"Life is a process of letting go."

Day 1,460:

On June 26th, 2012 at 7:00 a.m., I started what I thought to be a two week trip that would transform me - but resulted in a 1,460 day trip that would carry me across the world, lead me to people of endless compassion, and ultimately awaken the epiphany of self realization.

Every last second swells with bittersweet fulfillment as I count down my final hours with CGA. Seeing as this is the final blog of a four year journey, I’m trying to find the long-awaited, savory words that have escaped me for years. Those words that would not only bring tears to your eyes, but would inspire passion and strike courage into your hearts. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are no words, no further points, and no last revelations that I haven’t already expressed. These four years have seen my highest and lowest points. I’ve already been redundant in saying how these trips have broadened my perspective and shaped me in numerous ways. However, for my last chance to relay what has been sewn into my very being by these experiences, I want to share my last revelations on a broader view.

No matter which country, in what condition, or what exactly my mission was, I’ve noticed the same, seemingly obvious yet overlooked trend. Every human, stretching from the mountains of Nepal to the beaches of Nicaragua and beyond, is united in our shared humanity. Whether we be from metal slums or from townhouses, every human on this earth wants happiness. We all want to be given compassion, and avoid pain. Every human wants to smile and laugh, and to be treated in a deserving way of what they are. human. Four years has given me time to learn to look past what is immediately seen, and to appreciate that we all have a beating heart under human skin.

What I always struggle with upon return to America reaches deeper than cultural shock. After weeks of serving and feeling useful, my simple American life leaves me with a hollow feeling, without fulfillment, without purpose. Until now, I often felt like I was living in my own shadow, and that life back home could not compare to my travels abroad. I was scared that my life had no powerful meaning. Through all this distress and doubt, I have finally understood that, if we choose it to be, life is never without purpose. I have walked foreign lands and have always observed fulfilling lives where it seems impossible. I can see now that a purposeful life doesn’t need to dominate the global stage, or move entire mountains. A life with meaning simply requires contentment and passion. It requires choosing not to exist, but to be truly alive. To aspire after dreams, no matter how small, and to take on each day with gratitude. I sincerely believe that a life with purpose can only be built on days filled with content.

Children’s Global Alliance has awakened me to a beautiful global community where we are able to harmonize as one, and that is filled with aspiration and purpose on every level. These experiences have brought me to the groundbreaking conclusion that I am a human with a purpose, and that purpose is up to me to decide.

"The reward of a job well done is to have done it."

My eyes streamed as I squinted through clouds of dirt and dust. My back and knuckles voiced their complaint as I carried piles of bricks to the ledge of the house, and wooden floorboards groaned beneath my feet. Despite the ache and somewhat lack of vision, I maintained my part in the assembly line: tossing useless bricks over the side of the house and into the empty streets below.

Because Deeya Shree is not open on Saturdays, we took our free time as an excellent opportunity to put some much needed physical labor into cleaning the collapsed houses that were spilling into the streets of a neighborhood in Bhaktapur. For hours we tore apart wood framing, stacked whole bricks, tossed the rest, and eventually managed to level two floors of a three story house (ceiling to ceiling.) The debris from our work swelled in the alley below, and clouds of dust settled in a grainy coat over my skin.

As I toiled, I couldn't help but visualize this situation as my own. With each brick I mangled from the walls, I imagined taking my home, the haven and sacred temple of my life, down. Brick by brick. I imagined ripping down the plaster and wood that sheltered me as I grew up, and holding years of those sacred memories in one hand. Then with a single motion tossing them into the heaps of rubble below, watching them shatter among the others. Brick by heart-wrenching brick.

