Pray for Paris or Pray for Humanity?

On Saturday morning, I woke up to ten new Facebook messages, all from the United States. My mom, my brother, my best friends, people that I hadn't even spoken to in months had all written me. 

"Hey Maris, what's up?"

"You're not in Paris, right?"
"Just want to check in. How are you?"

I knew suddenly that something wasn't right. 

I don't even know how to begin to describe the state of France. As my Facebook news feed fills with #prayforparis, Eiffel Towers, and statuses from my American friends about how sad they are, I can't help but feel a bit uncomfortable. How can you describe a massacre with a three letter word and a hashtag? How is a peace sign supposed to console a nation seized by panic and despair?    

And yet, on the other hand, there is a good number of people who are utilizing the tragedy as leverage to assess an entire nation's white privilege. Last week, 147 people were killed in a bombing in Kenya. People die each day in Syria, but there are no pretty Facebook filters for these victims.  I haven't yet found a way to describe this without devalorizing what has happened here in France at the same time, and I don't know if there is a way. Living here, I frankly don't think I'm capable of remaining unbiased. 

Struck by a patriotism for a nation that isn't my own, I find myself with a foot on each continent. Grief has simultaneously hollowed France out and swallowed it whole. Although I do not have a French passport, I mourn with it all the same. 

Today was a sandpaper day; we have been emotionally rubbed raw.