The massacre at Virginia Tech hit too close to home for many college students, especially for me. My entire family - my father, my mother, and my brother - was at Virginia Tech the day before the shooting.
My brother had just been accepted to Virginia Tech, and my family drove to Blacksburg to check it out. On their campus tour last Sunday, the tour guide led them into Norris Hall, the building where Seung-Hui Cho exacted his greatest toll.
Cut to me realizing this horrible fact on the morning of Marathon Monday, a time when the entire Boston College campus was in full party mode, celebrating those who were running in the race.
Stranger still was being on a campus tour on Friday and hearing the tour guide's assurance that BC is a safe place not only because of the BC Police Department, but also because of its proximity to Newton, one of the safest cities in America.
But Virginia Tech has its own police force too, and Blacksburg isn't the most dangerous of towns either. Cho and his actions weren't products of faulty security; rather, they stem from a cause that is much more difficult to pinpoint.
Quite frankly, it's the overarching culture in which anyone who doesn't fit in is ostracized. The media has rarely addressed this problem, maybe because it's too big.
The media has been quick to point its fingers at other things, however - things like Cho's mental state, local reactions to the shooting, NBC's controversial decision to air his tape and photos, and how the whole situation could have been prevented.
Particularly distressing - and ridiculous, to boot - was when former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee said a concealed handgun carried by a faculty member or student might have reduced fatalities.
Cho fit the profile of a killer - a loner, sullen and estranged by his peers - according to the media. It's the same profile given to the Columbine shooters, people whom Cho called "martyrs" in his video.
A factor in a killer's profile is isolation, which shows that Cho's demeanor wasn't entirely of his own imagining, but rather one that was influenced by the people and society that shunned him.
I'm not saying that Cho shouldn't be blamed for this. He is completely to blame. In 2005, he was declared mentally ill by a Virginia court that said he was an "imminent danger" to himself. But we must remember that no man is an island and that we are all inevitably affected by the actions and attitudes of those around us.
Cho was often ridiculed for his poor English and his sullen attitude. People told him to go back to China, and some even pushed him down, laughing at him. Sure, Cho had been extremely reserved and unwilling to communicate ever since he was young, but the embarrassment of being shunned by his peers couldn't have helped things.
What I'm afraid of now is not only the copycats, but also people who choose to perpetuate the culture that Cho felt alienated him. In fact, it has already started. I've already heard people say racist things about not only Koreans but also Asian immigrants.
I've heard people joke about not going anywhere near certain Christian churches because most of their congregation is Korean. I've seen people give anyone who looks Korean - or Asian, for that matter - dirty looks in the street.
And sadly, I've seen these dirty looks and heard these racist comments even before the shooting and have been the target of some of them myself.
If there's anything to learn from this tragedy, it's that our actions have larger consequences than we may imagine.
Aside from increasing security at schools and looking out for warning signs in troubled individuals, let's also take a critical look at ourselves and how we treat those that we think are "weird" or "uncool."
Let's not take this tragedy and use it to fuel anti-Asian and anti-immigrant sentiments or to further alienate those who may seem different. It's a time for solidarity in the memory of the victims, not division.
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