We as citizens walk the streets with the feeling of content with knowing that we live in a world where starvation, mass murders, and human trafficking occur. In order to insure that I get a good grade at the end of the semester for honors English, the students were asked to complete a service log by recording dates of volunteer hours that we have done for that semester. Since the assignment only required 10 hours, I went ahead and only wrote two volunteer dates, but secretly never recorded the third date.

On October 13, 2013, I was gathering all my necessities for the trip such as, a sweatshirt, extra gloves, and, of course, my cell phone. On the ride there, I attempted to make the time pass faster with some music. And as I’m stepping on to cracked asphalt, I then notice the nausea creeping inside me due to a horrid smell! The two story building was made of cracked bricks with what looked to be 10 feet mold growth on the side of the building. As I stepped inside, I immediately saw drops of water sprinkling on my cell phone screen. And as my eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the room, I noticed human beings with age groups starting from newborn to elderly, crouched over with damp clothing on their back, attempting to stay warm, I assume.

Newborn born babies in soiled diapers, pregnant teenage girls with loss of pigmentation on their sunken cheek bones, and parents who are witnessing their own children shake more and weigh less. As for us, we were all too deep into thought to even flinch. As we prepared the service line by placing all food out on display, lines began to grow longer. People came from every side. I remember thinking about the small portions, and what looked to be bland rice, or mashed potatoes, which began to make me feel nauseous. I then felt all the bumps raise on my forearms, these poor innocent human beings worry about when and where their next meal is coming from, and to think, I was so worried about forgetting my phone for a couple of hours. The nausea then subsided, and was shortly replaced with guilt, and a pinch of shame.

What felt like a decade, had now passed four hours which meant it was time for the ungratefulness to begin? As the door was becoming more and more crowded, I felt anger rise inside me, because of the fact that we all had a home, while all of these innocent civilians continue to live in a cold, dark tunnel. It’s not until I saw a young girl, sketching on a wet napkin, in which I remembered that this whole day was just for a grade. I couldn’t care less about the grade, all I wanted to do was try and find help for these people

The reason I never recorded this trip is because I feel that I shouldn’t benefit from leaving all of those cold, hungry, and sick families, there to suffer. This is not something that should only be done for a grade, it’s something that should be done regularly, out of kindness. I occasionally stop by every now and then. I am so thankful that my head cleared up and I experienced the raw, stone cold side of life. This, indeed, taught me to give more than I receive.