Haley Histon: “And the World Will Be As One”
My mom and I were sitting on the concrete steps of the plaza
of the National Art Museum of Catalonia in Barcelona, admiring the city. We had
just finished a long day of traveling and walking, and after a few hours of
scouring the busy city, we finally found somewhere to sit down and relax for a
minute. While the view was beautiful, our surroundings were anything but
serene. A couple hundred other tourists surrounded us, all of them speaking
loudly and taking picture after picture. In addition, the chatter from those
tourists was distracting, and they all spoke different languages, so a lot of what
they said was unrecognizable. Needless to say, I was doing my best to tune them
out, trying to find some sort of relief as we sat.
“Water for one euro?” A peddler would ask, holding up a water bottle that I could purchase.
“No.” I said sourly, hoping they would go away. They did, but were shortly replaced by someone selling a selfie stick. “No thank you.” I would say before they even had a chance to ask.
Something about the cityscape made me reflect on just how big the world is. It was crazy to me that every single person who surrounded me had a different story, a different family, and a different viewpoint on the world. It made me sad and lonely to think of just how different and disconnected everyone was. Sometimes, this type of loneliness overwhelmed me.
My negative thoughts were interrupted by another peddler. I curtly told him no, and I rolled my eyes when he went away. During the course of my time in Spain, I often found myself annoyed to be compared to the other tourists. After all, I had just spent three weeks alone, immersed in the culture of Madrid, working with underprivileged children at an after-school program. Because I had done this experience by myself, in my mind, I was no longer a tourist, and Barcelona was supposed to be my vacation away from busy Madrid. Instead, I was once again surrounded by people taking pictures with selfie sticks, loudly speaking about their adventures to their friends, all while I was annoyed trying to get some peace and quiet. My mom was less bothered by this, which was a slight comfort.
While I was wallowing in my annoyance at the lack of serenity, I noticed a man with a large afro and a guitar approach the center of the plaza at the bottom of the amphitheater-style seating. He brought in a stool and an amplifier for his guitar, and sat down. The man with the afro placed his guitar case open beside him. I rolled my eyes again, knowing that there would soon be another distraction.
He started out playing a few bars on his guitar, which I could hardly hear because everyone was talking so loudly. Then he transitioned into a song that I instantly recognized. The familiar tune of John Lennon’s “Imagine,” filled the air. “Imagine there’s no heaven…” the guitarist began.
My mom grinned at me in recognition of the song, and after I placed my head on her shoulder, she began to hum softly in my ear. I closed my eyes, listened to the familiar melody and had a moment of reflection. The song immediately made me think of home, and while I listened I recalled all the experiences that I had just had during the past few weeks of my time alone in Spain. I remembered the struggles, the moments of uncertainty, and the moments of pure self-reflection and joy that were all floating around in my head as I listened intently to the humming and the words that were being sung around me by my mom and by this guitarist with an afro in the middle of a Museum plaza.
Because I was listening so intently to the music, I didn’t notice how quiet the plaza had gotten until the chorus of the song came on. It seemed like everyone around me was either as entranced as I was by this guitarist, or they were looking around to see why everyone else had gotten so quiet.
I noticed a couple of other people begin to softly sing to themselves the lyrics of the song. “Imagine all the people, living life in peace…” Once this line had ended, there was barely a sound in the plaza, other than the guitarist and those people who were softly humming or singing with the music. Then, like it had been orchestrated, a huge portion of the audience in the plaza began to sing one of the most notorious lines in the whole song: “You may say I’m a dreamer… but I am not the only one. I hope someday you will join us… And the world will be as one.” During this line, you could feel the catharsis in the air. People were smiling, swaying along to the music, sighing in nostalgia.
“Wow,” my mom whispered. I knew then that she was feeling that same energy.
In that moment, all of my negativity went away, and I realized just how connected all of us sitting in that plaza really were. The loud tourists, the people selling water, and every other passerby in the audience somehow all felt the connection to a John Lennon song that reminded me of home. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so lonely.
I knew that the
Honors College Breakaway experience would change my life, but I did not know
just how much. For that moment, all the emptiness and loneliness went away, and
I felt very much a part of the world and its community. I will never forget
that feeling.
