It was a week not to be forgotten. I knew I was alive in a memorable week in England’s history but I had no idea the real reason would be so horrific.

It was Wednesday, 6 July. On the previous Saturday, half a million of us had come together for Live 8 and then London had won the 2012 Olympic bid. The feeling in the capital was euphoric, almost like we were changing the world. And then the world changed for us.

Everyone has a story about where they were, what they were doing at the exact time it happened. I suppose like my parent’s generation remembers where they were when JFK was shot or when Elvis died. This is mine.

I was lying in the dentist’s chair when I heard the radio announce an explosion on the Underground caused by an electrical fault. And then a second announcement; another electrical fault – surely not. My heart sank. The likelihood of two electrical faults in as many minutes seemed slim. I knew this was no coincidence and no accident either.

I rushed back to the office to watch the news and find out the truth about what had just happened. As I stood in front of the television watching the news, there were more blasts, on another train and a bus, altogether killing 52 innocent people who were just trying to get to work on time.

Living so close to London, I had family and friends who worked there and I, like everyone around me, was desperate to contact them and make sure they were safe and still alive.

The mobile networks were jammed solid with people trying to contact each other. One by one, text messages were sent back and forth between family and friends until we knew everyone was safe. Text messages were favoured as they were more likely to get through. Phone calls often ended in tears of relief when a friend picked up the other end.

Just north of London, my offices were at a safe distance from the bombings. However, a few colleagues lived in central London and still had to return home that evening. I spent the day organising how to get people home to Baker Street, Aldgate, Liverpool Street and more. It was my penultimate day in the job I had been doing for five years, and I had a lot of ends to tie up. However, in the light of what had just happened none of that seemed important any more. Even though you may not be directly involved, when something of that magnitude happens, all the little things you normally worry about seem meaningless. Disaster is the great leveller.

The Underground was closed for the rest of the day. That had never happened before in my lifetime. The Underground is the life-blood of London. These terrorists had really hit hard. Not only had they taken 52 innocent victims but they had meant to cause as much of a problem to Londoners as possible. It was a statement to show the world what they were capable of. Londoners weren’t being stopped, though, and soon showed the world what they were capable of coping with.

Two days later, on Saturday 10 July, I got on the Underground for the first time since the attacks to meet my family for dinner. I was feeling fine about getting on a train again. I have a very non-defeatist attitude and, like a lot of other Londoners, wasn’t going to let a brainwashed extremist group stop me from living my life. But I had not expected the trains to be so empty. It was a Saturday night in London and the trains only had a few passengers. Normally you’re lucky to get a seat. It was an eerie feeling. Everyone was looking at each other with suspicious glances and checking out anyone who got on carrying anything resembling a rucksack.

The streets of London were emptier than usual but the people who were out were determined to carry on with life as usual. Every day that passed got a little easier, but it was still apparent that people were edgy and nervous. Was it going to happen again? And then it did – two weeks later. However, it was a blessing that no one was seriously hurt in the second attacks.

I was in Malta by the time the second attacks happened. I found it hard to watch the TV footage for a while. It seemed to be everywhere I turned. There in my face, the reality, the atrocity of what had happened, the death. It brought back the feelings of panic that took over until a friend returned your text to let you know they were ok.

Londoners are more aware now and maybe a little more suspicious of anyone who looks like a bomber. But what does a bomber look like? Not all bombers are Muslim and not all Muslims are bombers. London is one of the largest multi-cultural cities in the world. Yes, there is some racism and discrimination, but no more than anywhere else in the world. Londoners are a welcoming community and they embrace new people and cultures but, like all communities, they unite when attacked. The people of London will not be scared into submission by a group of extremists and cowards who have been brainwashed.

A part of me was glad to be in Malta for the second attacks. However, I am returning home at the end of the month and, like many others, I am not scared. But many people will no longer use the Underground, preferring to find alternative forms of transport. But isn’t that what the terrorists want? Isn’t that giving in to their threats to affect the lives of those people who live and work in London? The first thing I am going to do after my plane arrives in London is get on the Underground and go home.