Day 4/5

Returning after the school's one day break, Nicole and I taught in Class Three. There is no exaggeration when I say that patience truly is a magnificent virtue. At such a young age, and with such high levels of energy, Class Three pushed me to near limits. I marveled at the class's frustrating discrepancy of advanced understanding coupled with low tolerance for listening. Knowing that the students all understood what I was saying, but chose not to listen... Needless to say I have a great new found respect for my teachers. But this is not to say our day was a failure. While teaching did prove as a struggle, Nicole and I managed to reach the kids through certain lessons and activities. By the end of the day, Class Three had begun the process of viewing us as more than temporary volunteers, and valuing what we had to offer.

On Monday I made the shift from Chaotic Class three to tranquil Four. Throughout all our lessons the students, though with some incentives and reminders, worked avidly. Whether it be drawing a terrestrial animal or learning the ins and outs of microcomputer functions.

By lunchtime, the Class Four students had taken complete enthrallment in my blue eyes. Namrata, one of my tiny, incredibly cute students asked, "Why are your eyes so blue if mine are so black?"

"Because I'm magic!" I said, several children now poking at my eyes. They all stood back and laughed, and Namrata grabbed my hand, "If you are magic, you can make me tall?" I now show her magic every day by lifting her high into the air and spinning her around as she giggles, "Look how tall I am!"

Day 6/7

Tuesday, just like Sunday, had to be earned through tiring work, and pushed me to the limits. Nicole and I taught in Class Six (the oldest,) which consisted of four shy boys. Though it provided the same amount, if not more, of a challenge as Three, my struggle was rooted in their boredom. Granted, a lesson about the power and role of the Municipal in Nepal may not inspire the most enthusiasm, but we were still grappling for ideas. However, we refused to shut down, and never stopped.

Our class came through the most when Keshab spoke about morals. He was discussing hard work, preparation, and serving others when he pointed to us, "There are three hundred and eighteen million people in America," he told the four boys, "so why are there only two in your classroom?"

Today, we visited a sister school located in the outskirts of the city, nestled in foothills and towering forests. As we pulled into the open courtyard of the small, steamy school, it was the perfect stereotypical image of Nepal. The chipped, colorfully painted buildings residing comfortably among rolling green farms, cows waddling down the road, and domineering mountains bathed in vivid green.

Because we could only stay until lunch, we had the opportunity to play a version of duck duck goose with nearly all the students of the school. We formed a circle in the courtyard, and despite the blistering heat and my poor decision to wear a skirt today, we ran redundantly, trying to tag each other. The game lasted only a short while until before we split up once more to teach in the classrooms. Nicole and I went to class six, and immediately sparked excitement when we passed out colorful maps of the world to each table. Though we only taught two classes, the students remained lively, and were eager to drink in whatever we had to pour out.

Before piling back in the van to return to Deeya Shree, the students walked around with pens, asking us to sign our names on their hands. As I crossed the courtyard a young girl, not old enough to understand English, ran in circles giggling as I tickled her sides. We were flashed countless smiles as the wheels churned over dirt and we waved our goodbyes.

To switch up the usual schedule, I taught with AJ in Class Five. We came in time for two classes, and did not hesitate to teach long equations and the process of germination. I continued my tradition of magic with Namrata after school.

For the third time this trip, we traveled further back into Bhaktapur to Puniram's house, the beaming man who transports us around the city. With thunder storms hugging the dark sky, we began the process of uprooting bricks, collecting the whole ones, and disposing the broken. As we stacked and threw, my visualization of this as my own home was put into perspective as children brought down the house they've been living in for years.

Everyday I pass houses with crumbling bricks and walls slumping into their neighbors'. It wasn't until I stood in the mist of broken bricks and old furniture that used to recline in someone's home, that I truly realized the immensity of Nepal's situation, and how valuable our presence and work here is. Even if it is only brick by brick.

"The reward of a job well done is to have done it." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"If they think, they are right."

