Today was the day it came to Brussels–two explosions at the airport, another at a busy metro station during rush hour, dozens killed and injured. It’s hard to say much that adds to the discourse at this point, except to say on a personal level we are all grateful to be safe, and intend to do our best to stay that way while going on with our lives.
Brussels is an unusual city, charming in its own way. Many knock it, and it’s easy to do so, for lacking the vibrancy and variety of Paris or London, but Brussels is simply a different animal. I haven’t even lived here for a full year, but have found a soothing rhythm. Alongside my grief for all those directly impacted today, I grieve for the city itself.
Family in the Grand Place, summer 2015.
I also grieve for the military and police officers who were trying to prevent this from happening. Although no effort of this type is or can be perfect, I have taken note of them patrolling the streets, the farmer’s markets, and the airport all these past few months since the Paris attacks, and I cannot imagine how those officers might feel today. I wish I could tell them that I, and I hope many other residents, appreciate all that they’ve done and will continue to do–especially because perfection is an impossible standard.