I wish that I could say that the first thought that emerges in my head is: "What a terrible tragedy," or some version of "Let them rest easily." I wish my initial reaction was to feel for the victims of the horrific incidents of the day, but I feel tense, wondering about only one person.

As hashtags emerge honoring the slain party — sometimes demanding justice — I remain hyper-focused on the headlines that reveal pieces of information like 'a lone killer,' 'assault rifle,' then scan to read: 'connections to ISIS.' An extensive description of the killer's religious background, a testimony from a neighbor or family member follows a bolded, ethnic name that could very well be the same name as a member of my family. My heart sinks.

The realization that this massacre would become part of a strengthening case for anti-immigration, anti-foreigner sentiment feels like a boulder sliding down upon all of the work and efforts on the part of those advocating refugees and religious freedom. It seems like no matter how many Middle Eastern immigrated are invited to the White House, or how much interfaith groups work toward creating dialogues toward greater acceptance of diversity, these incidents of horror erase all of that.

More than sadness, I feel a furor of anger and frustration that these actions toward convincing the general public can never do anything to change the minds of sick, deranged humans who could stand to commit such atrocities. For all of the media frenzy that surrounds the killer, including psychologists' analyses that claim an inside look into mass murderers' minds, I'm almost certain that I will never understand why. I'm even more skeptical that any amount of surveillance or drone attacks could serve any purpose other than fueling tensions that are already at peak height.

I soon realize that I don't know the name of a single person who died.

My ebbing empathy could be a symptom of a desensitization to the disgusting acts of terrorism that flood every platform of social media, or maybe my own political agenda has actually blinded me toward greater matters of importance. Do I really fear the backlash against my own community so much that I forget human lives were taken?

As trite as it seems, I figure that the least that I can do is say a prayer; it feels like the only way to honor the lives of slain victims who could as just as easily been me.