As I write this, I am sitting in my home, less than one thousand meters from the place where two hours ago a van killed 13 people in an apparent terrorist attack. I can hear the helicopters circling La Rambla, the busy tourist street where I cycle almost daily, while my phone buzzes at short intervals with notifications from close and distant friends, the messages all variations of “are you okay?”. From the park beneath my window there are the familiar sounds of Spanish children playing.

I heard about the attack moments after it happened: a co-worker received a text from a friend who remains waiting behind closed shutters in a shop near the scene of the attack. My first reaction was frustration. Details in the media were scarce. “Is every road accident involving a van going to be reported as terrorism now?” I found myself saying. Productivity in the office fell to zero as we all searched for websites with live reports of the incident, and I watched my browser load speculative updates filled with words like “possibly” and “reportedly” beneath a large video advert for Game of Thrones. A dragon charging into an crowd of soldiers, breathing fire. We wondered aloud how the traffic disruption would affect the commute home.

There’s no real feeling of shock. I’ve heard more people complaining about it than crying about it. It’s not that we’re callous. It’s simply that an attack on Barcelona, with its 7 million tourists a year, felt inevitable.

And why? In the coming hours or days we’ll find out who’s to blame. Perhaps even by the time I’ve finished writing this article. I already have a subconscious expectation that a non-white male in his twenties will be involved. ISIS might take credit for the attack. There will be neat diagrams of the streets surrounding my home, advice to avoid graphic photographs on twitter, an outpouring of emotion in the media. People of particular political persuasions will find themselves radicalized further.

In the media, we will deconstruct the motivations behind the attack. Was it the lashing out of a violent radical faith, or the consequence of decades of bloody western foreign policy? In the media, we will learn the faces of the attackers (and perhaps some of the victims). In the media, we will be fed the pre-prepared responses of Trump, Merkel, and May.

I live less than one thousand meters from the location of the attack. I still hear the helicopters. But it strikes me that I’ll experience the attack on Barcelona in exactly the same way as I experienced the attacks in Nice, in Berlin, in Ohio, and in London: in the media.

There’s no doubt that terrorism is news. We need to pay our respects to the victims and their families. But isn’t it kind of awkward that media corporations profit directly from advertising placed on live reports? Isn’t it kind of awkward that widespread media coverage has been shown to increase the likelihood of copycat attacks? Isn’t it awkward that the people whose deaths will inspire international grief might not have been killed if it wasn’t for the guaranteed attention the attackers are now destined to receive?

You may think I am numb and disillusioned. I am not. I care deeply about the world I live in. I am scared for the friends I have so far been unable to contact. But our response to incidents like this matter. Tomorrow I will wake up and go to the office as usual. And I will not be reading the news. Possibly. Reportedly.