What's wrong with the world, mamma?

The daily routine of me is not completely abnormal, but it is an undeniably lovely thing; a lovely thing whose vitality requires an iPod. It sounds superficial, or maybe even pathetic; but, the bottom line is that it's true. Music is like food for me: food of the soul. Like steak and red-jello with bananas in it.

Everyday, I walk to school through the faculty parking lot, up the South-of-campus-suicide stairs, around the Benson building, and finally, onto my classes. If I didn't have the company of souls such as Ingrid Michaelson, Matt Costa, Chris Brown, and Enya to accompany me on my hike to school each day, I am convinced I would never make it. Instead, I would be reported missing by my roommates (hours later) and be found slamming my face with delicious substances such as a strawberry cheesequake blizzard at The DQ. My scholastic endeavors would be, well, forgotten; and I would consequently become a hobo. Or possibly a hermit that does hobo-esque things for a living. I'm still deciding.

Anyway, today wasn't any different than my regular routine: wake up late, go to work, do work, go home, eat, walk to school.....
This is the point that I am going to pause the chronology of my day for the reason that it is at this point that I would like to be more specific and elaborate about the happenings.

I was walking to school. Walking. With my iPod. It was lovely. I reached the edge of campus, and was listening to a little Richard Marx diddy as I began to traipse up the suicide-stairs. As I neared the top and the road that passes behind the testing center/Benson building/other South campus buildings, the song ended, and I waited in high anticipation for the next one to come on.

(Interjection-- Really quick. You must know that my campus-iPod walk requires that my iPod is on shuffle. If I can predict the next song, I become introverted and depressed simply because I feel I have been denied a potential surprise. Okay. Back to my... writing...)

In perfect accordance to the time I crossed at the cross-walk, I hear the sound of synthetics, bass, and beat. I think to myself, "Impeccable." The song is currently (and has been since it came out) on my top ten favorite songs of all time. What is the song, you ask? Well, I shall tell you. The song was "Where is the Love" by the Black Eyed Peas.

Now, I know you are wondering why this is one of my favorite songs. At this point, I am choosing not to elaborate, and to simply forgive you for your blasphemies because 1.) It would take far too long to list all of the great qualities of that song and 2.) I shouldn't have to explain it to you.

Okay. Where is the Love. It came on.

As the beautiful lyrics of love and peace filled my ears, campus seemed to perk up ever so slightly. My ego centrism allowed me to believe that the entirety of BYU campus could hear the very same music that was pumping in my ears. Listening to the intro, I saw a boy walking towards with a strangely familiar rhythm in his step. The lyrics started, and surprisingly, he was rapping along with them. "What's wrong with the world mamma..." He finished the stanza, and my vision was directed to another girl, just to the right of him. She picked up where he left off without missing a beat. Then, the chorus came on. As it did, every single person walking between the SWKT and the Benson building simultaneously broke out in synchronized dance, and harmonized song. It was as if the whole world of BYU campus had the same vision of love and peace as I did. The chorus ended, and I could feel it was my turn this time. I picked up the rap, and motioned to my fellow musicians to follow me. We never lost the beat in our steps as we traveled from the SWKT to Brigham Square-- Me rapping the entire time. Once in Brigham Square, the song just seemed to build in both sound and intensity. Before I knew what was happening, it was completely packed, and every single person was singing, cheering, dancing, hollering, bumping their head to the music, or contributing to the great moment in some other way. I looked up, and somehow there were hot air balloons floating above us with messages of peace and hope written on the sides. The atmosphere was unbelievable, and I was in the very center of it all.

Then, the music stopped.

I opened my eyes, realized I was standing in the middle of Brigham Square, 5 minutes late for class.

A class that was all the way across campus: in the Benson building.

Standing in my solitude, I had one final thought pass through my mind before rushing across campus to class:

"Where is the love?!"

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