Brussels: The Aftermath of an Atrocity

I never thought I would have to write something like this. Everything still seems so surreal. Strange as this may sound, we're used to seeing these terrorist attacks on the TV. We're used to seeing reports of brutal atrocities from all over the world. Just not in our own country. Not in my country. Not in Brussels, the capital of Europe. Heart of Belgium. These things just did not happen to us. Until yesterday.
Waking up on Tuesday morning, I was looking forward to having a great day. Nothing too strenuous, mind: I had plans to meet up with a friend in Ghent, have a beer and a good old catch up, and play some pool. Would I have a cup of coffee first? That was the thought in my mind as I came down the stairs.
The radio was playing, which was odd. Crappy songs on the wireless always manage to ruin my mood in the morning and my whole family knows that. I saw my mum and sister clutching their phones and they looked up as soon as I came in. “There's been an attack in Brussels airport,” my mother said.
It felt like the ground had shifted from underneath me. Everything had changed. I needed to find my bearings, but how?
The first thing you do is make a mental list of all the people who are close to you and check if any of them might have been in Brussels. I thought immediately of my brother-in-law. I looked at my sister, trying to gauge from her expression if anything was wrong, but she quickly reassured everyone: he was still on the train to Brussels when the first attack happened.
Messages from friends came flooding in; our grandparents called, in a state, wondering if any of us were in Brussels. I had to cancel my plans to go to Ghent, because my mum wouldn't let me travel. I nodded, accepting that to go against her wishes was out of the question. I grabbed some breakfast as she switched on the TV, already knowing that we were facing an uncertain future, the shape of which none of us could predict.
About an hour after the attack in the airport, there was a fresh sense of horror as news came in about another one. This time there had been an explosion on the metro. Photos were quickly spread around via social media of smoke in the streets, and of people walking around in a daze, some of them obviously injured. The TV showed us scenes from the airport, while our phones kept us updated on the metro until it was confirmed: yes, there were even more victims for the city, and for the unfortunate families, to bury over the coming days and weeks.
The death toll got higher and higher. News crews seemed to lose count of the number of injured, as images of people bleeding and in panic were permanently etched into our collective minds. There was chaos and quiet disbelief reflected in the reporters' eyes when the news came in that one of the bombs in the airport was a nail bomb, causing even more terrible damage. How could anyone do this? How could this have happened?
Reports confirmed what most people already knew, when the savage attacks were claimed by Islamic State.
It's a strange thing to be part of a country sometimes, especially one like Belgium. We are in fact a divided country – and we only seem to unite in two situations: in sports, particularly football, and in times of misery and violence against 'our own'. This was one of those occasions. As a country under attack yesterday, across the political spectrum, there was a shared sense of grief and confusion.
In a way, I had to acknowledge, we had been expecting this. Ever since the nightmare devastation inflicted on Paris, in November 2015, reports had emphasised that the plans for the attacks had been made in Belgium; that the main suspect was hiding in a town near Brussels; andthat there were plans for new attacks.
We must in our hearts have known it was coming – but we never let it rule our lives.
I remember going to a gig in Brussels early last year, right in the centre of the city; walking to the venue, I hit a security barrier and couldn't get through. The police had blocked part of the street, and they were patrolling the area with guns at the ready and telling us to turn around and go back home. There was a bomb alert.
Did it ever occur to me to actually turn around and go home? Not really. Instead, I took a slight detour and made it to the gig. I couldn't miss one of my favourite bands, could I?
In a sense, we got used to these kinds of threats. Over the past few months, we got used to seeing soldiers patrolling the streets – and in a way it created a false sense of security.
In truth, how could a soldier stop an attack, like those that took place yesterday, from happening?
Questions will arise over the next few days, even weeks. Did the system fail? Could they have prevented this? It is true that we need to analyse things. But this is not the time to point fingers or to engage in the blame game. But that is what some citizens are beginning to do.
It is both sad and worrying to see people blaming immigrants and refugees for the work of a few twisted minds. I am fearful that racism and fear lurk around the corner, ready to consume the hearts and minds of the Belgian people. It is a reaction that we must do everything in our power to avoid. Because hatred breeds hatred.
I have always believed that we are bigger and more generous as a country than that. And perhaps we are. Yesterday, while certain voices were being raised against our immigrant community, there was also something fundamentally good and decent in our collective response.
What I saw yesterday, and especially last night, is proof that we won’t give in. Solidarity spread around Brussels and Belgium like a blanket, ready to wrap everyone who needed it in their warmth. And in brutal times like these, it is beautiful to see. The hashtag #ikwilhelpen (I want to help) on Twitter saw people being offered a place to stay or a lift out of Brussels. Messages of love, hope and solidarity were written down in chalk on the ground. Belgians stood together.
There's a list of cities now that have been the victim of a terrible series of attacks and it's sad to say that the list grows longer every year. Belgium is in mourning and the rest of Europe joins us in our grief. Are we all Brussels now? Yes, we are. Because if we can't stand together, there is no use for us to stand at all.

• Liessa De Decker worked with Hot Press for three months in 2015. Our first Belgian intern, she is continuing her studies at University College Artevelde in Ghent.