It could be the beauty of step patties spilling over lush hillsides, or the jagged, green mountains spanning as far as I can see through the low clouds, dust, and smog. But something in the wild streets of cracked, half collapsed brick buildings has completely captured me in the past forty-eight hours. Something that roots my soul and draws me in to this magnificent valley of spiritual sanctuaries and heart-stopping emotions.
But beyond the niches of elaborate goddess carvings and ancient doorways coated in burning sage, there are the people of Nepal. I've grown accustomed to the bewildered stares and looks of amusement that have followed me through previous countries, so it came as a pleasant shock when I was greeted with eyes filled with relief. People all throughout the city have stopped in their tracks to greet, and even thank us as we pass, bowing and whispering, "Namaste." As we were walking to the guest house on the first day, an elderly woman recited the usual greeting, then took my hand and genuinely thanked me.
It's impossible to not feel the powerful aura of unity and hope radiating from the people. In a time of crisis, power and pride for their country becomes the first resort. Instead of residing in fear, the entire population has fortified themselves and set to work rebuilding their land of beauty. From my balcony I can see waves of broken buildings, rising dust, and small tents housing multiple families. They may lose material possessions, but you are never without hope in this country.

Day 2:

Today was our first day teaching at the school, and it was beyond any expectation. Before arriving, we were briefed and inspired by the school's principal, Keshab. A magnificent man, and even better teacher, he shared his ground-breaking view on education in Nepal, and how he strives to provide his students with anything and everything they need to succeed. During his presentation, he explained that no student can be a bad one, and that there is never a wrong answer because, "If they think, they are right."
After our introduction, we took off down the rolling streets to the school, located on a hillside just beyond the slums. As if the heat and exhaustion from travel weren't enough, I was gripped with stage fright. I couldn't shake the fear of presenting myself as a laughingstock, and failing to provide the life changing experience every student deserves. But there was an energy emitting from the fifth grade classroom that drove me, and within seconds I became a passionate teacher.
Nicole and I were assigned to the fifth grade class, where we would at first observe lessons and then hopefully lead some of our own, while Kevin and AJ taught in the fourth grade class. Every student was bursting with energy the second we stepped in, and immediately welcomed us. To begin observing and taking notes, I sat on a bench nearest to the board, right in front of a young boy named Brijal. He was not hesitant to give me is name and ask mine in return, and his eagerness for the day to start was obvious.
Keshab instructed the class in an English grammar lesson, as Nicole and I took notes. Much sooner than I expected (and I'm not complaining), we were placed in front of twenty-eight eager eyes, and began our lessons. We built off of the textbooks the students had, and used them as references as we proceeded throughout the day teaching various subjects such as English, U.S. History, and astronomy. Despite their never ending, and extremely tiring, energy, the kids were apt and engrossed in every second. Whether it be new information or something they've rehearsed a thousand times over, they never missed a beat.
The school day, though tiring, flashed by in what felt like a heartbeat. As students poured into the fields back toward home, our Nepal team piled into the van to visit the house of a local man, Pouizam.
Before the earthquake, Pouizam possessed 3,500 chickens, and based his income on the selling of their eggs. There are only 500 left. The shake devastated not only his chicken farms, but leveled his home. He and his family now reside in a very small tent with three other families, where they sleep on thin mats and store what food they have in their old, collapsed homes.
Seeing this immense detriment, and how it has hindered the joy of a usually very altruistic man, we have begun making plans to help rebuild even the smallest aspects of his life.

The vast beauty and aura of Nepal, is unlike any other I have ever experienced. There is no language in which I can tangibly express the raw emotion this nation evokes. It is the most beautiful, sad mix of complex culture and ravished city. But despite the destruction, I have never felt any sense of fear or danger. In no way do I doubt these peoples' capabilities, and their passionate ability to rebuild everything they have ever known. I aspire in my entirety to be one more brick in the second rising of this awe-striking city.

Guatemala - The Sister of Nepal

         It only took one hour to drastically change my perspective about what I'm going to experience this coming summer.

