Like so many others across NSW, and the world, we at The Bugle were stopped cold by the news from Bondi Beach.

A place so often associated with sunshine, friendship and salt spray, much like our home, suddenly became the backdrop to a tragedy that’s almost too painful to process.

Watching the reports and vision on social media unfold felt surreal seeing the most iconic beach in Australia, and hearing words like “shooting” and “fatalities” in the same breath.

It was as though a bright piece of Australia’s heart had gone still.

In Kiama, our small seaside town often feels sheltered from such horrors.

We talk about surf conditions, weekend markets, and housing proposals before we talk about crime scenes.

But Bondi isn’t far, a two-hour drive up the coast, a place many of us have walked barefoot along in the summer.

When tragedy happens there, it shakes the illusion that peace belongs only to small towns like ours.

The shock has been immense, and the grief has rippled far beyond the city’s borders.

We feel for those families who woke that morning thinking it was just another weekend, who could never have imagined the call they would receive, the chaos they would see on their phones, the fear that would settle into their hearts.

It’s a reminder that the fragility of safety isn’t something only “big city people” contend with. It’s part of all our lives now.

In the hours since the shooting, the expected debates have already returned about gun control, security, retribution and policing.

But as important as those conversations are, there’s a deeper need right now for empathy and human connection.

The images from Bondi aren’t statistics or headlines - they’re stories of neighbours, parents, friends and tourists.

Here in Kiama, we’ve seen time and time again how people rally when others are hurting.

After floods, bushfires, and local losses, we’ve baked cakes, opened spare rooms, and passed the hat around.

Maybe that’s what empathy looks like on a larger scale too — not turning away from Bondi’s pain because it feels too far or too heavy, but carrying a little of it with us.

With the tragedy striking more than a hundred kilometres away, it’s easy to think that there is little that we can do to help.

The day after the attack, streams of people were lining up outside Lifeblood donation centres in Sydney and Wollongong, doing their little bit to help.

So if you’re thinking about how to contribute, next time you’re in Wollongong, spare a bit of time to roll up your sleeve.

The sight of police tape against bright sand will fade in time, replaced once again by beach umbrellas and laughter.

But the echo of this moment will linger. It reminds us how precious it is to feel safe, to greet strangers with kindness, and to never take a peaceful Sunday afternoon for granted.

For now, from one coastal community to another, Kiama stands with Bondi, grieving, bewildered, and holding fast to hope that light will return to the shore.