This past week, I've spent each afternoon painting the dormitory at the SEAM children's home. In the monotonous, buzzing heat, each brushstroke covers up more of the grime that has pressed into the walls. It's been four years since the walls were painted. Four years of dreams, nightmares, hopes and disappointments pressed by
small greasy hands onto the walls as the children drift to sleep in the almost
liquid, humid air. Four years of finding their way by feel along the walls in the middle of the night. Four years of balls bounced off the sides, leaving sticky Chennai dirt and city exhaust from the thousands of auto-rickshaws, cars, motorcycles and trucks that thunder past each day.
In the hours of painting, I've reflected on the past four years and the difference my first trip to India made in my life. It's been just a little over four years since I came to this country for the first time. I was abroad on the Global Semester with twenty six classmates, and I arrived with just under the acceptable weight of luggage and a heart ready to change forever in this hot, tumultuous country. I was slipping into love with Chris as we spent lazy afternoons talking about home and I was slipping into love with India as I watched children beg food and money from tourists on the streets of Mumbai and Bangalore.
Just like the walls at the dorm, I've painted India over many parts of my life. I've worked hard and saved money for two years to come back to this country where I've left pieces of my heart with all the children I've met. The family that has been working alongside me this past week leaves today and said goodbye to the children at SEAM last night. As the kids sang a song and thanked each person, tears came to my eyes, imagining the heartache of tearing myself from them next Friday before I head home.
As I continue to explore and try to understand the complex culture of caring for the orphaned and poor children here, I am continuously painting my life with their joy, their loneliness and their needs. Trying to put the needs of children here over my own desires in the U.S. is not always easy, but as I watch them scamper around playing cricket and jump-rope in their dusty courtyard and see their hard, hot beds and their soft, knowing smiles, my heart breaks and I know there has to be something more.
In the hours of painting, I've reflected on the past four years and the difference my first trip to India made in my life. It's been just a little over four years since I came to this country for the first time. I was abroad on the Global Semester with twenty six classmates, and I arrived with just under the acceptable weight of luggage and a heart ready to change forever in this hot, tumultuous country. I was slipping into love with Chris as we spent lazy afternoons talking about home and I was slipping into love with India as I watched children beg food and money from tourists on the streets of Mumbai and Bangalore.
Just like the walls at the dorm, I've painted India over many parts of my life. I've worked hard and saved money for two years to come back to this country where I've left pieces of my heart with all the children I've met. The family that has been working alongside me this past week leaves today and said goodbye to the children at SEAM last night. As the kids sang a song and thanked each person, tears came to my eyes, imagining the heartache of tearing myself from them next Friday before I head home.
As I continue to explore and try to understand the complex culture of caring for the orphaned and poor children here, I am continuously painting my life with their joy, their loneliness and their needs. Trying to put the needs of children here over my own desires in the U.S. is not always easy, but as I watch them scamper around playing cricket and jump-rope in their dusty courtyard and see their hard, hot beds and their soft, knowing smiles, my heart breaks and I know there has to be something more.
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