         The movie Living on One Dollar tells the story of two friends in college who commit themselves and two members of a camera crew to living in the rural village of Pena Blanca in Guatemala for fifty six days, with a fluctuating income of one dollar a day. The documentary was created to shine light on the extreme conditions millions of people gruel through every day. To open our eyes to the intense need that is dwarfed and obscured by our plentiful and fulfilling lives that we so often overlook and take for granted. I have had first hand experience in witnessing this kind of struggle all over the world, but I still remain struck by one prominent feature - the acceptance of a predestined reality.

          Twelve year old Chino lives below the poverty line in Pena Blanca, Guatemala. To sustain his family, Chino's father, Anthony, holds a consistent job cleaning. However Anthony cannot provide for everyone on his own, and therefore needs Chino to work everyday farming on their small plot of land. The low income, divided among many people, along side the constant work, makes it impossible for Chino to attend school. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, the twelve year old boy who works every day simply said, "I will be a farmer." This one response took me aback, and sent me reeling. At the young age of twelve, when most boys are playing sports, attending school, and dreaming of being a football player or a doctor, Chino had already accepted his fate as a low-income farmer. The situation he grew up in had already chosen the rest of his life for him, and opportunity was a rare sight.

         If asked if I could live under these conditions, I could easily answer (though with some embarrassment) that there was no way. Families who had lived in such poverty for generations, and had grown up not knowing any other way, continued to struggle not only financially but emotionally each day. As Anthony said, they were, "not just struggling to make our lives better. We are struggling to survive." I know that if these staggering troubles and continuous pains are enough to break and daunt the formidable spirits of the people who have grown up with them, that I stand no chance.

         A part of living in poverty that makes it such a struggle, besides all the clear financial and nutritional troubles, is the education. Education, in my opinion, would be the most difficult part of poverty. Not only because there would be such a prominent lack of it, but because I would know that there are opportunities open, but only for those who attend something I could not. It would be heartbreaking to have hopes and dreams of a better future lying just on the other side of one boundary, but simply being unable to overcome it because of circumstance. A young woman, Rosa, in the documentary had to give up on her dream of becoming a nurse, because her family could not afford school.

         It goes without saying that I live a plentiful life with great ease, and take my advantage in life for granted all too often. Especially when compared to the Guatemalans. Though they have so little, they find the greatest happiness in giving all they can to others. They live in a community so tightly bound that survival is a group effort, and each family gives everything only to receive nothing. Each second is a prize and an opportunity for the Guatemalans, and that is something I have always tried to pursue.

         As said before, my perspective going into Nepal has shifted drastically. My hunger to serve and pour myself into the lives of anyone and everyone there has only grown, and time cannot move fast enough.

"Saying goodbye isn't the hard part, it's what we leave behind that's tough"

Day 10:

The best way to prevent yourself from crying before you even leave, is to distance your mind. Don’t focus on the fact that you know your heart will be broken in a few hours. Don’t look at your watch (you’ll realize how soon you’re leaving), don’t think about leaving, don’t think about how it’s your last day. You need to soak in every single last second, then pour your heart out in return. Any opportunity you see to do something, even the smallest thing, you take. Take every second and hold on to it for dear life, because before you know it it will be the next second, and the next, and the next, and the next… until suddenly you’re sitting in  your bed trying to put into words what just flew by at the speed of light, and all you want is to go back.

As I carried in huge boxes of dishes and spoons, a group of kids (including Kelvin) came out to help. We got all our supplies inside, then ran back out with soccer balls.

I was in a little dirt field surrounded by tall trees with Camryn, Kelvin, Yohana, and the five year old twins Meshak and Shedrak. For fifteen minutes straight, I played keep away with Kelvin and Yohana. We sprinted around the field, faking each other out, kicking up dirt, and screaming and laughing. The day hadn’t even started, and I was already out of breath. I didn’t mind though, because every moment was worth it. I was feeding off of the kids’ energy, and all I wanted was to stay in that moment.

                To switch it up, Jake and I switched stations, so I was now in gymnastics with Ansley and Makena.
We started off by stretching, but most groups ended up spending their hour doing handstands and playing games. It wasn’t until after lunch that Kelvin and his group came through our station. We lead everyone outside to a patchy little field.

