The first thing I see when I get to baggage claim upon my arrival in Paris is two armed policemen. They are standing over a Middle Eastern woman who is wearing a hijab. She is crouched on the floor frantically digging through her bags in search of something while the officers watch.

Perhaps they are helping the woman, but from my point of view, it looks like the opposite is true. I do not want to be there, so I grab my bags and head toward the train station where I am meeting a friend. The second I reach the bottom of the escalator I see groups of military policemen in every corner of the station, all with assault rifles slung over their shoulders.

Fast forward two hours.

I arrive at Gare du Nord in the center of Paris. I am trying to find my way to the taxis when I see a large group of military policemen just outside the entrance, encircling a man who looked as though he may have been of Middle Eastern descent. A few of the officers step inside.

I am lost and there is no info desk around. Hesitantly, I approach one of the officers to ask for directions. He stops and helps me find my way. He is kind. My eyes dart outside — I don't think the man on the street shares my sentiment.

Fast forward 24 hours.

I am in my new city, Rennes. It is a week before I see a single police officer anywhere in the city. I begin to wonder if there is less fear here. After all, with everything that has happened in France in the past two years, this region has been fairly quiet. But then I learn that my Muslim friend is not comfortable going to the grocery store alone because last time she did, a man passing her on the street made a gesture indicating that he would like to shoot her.

Fast forward five days.

I receive texts from two friends who are in Paris. They were eating dinner when they saw a group of police race down the street and create a barrier around Notre Dame. The texts were followed by an article explaining that police had discovered an abandoned car full of gas outside the cathedral which they believe was meant to be used as a bomb by three women with connections to ISIS.

Fast forward two days.

I am in Paris for the weekend, visiting a friend. I receive an email from the U.S. Embassy warning me about travel to Paris that weekend due to the incident at Notre Dame. We hear countless police sirens blaring throughout the city.

We are sitting across from the Eiffel Tower at night when we hear explosions. We immediately think that what we are hearing is bombs, when really it was only fireworks.

Relief.

We walk through the entrance of the Musée de l'Armée and immediately I am asked to open my bag by a military policeman with a rifle draped across his chest. Every direction I look, there are military policemen standing guard, weapons in hand. We cannot make the trek from one monument to the next without seeing dozens more police and military officers patrolling the streets and various landmarks.

Rewind five years.

I am sitting in my high school French class and we are discussing the treatment of Islamic women in France. We read an article discussing the manner in which they are treated by not only French citizens but the French government as well, particularly in the case of those who choose to wear a burka or a hijab. This is my first exposure to Islamaphobia in France. I am shocked that such a modern, cosmopolitan country like France could treat its own citizens so poorly. I continue to hear and read about the Islamic xenophobia in France throughout my study of the French language and culture.

Fast forward five years.

There are only a few short weeks left before I leave to spend four months in France. Suddenly, my social media feeds are flooded with articles about a burkini ban that is becoming increasingly popular in cities across the south of France. The articles I see are always paired with expressions of outrage and disbelief. I share the anger, but I am not surprised by the news. This is nothing new for France, only the latest blow in a string of actions meant to suppress those who do not look or think like the rest.

I knew, before coming to France, I would witness countless displays of Islamaphobia. I hoped that perhaps my time here would help me understand why this is so prevalent in France. I can see what the fear has yet to dissipate. You cannot walk through the streets without seeing armed military policemen — a constant reminder of the tragedies of the past year. The difference, though, is that those armed guards are there to prevent acts of terrorism, not to protect French citizens from the Islamic faith. The problem is that so many people are still unable or unwilling to make the distinction between religion and terrorism.

I have been living in France for three weeks now and if anything, I have come farther from understanding the overwhelming presence of Islamophobia in this country, rather than closer. The truth is, you cannot understand something you do not believe. I fear ISIS, but I do not fear the Islamic faith or those who practice it, and so I will never understand those who do.