Car doors slamming, people screaming, and what am I doing? Washing my hair. As the last remnants of mango shampoo disappear down the drain, my mind is filled with a million questions. What's going on? Who’s screaming? Why did my parents leave my brother and me  home alone? The faint car alarm going off only adds to One Direction’s “What Makes You Beautiful” still booming out of my bathroom speaker.

Conditioning’s the last thing on my mind. I hop out the shower, yank my towel on, and lock the door, not only to my bathroom but to my room itself. Two doors can save me from whatever’s lurking in front of my house, right? I yell for my brother, hoping I am not alone. No response. I phone him. Voicemail. I call my dad as tears fill my eyes. Through the phone, the sound of his strong Colombian accent fills me with comfort, but it’s not enough to distract me from what could be going on. My house is getting robbed, and I’ll be the next item stolen-- I know it. My dad tries to convince me that I am just imagining things, but I’m sure of what I hear. What do I do next? I dial 9-1-1. In pure terror, tears now pouring from my eyes, I beg the operator to save me from my nightmare. As soon as she dispatches an officer and I hang up, there’s a heavy knock at my bedroom door. I struggle to get up, my body still paralysed by fear. I finally open the door and who’s on the other side? My brother. Turns out, all of the terrifying noises I was hearing were coming from his Playstation as he played Grand Theft Auto. The next sound came from the policeman knocking on my front door. I run down the stairs, towel still wrapped around my body. My saving grace was now unbearable. How was I going to explain the situation I was in? I felt ridiculous, embarrassed, and absolutely mortified. For the first time in my excessively communicative life, I was speechless.