Before starting any activity, we always say, “Make a circle!” and everyone holds hands and makes a circle. Today, whenever I asked to make a circle, two people would grab my hands. Then Kelvin and his best friend, Emmanuel (Emma for short [pronounced ‘Imma’] would yell at whoever was holding my hands in Swahili until they let go, then take their place. To be honest, I really didn’t mind it. Any opportunity I saw, I would grab their hands.

Their favorite game to play was called “groups”. To play the game, everyone runs around in random patterns, then the leader shouts out a number, and you have to make a group of that number. For example, if the number three was yelled, then I would grab two other people and cling to them. So as we played, Kelvin and Emma followed me closely (even though you’re supposed to spread out.) Then whenever Makena shouted a number, they would leap forward and grab me before anyone else could, wrapping their arms around my waist and holding my hands. My heart would race and my face would ache from smiling. I tried to hold onto them as long as possible until it was time for the next round. Another favorite was “What Time is it Mr. Fox”. Again, Emma and Kelvin would gang up on me and sandwich me from both sides.

Once the day had ended, it was time for our party. Rasta John came to be the DJ, and blasted a mix of incredibly loud Western and Tanzanian music. We danced, and danced, and danced. Grabbing hands, swinging kids, and singing along. It was a constant effort not to pass out from the immense heat, and to even hear each other after having our eardrums broken from the music. Benard, who had come for the last two days of camp, was in one hand, Kelvin in the other for most of the afternoon. Again, I didn’t mind the exhaustion. I was desperate to keep the time going. But eventually, as it always does, the music stopped – and my heart did too.

                The night before, we had made cupcakes and donation bags filled with clothes we picked out for them.

They left in groups, and each was harder than the last. Everyone hugged everyone at least three times, then walked away, heads down, clutching their new clothes.

                Kelvin grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug. We stood there for what I wish had been forever – but forever ends surprisingly fast.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Yes, I will miss you.” He said, looking up at me.

I went around the group, hugging everyone multiple times and saying our final goodbyes. Emma smiled as he hugged me again; we scratched each other’s backs and kept saying, “I’ll miss you. I love you.”

                Tears welled up in my eyes as I dragged my feet toward the car. Seven of us piled in, squeezing tightly together. The dam behind my eyes threatened to break, and burned my retinas. The gravel crackled under the tires as we pulled out of Maasai Camp for the last time.

It was when we passed Kelvin’s group one last time that the dam broke. Ben rolled down the window and we stretched our hands out toward the kids. Kelvin looked through the car and met my eyes. He flashed his beautiful smile one last time before he disappeared from my view and me from his.

The reason you refuse to think about leaving is not to make it easier. By no means should you ever close yourself off – that’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do.

I’ve always had trouble exposing myself to someone, and opening my heart. But it has come so easily on this trip. Every smile, hug, and kiss is like a key. Unlocking something inside me and opening my heart wider and wider. Each new child, bursting with energy, challenges me in so many ways. They challenge me to open up, to try harder, to give everything I can possibly give. Every face and name is burned into my brain, and woven into my heart like threads of silk. These kids have not just become new friends. They are family who have broken down my walls and built something beautiful with the rubble. They turn every second into a story to tell.

It’s because of the kids that my mind, heart, and soul are more open – and my life more beautiful.

Free

Day 5:

For the beginning of the day, we worked on reorganizing donation bags. The second half was spent at the Cradle of Love Orphanage. A large, extremely well kept facility housing around thirty infants and toddlers who have been abandoned.

Little feet waddled across the floor, and tiny hands grabbed my hair. For two hours, we fed, cuddled, and carried babies. One little girl named Witness clung to me for a good hour, spitting porridge on me and trying to suck on the strings of my hoodie. I danced around the patio outside with Witness, swaying and spinning her around. She often would stare at me and then say, “Datadadada,” which I would then repeat. I also walked around while clicking my tongue, which she enjoyed harmonizing with.

