I remember that she had a dirty smock on that was at some point a pretty shade of lavender. The hemline was torn and the pants didn't quite reach the floor. Her face was looking up at me expectantly, watching the condensation burgeon and fall to the sides of the cup. I was around nine years old the last time I visited Pakistan, walking through the market streets of Karachi. My mom protectively had anchored her arm across my chest as she shepherded me through the crowd to the drink stand on the other side. I was jealous my older brother got the mango smoothie so my parents made him trade with me, the perks of being a middle child.

I had only taken a couple sips when I saw this girl making her way through the crowd toward me. She was around my age. Her short brown hair framed her small, bony face punctuated by two round, curious eyes. They found my drink, fascinated by the novelty of the bright orange. My mother tugged me with her anchor away from the girl. I ineffectually pushed her away, and gave the little girl my drink. Without hesitation, she swiped it from my hands and melded back into the crowd.

Eleven years later, I'm not really sure where that childish act of kindness came from. Even at nine, I didn't think I was fixing any of the world's problems by feeding the homeless with smoothies. But I was left with a residual global awareness that has, unfortunately, only faded over time. I went to college, got caught up in my own life and indulged in my own problems in my own Brandeis bubble.

But now I've had to pop that bubble. This semester abroad in Italy has forced me to unwillingly accept that no, neither I nor America is the center of the world. Italy doesn't have fabric softener and America doesn't have bidets, but that doesn't make either culture superior to the other.

However, it hasn't been my time abroad that has reminded me about the detriment of ethnocentrism to the importance of global awareness.

Two weeks ago when I clicked on Facebook, I was overwhelmed by the news of the Boston Marathon bombing. For two weeks, there were peace vigils, memorials and prayers from all over the world. From Serbia to Zabul, Afghanistan, people were tweeting and posting pictures holding signs to show their support; "Boston From [Insert place] With Love." We were united in our pain.

But the sign that stuck with me was from Syria. "Boston bombings represent a sorrowful scene of what happens everyday in Syria. Do accept our condolences." While constantly making headlines, the two-year-old conflict has seemingly blended in with the white noise of the Middle East. Like a kick in the gut, the sign forces you to consider the pain other countries must feel with bombs tearing through their streets everyday.

But who needs that perspective when the world seems to stop and watch every major news event in the United States? On the same day as the Newtown, Conn. school shooting last December, a man stood at the gates of an elementary school in the Henan Province in China and stabbed 22 children as they entered the gates of their school. In the past two years, this violence has become part of a series of other attacks on Chinese school children. In a similar incident in April 2010, a man stabbed three teachers and 29 children in the Jiangsu Province. Last September, a man with an axe entered a day care center in China's southern province of Guangxi and killed three while wounding 13 others.

Almost immediately after the Newtown shooting, people around the world held signs in solidarity with America's grief and pain. But for China, other than the obligatory news story from the world's major outlets, there hasn't been anything near the amount of attention as seen with Newtown being paid to this country's heartache. Why does America pull so much attention to its tragedies from a willing world audience? Have we evolved into a new form of ethnocentrism, where even our tragedies are superior to others?

I don't mean to be insensitive, nor am I diminishing the distress so many people have experienced during these events. If anything, for this one day were we not allowed to just think about ourselves, our country? Our pain, our suffering, our loss? Do we need to be politically aware and informed citizens even through our own national crises?

No, but hopefully once our own grief has been acknowledged, we can take a global, more active role in seeing and responding to the grief of others around the world.

These tragedies and the world's reaction to them have shown above all else how connected we are. Whether a developing or a first world country, none are immune from these attacks. Our citizens are dying in the same way, we have a common, enraging enemy and we need to make more of an effort to showcase that connection. Whether it's a smoothie or a sign, it'll be from America with love.

Shafaq Hasan '14 is a former editor of the Justice and is currently studying abroad in Siena, Italy.