There I was. Inanimate, exhausted, hungover, lying straight on the cold pavement at the town hall square of Sabadell, under the pouring rain. My whole body hurt. A resting foreign zombie surrounded by my other co-zombies from all around Europe. Memories from the week before popped one after another in slow-motion before my eyes. Only a few days ago we met each other for the first time. Erasmus+ program summoned us, Bulgarians, Romanians, Greeks, Italians, Slovaks, Lithuanians and Spaniards, in this Catalan city to join our creative workflow and promote the rights of refugees among the local population via art and communication. On my way there I bumped into protests in favor of regional separation. “That`s the spirit!”, my national companion mumbled. That was before the real spiritual journey had begun, at the same square spot. Me and the others clicked with each other immediately. We went treasure hunting for peace monuments around town. We met local authorities and newcomer refugees and collected stories. We created social media pages of our initiative, we drew ourselves and spread info brochures. We exploded into a flash mob over the city streets. We painted a graffiti wall saying “Refugees, welcome!” in Sabadell center. But most of all we exchanged lighters and laughter, common words from our mother tongues and common memories with different lyrics. We set on a bench at night holding bottles of wine and built the common dream world of our imaginations. As if the Babylon tower thing never happened. We walked together and strived together, we shared our hostel and our meal and our clothes, but also our most shameful secrets and our most valuable ideas. We slept together, and made love to each other, and befriended each other, and loved each other. We never rested. A small piece of Woodstock and 1968 experience combined, custom designed for 30 idealistic millennials. Unexpected occasional visitors surprised us one night – a group of persons suffering from mental illness taking a trip around Spain accompanied by volunteers. Both scary and scared, they acted weird and a somewhat frightening, but their companions fed them, calmed them down when necessary, spoke with them and helped them go to bed. I realized we don`t treat disabled people the same kind way back at home and this was the true scary part. Our whole group remained quieter that night. Then we felt closer. We came here for the city awakening, but it turned out we were also the ones here to wake and to grow. When you`re embraced by such loving synergy, differences cease to matter. The existence of borders, separation and violence appears hard to believe. It seems like some cruel fantasy, that somewhere close, around the same globe innocents are trapped in the ominous grasp of war, tyranny and hatred. “But you see, it`s not me, it`s not my family, in your head, in your head they are fighting.” They did fight outside my head as well, though. And this is the reason why we were brought there to spread love and to recall what we value above any stereotypes, selfishness or propaganda. In this exact moment, at this this very town hall square, after another sleepless night at the bench, it felt like we`ve reached our limits. But it was already time to close the circle. Our final act was about to begin and the audience we invited kindly, yet firmly, online or in person, was waiting. All of us, zombies, had to come back to life and give a hell of a performance. We had chosen a song to present, addressing all Sabadell citizens and their guest starring fugitives. A song well-known, a song to promote peace and harmony. “Zombie” by The Cranberries. While the last drops of rain were cleansing the pavement, we sang our fears into hopes. Hundreds of locals sang with us, the sun came up. For a brief moment neither injustice nor despair existed in Sabadell. Three years after, war, both physical and hybrid, is not banished from Earth yet. We all need to sing together a little more, a lot more, all the time perhaps. Until we bring zombies back to human form and kill hatred with kindness.