Pre-concert jitters are a real thing. I get them every time I go to a concert. It doesn’t matter that I’m not the one performing. There’s just something about the idea of a crowd-filled arena that makes me anxious. 

I think now I understand why. 

At 6 p.m. Monday, May 22, the doors opened at the Manchester Arena where Ariana Grande took the stage for four hours. “One Last Time” was the ironic final song Grande played before 22 of her fans ultimately died  and more than 50 were injured by a terrorist. 

What will this mean for the future of concerts? How much will security measures change? Will concert-goers be subjected to far more invasive searches before they can see their favorite artist peform? 

Music is the most important thing in my life, and this is where I find myself defeated. I know I probably shouldn’t let my life be overwhelmed by fear, but because I’m a normal concert-goer, this hits close to home for me. These were kids, and they were just going to a show.

For the first time in my life, I am at a loss for words. At first, it made me so angry that nobody knew what to say. I just kept seeing tweets, and people kept saying, “I’m at a loss for words.” My immediate response was to think that these kids deserved words, that they deserved all the words in the whole English language because terrorism is something that tears people apart, and the music industry can’t stand for that. 

I thought that words were what would begin to heal the wounds until I found myself struggling to contribute to the #PrayForManchester hashtag. I realized there weren’t enough words, or the right words, to convey this. It’s something along the lines of not knowing how to tell my mom not to worry because “they check your bags, so nothing can happen” or “my heart aches for Manchester,” something the city has heard, and Grande has heard and the parents of the victims have heard. I think the right words are something along the lines of “fear will not divide us.” 

Music is too vital to push away. It shouldn’t have a place in the shoebox in our closets. I spent the first five years of my life singing into a round brush. I spent the last two studying pop culture in depth. And though my hands shake at the thought of the next concert I’ll go to, fear will not divide us. The show must go on.