In the summer of 2014 I travelled to Léon, Spain with a group of fellow UW students to participate in a four-week experimental learning program. During our time there, we stayed in the dormitories of the local college, sharing the facility with a few other students from around Europe. Because of our schedules, we rarely saw these dorm-mates, though every once in a while they would join us for a meal or two. Midway through my time there, Robin Williams died suddenly and to our surprise. Without exception, all of us American students we distraught, reacting far more intensely than seemed necessary. Regardless of personal connections to Williams, each of my peers committed to a mood of general mourning and melancholy for the rest of the day, and when it came time for dinner, the Americans could easily be told from the Europeans merely by facial expression. Personally, I had grown up with Williams’ movies (most notably the critically-acclaimed Flubber) and so in a way my sadness could be explained by my nostalgic connection to him, but I felt remorse far beyond that, coming from a place that was not inside of myself but distinctly other.