Haley Histon is a junior Business Administration major with an emphasis in Marketing and Management at Lander with a minor in Psychology. For her Honors College Breakaway she traveled to Madrid, Spain for three weeks to work with underprivileged children at an after-school program. In addition, she took what she learned about volunteerism in Spain to do research on the motivations behind why undergraduate students volunteer, which she presented at a major research conference. She plans to graduate from Lander in May of 2019 and go on to get a Masters of Human Resources. One day, she hopes to found her own nonprofit organization.
“Water for one euro?” A peddler would ask, holding up a water bottle that I could purchase.
“No.” I said sourly, hoping they would go away. They did, but were shortly replaced by someone selling a selfie stick. “No thank you.” I would say before they even had a chance to ask.
Something about the cityscape made me reflect on just how big the world is. It was crazy to me that every single person who surrounded me had a different story, a different family, and a different viewpoint on the world. It made me sad and lonely to think of just how different and disconnected everyone was. Sometimes, this type of loneliness overwhelmed me.
My negative thoughts were interrupted by another peddler. I curtly told him no, and I rolled my eyes when he went away. During the course of my time in Spain, I often found myself annoyed to be compared to the other tourists. After all, I had just spent three weeks alone, immersed in the culture of Madrid, working with underprivileged children at an after-school program. Because I had done this experience by myself, in my mind, I was no longer a tourist, and Barcelona was supposed to be my vacation away from busy Madrid. Instead, I was once again surrounded by people taking pictures with selfie sticks, loudly speaking about their adventures to their friends, all while I was annoyed trying to get some peace and quiet. My mom was less bothered by this, which was a slight comfort.
While I was wallowing in my annoyance at the lack of serenity, I noticed a man with a large afro and a guitar approach the center of the plaza at the bottom of the amphitheater-style seating. He brought in a stool and an amplifier for his guitar, and sat down. The man with the afro placed his guitar case open beside him. I rolled my eyes again, knowing that there would soon be another distraction.
He started out playing a few bars on his guitar, which I could hardly hear because everyone was talking so loudly. Then he transitioned into a song that I instantly recognized. The familiar tune of John Lennon’s “Imagine,” filled the air. “Imagine there’s no heaven…” the guitarist began.
My mom grinned at me in recognition of the song, and after I placed my head on her shoulder, she began to hum softly in my ear. I closed my eyes, listened to the familiar melody and had a moment of reflection. The song immediately made me think of home, and while I listened I recalled all the experiences that I had just had during the past few weeks of my time alone in Spain. I remembered the struggles, the moments of uncertainty, and the moments of pure self-reflection and joy that were all floating around in my head as I listened intently to the humming and the words that were being sung around me by my mom and by this guitarist with an afro in the middle of a Museum plaza.
Because I was listening so intently to the music, I didn’t notice how quiet the plaza had gotten until the chorus of the song came on. It seemed like everyone around me was either as entranced as I was by this guitarist, or they were looking around to see why everyone else had gotten so quiet.
I noticed a couple of other people begin to softly sing to themselves the lyrics of the song. “Imagine all the people, living life in peace…” Once this line had ended, there was barely a sound in the plaza, other than the guitarist and those people who were softly humming or singing with the music. Then, like it had been orchestrated, a huge portion of the audience in the plaza began to sing one of the most notorious lines in the whole song: “You may say I’m a dreamer… but I am not the only one. I hope someday you will join us… And the world will be as one.” During this line, you could feel the catharsis in the air. People were smiling, swaying along to the music, sighing in nostalgia.
“Wow,” my mom whispered. I knew then that she was feeling that same energy.
In that moment, all of my negativity went away, and I realized just how connected all of us sitting in that plaza really were. The loud tourists, the people selling water, and every other passerby in the audience somehow all felt the connection to a John Lennon song that reminded me of home. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so lonely.
Haley Histon is a junior Business Administration major with an emphasis in Marketing and Management at Lander with a minor in Psychology. For her Honors College Breakaway she traveled to Madrid, Spain for three weeks to work with underprivileged children at an after-school program. In addition, she took what she learned about volunteerism in Spain to do research on the motivations behind why undergraduate students volunteer, which she presented at a major research conference. She plans to graduate from Lander in May of 2019 and go on to get a Masters of Human Resources. One day, she hopes to found her own nonprofit organization.
