Last week, I was in a beautiful event room in a beautiful Parisian hotel, telling newly accepted international students how picturesque and perfect Northeastern University is. I was telling them that as a Husky, I have an inherent and instinctive pride that fills me up every time I think about Boston and my university.

On Monday, my world shattered. I grew up in Manhattan’s backyard. I grew up being told that as a high-profile city, New York is a target for terrorism. I grew up in the Sept. 11 generation. I grew up in fear.

I also grew up to be intelligent. Driven. Ambitious. And so it was no surprise I went to Northeastern University in Boston, a city I thought was New York’s cooler, less-hectic, hippie cousin. A city I knew was dangerous if you trekked by yourself to Mission Hill, but a city nonetheless safe. A city known for its college student atmosphere and “Bahstahn” accents and great Irish pubs.

Now it will be a city known for the April 15, bombings that destroyed the jovial atmosphere of one of the oldest and most prestigious events in the world – the Boston Marathon.

I guess I should be happy that I live in Paris and not in Boston. I should be happy that I’m not currently 10 minutes from where the blasts occurred. I know my family is happy that I wasn’t there.

But for all of last night, I was in full-on panic mode. At the accepted students event on Saturday, I told those bright-eyed freshman that I had met my future bridesmaids at Northeastern. The vast majority of my best friends in the entire world live in or around Boston. My heart was in my stomach as I imagined the completely normal practice of heading down to watch the marathon with a drink hidden in a water bottle. I imagined all of my friends huddled near the finish line cheering on the runners. Thank heaven I eventually contacted all of my friends, but I know some who were nearby. Who felt the blast. Who saw the blast. Who will forever have those feelings and sights seared into their memory.

And it is in this moment where I am not happy I’m here. I want to be there, with the ones I love, comforting them. Feeling the camaraderie and solidarity that comes from being a Bostonian.

Because being a Bostonian means more than just going to bars and Celtics games. Being a Bostonian means feeling a part of a city that becomes your home. Being a Bostonian means walking down the street and seeing your friends and feeling warmth in your heart and soul. Being a Bostonian means being strong.

I love Boston.

-Sofia Lyubarsky is a junior international business major.