At the end of our visit, everyone gathered outside, babies on our hips, and watched monkeys swing from tree to tree. We piled into the car, our backs aching and our arms sore.

                                       

Day 6:

            Today was the day we started the athletic program for three orphanages. But instead of going with the group, I went on a home visit with Lisa Marie.

There is a young eleven year old boy named Benard who attends LOAMO school. Before now, Benard was working odd jobs, trying to help provide for himself and Aunt. His father had died and his mother abandoned him. A couple found him and offered to take him in and pay for his education, as long as he would “help around the house”. Benard has been a slave for the couple for two years now. Every morning, he would milk and feed the cows, feed the chickens, clean the house, and prepare food. Instead of sleeping in a room in the considerably large sized house, he would sleep in a small shack (no bigger than a dog house) out back. The couple not only forced him into labor, but would torture him every day.

Their intentions were to keep Benard as a slave and “pay” for his education for two years. By pay, I mean they have Maria (the head of the school) donate everything to Benard, and actually pay nothing. When the two years were up, they would tell Benard that he now owed them, and he would never be able to leave.

Social Services wouldn’t help (this happens all the time), and Benard’s two brothers couldn’t help. The only reason they never came for Benard, was because he was so determined to get an education that he would not leave the couple, who kept him in school.

So Lisa Marie made a plan for Benard to run away and meet us at LOAMO, where we would pick him up and take him to his brothers’ house in the slums about thirty minutes away.

            Lisa Marie, our taxi driver Bob, and I pulled into LOAMO. Benard stood a little ways away, with nothing but his clothes and a smile. The woman he had stayed with had taken his small box of belongings, thinking Benard wouldn’t leave if he had nothing but the clothes on his back. His mission was not hindered, he remained determined to start his new life.

We picked up Mr. Kimaro, a teacher from the school, with Benard, and began our project. A half an hour drive out of town brought us to the village where his two brothers, John and Rezeke, live. On the ride down, Lisa Marie asked when Benard’s birthday is. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. So we agreed that today, August 4^th, the day that Benard started his new life, was his birthday.

We found John at the restaurant where he works, and walked in the slums toward his house.

We walked through a creaking wooden door into an open space filled with clothes lines and multiple doors leading into different houses. We walked through another door leading to John’s house. The “house” was a single room, smaller than a common American bathroom. A twin sized bed (that John and Rezeke share) with a single blanket and no pillows was settled in a corner.

On the other side of the room in two corners were two piles of clothes (each only about two outfits) belonging to the two brothers. A miniscule burner, as well as a few buckets of water, were also placed in one of the corners. This is all they have. Not a single pen. No paper or books. Nothing on the walls or floors. The only “extra” thing they had was a box of matches on the windowsill.

No matter how few the possessions, the environment remained the same. For the first time in his life, Benard was in a home where he would be loved. No amount of pillows or blankets could compare to the life he was about to live. No bed or piece of furniture. No luxury or privilege. Absolutely nothing was needed in that house. Because there were three brothers who loved each other. Who fed, clothed, and hugged each other every single day. The feeling of a family radiated from each of them – and that’s more than any material possession could do.

We talked with John about the safety of the area, and he assured us that Benard was completely safe, and very welcome to stay. We also made a plan to go back into town and buy Benard a bed, sheets, a blanket, pillows, a uniform, a towel, and a mosquito net for his new home.

I have a newfound appreciation for one-stop-shopping. We drove all over the markets of Arusha, trying to find the best prices and best material. It took several different shops to find everything we were looking for.

We finally got back to the house with all our supplies. With the help of Mr. Kimaro, Lisa Marie, John, Benard, and me, we were able to assemble the new bed (with the help of some local welders, considering two of the parts didn’t fit) that we could fit between one of the walls, and the foot of the brothers’ bed. We went through a large donation bag for Benard, and had him try on new shoes, showed him how to use deodorant, and fumbled through all his new school supplies. Of the three pillows we bought (one for each brother), Benard chose his favorite.

