When I first learned about the tragic bombing at the Manchester Arena in England, my heart sank. Such acts of violence are unimaginable, especially in crowded places where people gather to enjoy moments of joy and connection. However, the fact that this horrific event took place during an Ariana Grande concert made it all the more devastating.
My immediate thoughts turned to the audience—predominantly young women and girls, many accompanied by their parents. It’s alarming to consider that someone would target a gathering filled with mostly female attendees and countless children. This attack feels like a direct affront to women.
It’s evident that these acts of terror are not random; they are carefully orchestrated. The individual or individuals who planned this assault understood the demographics of the concert audience. What is it about the empowerment of young women that terrifies them so much? Young girls represent hope for the future, capable of instigating change and driving progress. Do these attackers feel threatened by the strength and unity that an arena full of young women can embody? These unsettling thoughts swirl in my mind.
Make no mistake, my sorrow and anger would resonate deeply regardless of the event or the crowd. Yet this particular tragedy feels painfully personal.
Then, as I reflected more, a chilling realization struck: that could have been me. I remember my first concert vividly; I was just a few months shy of 13, excitedly dropped off by my best friend’s parents. Back then, we attended concerts without adult supervision, our parents trusting us to manage on our own. It feels surreal to think that, during my teenage years, my biggest concern was whether I would snag a tour program or a t-shirt, not the fear of violence.
On September 11, my friend and I were set to attend an O-Town concert in Manhattan. The concert was postponed due to the tragic events of that day, yet even then, we didn’t fear attending the rescheduled show. Our parents merely reminded us to stay together and keep our phones handy—advice that seemed reasonable at the time.
Now, however, I find myself navigating these thoughts as a parent. The fear that grips me when I see images of frantic parents searching for their children is palpable. It could easily be me in that situation, desperately seeking my child amidst chaos.
I have a young son who shares my love for live performances, and our outings to shows are cherished bonding experiences. But in a world where terrorists target concerts, I can’t help but worry that the next event could be one with an even younger crowd. I should be able to take my son to see beloved shows like The Wiggles without the dread that something might go horribly wrong.
When discussing this tragedy with my father, his concern was evident. “What if you were at that concert?” he asked, a reminder that no matter how grown up I become, I will always be his little girl.
I have tickets to see Harry Styles this fall, an event that should be filled with excitement rather than anxiety over the potential for tragedy. Statistically, the chances of something happening are slim, and I hope to enjoy a night filled with music and laughter, returning home safely. Yet, the fear lingers—it feels all too real and heartbreakingly close.
Music venues should be sanctuaries where people from all walks of life unite in celebration. Music has always offered me refuge, especially during my teenage years. The thought that someone could invade such a sacred space, disrupting the joy of Ariana’s fans, is sickening. This was a gathering of children and young people—innocent lives targeted by a cruel act. It’s maddening to think that some believe it’s acceptable to harm children.
In the midst of this darkness, there is a flicker of hope. The unity and strength displayed by the young girls in Manchester, coming together to support one another, is inspiring. They are showing the world that love and resilience can triumph over hate. They are making their country proud—and they are making me proud, too.
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In conclusion, the Manchester bombing serves as a haunting reminder of the fragility of safety in our lives. As a mother and a woman, it amplifies my fears while also igniting a fierce determination to protect our future generations.