The news brought a wave of emotion. A national day, August 21st, dedicated to honouring victims and survivors of terrorism. For me, a survivor of the Manchester Arena attack on May 22, 2017, it felt like a long-overdue acknowledgement – a promise that grief wouldn’t be swept under the rug.
That night, a bomb ripped through the joy of an Ariana Grande concert, leaving 22 families shattered and my life irrevocably altered. I sustained 29 injuries, a brutal landscape of broken bones, burns, and internal damage. Shrapnel tore through my body, mirroring the wounds of a war zone. Over five weeks in Royal Manchester Children’s Hospital, and a subsequent journey of 19 surgeries concluding in 2019, became my new reality.
I was fourteen, attending the concert with my best friend, Nell Jones. We’d meticulously planned every detail – the hairstyles, the makeup, the outfits, even memorizing the concert setlist. The anticipation had been almost as exhilarating as the event itself. Now, eight and a half years later, the echoes of that night remain, a constant companion to my daily life.
My physical recovery was arduous, but the emotional toll was immense. Yet, one thing remained unwavering: my love for live music. From seeing Miley Cyrus at seven, the feeling of music vibrating through my veins, the euphoria of hearing a favourite song live – it was a connection I couldn’t relinquish. My family shared this passion; a new artist meant an immediate search for concert dates.
Immediately after the attack, my sister asked if I wanted to attend the One Love Manchester concert, a benefit show organized by Ariana Grande. Heavily medicated and reeling, the thought of another concert terrified me. Wouldn’t it happen again? But as I recovered, my perspective shifted.
We’d always vowed to respond to the tragedy with hope, not hatred. Just seven months later, we saw Harry Styles in Manchester. The journey was fraught with anxiety, but the moment he stepped on stage, fear dissolved into pure joy. I screamed, I sang, I lost myself in the music, enveloped in a shared experience of adoration.
It felt safe, a sanctuary built on a collective love of music. It’s a feeling everyone deserves. A feeling that reminded me life is too short to not fully embrace joy, to dance and sing with those you love. I am grateful to be living a life that, despite everything, feels remarkably normal – working, living in London, pursuing my dreams of becoming an actress.
To outsiders, it might appear I’ve “moved on.” But that’s a misconception. There are good days and bad days, moments of pain and overwhelming grief, days when simply getting out of bed feels impossible. This new national day, however, feels like a validation of those ongoing struggles, a recognition of everything we’ve overcome.
Each year on May 22nd, I spend the day with my family, reflecting on the past and the present. It’s a day of complex emotions, but also immense pride. I tell my loved ones how much they mean to me, and I remember Nell, my beautiful friend who was lost. On this new day of remembrance, I anticipate doing the same.
The comfort of knowing that others across the nation will be acknowledged, that our collective experiences will be honoured, is profound. This commemoration is a tribute – a tribute to Nell, to all victims, and to all survivors who continue to navigate the aftermath of life-changing attacks.
