefs, you still actively choose violence.

Now, locked in my apartment, I wonder if I’ll be afraid to walk on campus again. If I will ever go near where it happened. If I can replace this terrible memory with new ones. I think and overthink about what happens now, and how we move forward. So I try to focus on that one time, a year ago, when I had a picnic on Landis during twilight with some of the same people who were in lockdown with me today. I think of how happily innocent we were. How we bought Chick-fil-A milkshakes even though it was still a cold spring. How I distributed free condoms from the library. How we said we needed to do that more times. How we talked about what life would be like in a year.

I think of how they fear the same things I do. I think of their parents, when they called to tell them. I think that if it weren’t for them, this could all have been so much worse. Of all the people I could be under a table in silence waiting for a shooting alert to go away, I was with the best possible people. I wish they weren’t there, I wish I wasn’t there. But we were and that is how I will remember.