I don't remember these days well. All that remains in my brain is fragments of memories and feelings I had at some point. I remember the destroyed chalets on the Christmas market and the surrounding safety gates to keep intrigued people aloof. I remember the sidewalk covered in candles, flowers and prayers on pieces of paper. I remember coworkers calling to see if we were okay, and that I had to tell my partner because they haven't got the news yet. I remember the insomnia.

Why did these 12 people die and I didn't? Who decided who would live and who wouldn't? Why did they decide to attack the market from that angle in particular? Your thoughts aren't logical when you're confronted with abomination, and you're desesperately trying to find why such a terrible thing would happen.

We decided to go against our family's advice and stayed until the end of our trip but as I said, I don't remember much of what happened after that day. I also lost track of time from our return to when I left to Hungary a month later for a semester of studying abroad. The first clear memory I have is the decision I made when arriving in what would be my home for the next six months:

"You've got to be the best person you can."