2 November — I've never been someone who was naturally interested in history.
Growing up, I would always be easily distracted and lose my attention
when stumbling upon random facts or reading captions at history museums.
If the topic or period was not related to me, my country, or my
interests, then what was the point? My category of "relevant" was very
limited, confined to what I thought "everyone has to know" and what
little caught my attention. And unfortunately, I wouldn't be honest with
myself if I didn't admit that this attitude has carried on into my
present.
Sure, my understanding of what is
"relevant" has expanded. Not only have I learned the value of other
aspects of my identity but I have understood the relevance of
understanding those of others. Moreover, understanding how we
understand history is something I have recently adopted into how I learn
about the past, as it is a constant talking point at my history
seminars at Queen Mary. Nonetheless, I still need to affix a clear
purpose to my study of a certain historical period, event or figure.
Because
of this mindset, I often find myself struggling to relate things back
to a purpose. Unfortunately, knowledge is often the means to an end,
rather than an end in itself. There is also a clear expectation in my
mind about finding something in history that other disciplines cannot,
as though the discipline was a wise elder from whom I demanded answers
to questions about the chaotic and the dumbfounding aspects of our
present. But, the way in which we have been learning about London have
sparked a kind of new attitude in me.
I
realized this change in perception just fairly recently. Just today, while waiting for the bus, I
asked myself “Why did I find history to be boorish at times? It's
literally the compilation do the stories of people and places!” What the
historian does is something fascinating, a systematic mapping of the
stories of humanity and the world.
I can
characterize these past few weeks of history lessons as a process of
patient discovery, attentive listening and careful observation. Walking
through the streets of London has turned somewhat into detective work
for me, an exercise of careful observation and purposeful imagination.
Sure, it's impressive to gaze at the grace and beauty of Westminster
(which, I'm not gonna lie, is one of the most beautiful pieces of
architecture I have seen) or to stand on the Prime Meridian at the
Greenwich Observatory, but it is through the less obvious discoveries
that I find myself appreciating history for the sake of the subject
matter. To try to imagine what the little street, on which the Great
London fire started, would look like back in 1666. Or to fathom the many
phases that St Paul's went through to stand as it does today (it was
torn down and built around several times).
Today,
my walks and strolls in London are very different than from a month
ago. My gaze sets upon more buildings, streets and alleyways. I find
myself asking questions not to know the answers relevant to my present,
but to understand the true nature of what surrounds me. To understand
London for the sake of London, which was surprisingly led me to
understand a lot more than what I thought I would.
—Emma Franco Ceceña