It seems as though every social media outlet is jammed with hundreds of articles, all about the same disturbing event that took place this past January at Stanford University. You recognize the name: Brock Turner. His face is plastered on every Twitter timeline and Facebook wall in the country. People are absolutely outraged by not only the vicious crime itself, but a punishment that is perceived by the entire country to be a "slap on the wrist" at best. I need not go over the horrific details of the crime. At this point, you know every devastating word. All my heart can do is truly ache for not just this victim, but that of every victim in any similar circumstance. All my mind can do, however, is wander to the scary place of, "What if this had been me? What if this had been my school?"

With the stories, articles and opinions of people my age surfacing, I could not help but think these daunting thoughts. How would I walk home late again? How could I sit in class where a crime like this could be committed. Just as I was letting this horrible news drag down my faith in this often twisted world once again, I remembered a conversation with a few of my sorority sisters one afternoon.

I remember sitting in a car after going out with my friends the night before with some of our guy friends from our brother fraternity. My friend Jessica turned around and said, "How lucky are we to have those boys around to look out for us? They are honestly so good." This sparked conversations of how well these boys handled someone else's crisis. They were always on the look out for us, always making sure we were taken care of.

The night before, we had witnessed countless of our brothers, sober driving, help put people to bed and overall just watching out for not only us, but everyone. I had before gone without noticing it. Not that it was not appreciated, it was, but until that conversation in the car that day with my sisters, I never realized the gravity of the efforts of our friends, especially these boys because to me, this just seems to go without saying that people should do their best to be good.

But this is not reality. Our reality is that women are sexually assaulted behind dumpsters, which is why without the efforts of people like Peter Johnson and Carl-Fredrik Arndt, Brock Turner would have most likely never faced any punishment at all.

I had never realized until that moment that among the 5,000 students at Southwestern Oklahoma State University, I have had the pleasure of meeting and having relationships with many of them. Because of this, even if I was to go out on my own, I would not be alone. Everywhere I look would be a familiar face, and because of this, I feel safe.

My brother fraternity, the men of Tau Kappa Epsilon is made up of Peter Johnsons, a group of men that would watch out for me and my sisters because they care. A group of men that would not be bystanders.

There are Carl-Fredrik Arndt's in your biology lab group, most of your conversations are centered around meiosis, but if you were to run into each other on a Saturday night, you would chat like you hang out all the time.

This division two university, that some wouldn't give a second look, is somewhere I feel safe. I chose it as my home, not realizing the comfort it would bring me, especially outside of the classroom. I am surrounded by good people. I know they are good people because I get to have relationships with them, unlike most people at larger universities.

Too often smaller schools are brushed off as not as "fun" or as "cool," but I don't think anyone at a division one university can accidentally leave their car unlocked and find their belongings untouched, or even make the long walk home from the library in the middle of the night without any fear.

I can do that and more because my small university is not just home, it is safe.