Once finished with the bed’s assembly, the mattress, pillow, and blanket were fitted on (although the mattress was too small and we later had to go back into town for a new one.) Benard hastily climbed into bed. Wrapping the blanket tightly around himself. Benard’s first bed. It took us a few minutes to coax him out of the blanket enough to take a picture.

            Two years of waking up early. Two years of no bed, food, or clothes. Two years of torture. Two whole years of being a slave. And he’s finally free.

Free to sleep in and have a bed. Free to go outside and play. Free to go to school and study. Eleven year old, huge-smiled Benard, who had been enslaved and tortured for two years just so he could go to school – is finally free.

Day 7:

            Today was the second day at the athletic program (my first because the previous day I had spent with Benard.)

The camp is held from 10:00 to 3:00 at “Maasai Camp”, and involves around thirty children. There are four stations, gymnastics, soccer, dance, and boot camp. Sarah and I were the two leaders for the soccer station.

For the entire day, we played passing drills, teaching the kids different ways to pass. The four groups that rotated through brought new challenges each time: all the kids wanted to do was punt the ball or scrimmage. But as time went on, it became easier to easier to get control.

By the end of the day, the kids were all focused, and ready to learn more tomorrow.

Day 8:

            Today we continued working at the athletic program. Scott, Camryn, Jake and I left early to set up our stations at nine.

I attached one end of a square mosquito net to a clothes line with bobbi pins to make a goal, and laid out cones for different drills.

Throughout the day, the four groups of kids rotated through our stations, and Sarah and I had them practice their skills on juggling, tricks, and shooting. Every group was having a great time, until my second to last group. Everything was chaos for three kids, Caro, Vincent, and Brian. They were running away, punting the ball, and talking among themselves. By the end of the hour, we had them somewhat under control, but they left me exhausted.

            An eleven year old boy named Kelven has held my attention for the past two days. He tries his absolute hardest at every single activity, always wants to help me, and is an amazing soccer player. Always laughing and smiling, he chases the ball everywhere.

After camp and our end of the day meditation, Karlie asked all the kids to hug five people before they left. I stood up and immediately Kelven was in my arms .We hugged for a long time, until he finally broke away smiling and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Creating the Future

My mission behind everything I do is to help the less fortunate create lasting opportunities for themselves.

People are always coming up with new ways to help people, but I always see the same problem: the opportunities for someone’s future (if they are less fortunate) are extremely limited.
Extremely few children in the world have the opportunity to attend school. Even fewer receive an education that can provide a stable future for them and their future family.
If we not only change their education, but their passion, determination, and opportunity (their ability to get a job, provide, budget, etc.) then we can change their future.

This mission is not just something I dream about. At this very moment, I am putting my mission into action.

At LOAMO school, we not only taught, we encouraged the kids to always come to school, to try their best to become successful, and to reach towards a bright future.

My mission will not end when I step off the plane in Denver, or even years later. No matter where I go, there will always be students ready to learn. Even if they’re not in school, or are years older or younger than me. The opportunity to learn is always there, whether it be about education or simple human morals. I plan on always leaving a trail of learning far into the future.
However, the need for a successful future is not only found in the streets of Africa, the slums of Cambodia, or the schools of Nicaragua. All around the world, in every country, there are young students struggling.
My mission is not limited to any country, race, or religion. I plan to inspire education, passion, success, and a future in every child I teach.
Whether or not they’re struggling, live in America or Tanzania, are in elementary or college – I want to ignite a fire that will not go out. That students everywhere will become engulfed in an inferno that pushes them toward their dreams, and toward an improved future.

The world cannot be transformed into something harmonious and tranquil without the barriers of religion, education, language, or race, until we shape our future. No matter how cliché it may sound, the education and passion of our Now, will determine the world of our future.