personal narrative

Just so you know, I haven't forgotten about Mexico... haha. Here is the personal narrative I wrote for my English class. Some of the facts are a little exaggerated... Becky would know that didn't really happen like that. But... it's the thought that counts... haha.

Finding Myself in Service
I was just about to finish my first year of college. I found myself sprawled on my bed, staring blankly at the white dorm ceiling letting my problems consume me. This place had no redeeming value in my mind, not even the ceiling was appealing. As my “Back Home” CD played in the background, I thought about everything that was going wrong in my life. Between figuring out where my classes were, how to keep the peace with my roommate, and what I should do with my life, I would say that this was one of the most challenging years I had been through. To make matters worse, I did not do well in my classes, and I had just broken up with my boyfriend.
I needed an escape. I needed to be anywhere but the life I had carved for myself in the last year. While wallowing in all of my problems, I had thought several times that service would be the best way to lose myself. I figured it was definitely worth a shot. I figured leaving the country definitely could not hurt as I tried to remove myself from my seemingly dreadful life. I began my hunt for the study abroad of my dreams. I explored several different options, but none of the options that I encountered seemed to flow. I searched tirelessly and, seemingly with no prevail. After a long day of classes, I went online to look one last time at my options for escaping my life that I was tied to. “Please be anything.” I silently pleaded. After just a few clicks of the mouse, I found my dream study abroad. The bright colors of the screen glowed on my face. I could see it so clearly. I would go to Guadalajara, Mexico and study Spanish. In the afternoons I would serve at one of the locations that our director assigned us to. I knew I would work with little children. I had dreamed of becoming an elementary school teacher since I could remember. “This would be perfect!” I thought. Finally, there was a flicker of hope in my stormy life. It was the perfect service that I needed to lose myself, and my life.
My past still haunted me though. I was afraid that I would not be able to escape what I fought so hard to make disappear. The day finally came where I learned what service I would be assigned to. Our group of about thirty students sat in the hot, stuffy classroom of the local Mexican university. Our coordinator stood at the front of the room and called out different places and students that would work there. She listed so many enticing places to work, such as swimming with blind children. I leaned to my newly found friend, Becky, and shared my excitement. Clearly I would work in a place like that. I had swum on my swim team since I was twelve. I loved children and speaking Spanish. Nothing could be more perfect.
“Becky and Kayla,” our coordinator called, “You will be working with the blind children.”
I looked at Becky and smiled nervously. There were still open spots for working in other orphanages. I would surely work there.
“Stephanie and Ashley,” our coordinator called as she moved down the list, “you will be working in the orphanage.”
I sighed. I was starting to get really nervous. I didn’t want to get stuck in a service group that I didn’t want. I didn’t have too much more time to worry because the coordinator called out my name.
“Jessica and Ashley!” My throat closed up and I clasped my hands together nervously. “You will be working with the elderly.” My heart dropped.
I didn’t voice any of my opinions about working with the elderly when everyone else was working with children. I didn’t need to voice any of my opinions when the disappointment was evident on my face. I wiped my sweaty palms off on my shorts. I didn’t need to be nervous anymore. It was done. There was nothing I could do. After all, this was my reasoning for coming to Mexico. I was going to serve orphans in Mexico. I would love them and all of my problems would go away.
We got into a little van and drove to the rest home. As the van jumped around on the bumpy roads, I thought about my recent service assignment. I had nothing to offer these elderly people. I didn’t even know how to talk to elderly people. They probably wouldn’t even understand my broken Spanish.
We arrived at our destination. I reached for the gate hesitantly. I could not possibly do this. “Why had I even signed up to come to Mexico?” I thought bluntly.
I walked into a small room. The walls were bland and dirty. It was crammed with elderly people, and yet it felt so empty. A soft drone of a tacky program on the television played in the background. A clashing of forks and spoons being washed could be heard from the kitchen. No one spoke, except for one tiny lady in the corner. She rocked a baby doll back and forth. She cradled it with such love and spoke to it as she stroked its cheek. I realized that she thought it was real.
My eyes widened as I looked around the room. “When was the last time any of these people had been visited? When was the last time anyone had even talked to them?” I questioned as I studied the room.
I inched past the row of ladies in wheelchairs tied to the wall with bedsheets. My mouth gaped open at the scene. Their shoulders and necks hunched over from being pulled tight to the back of their wheelchairs. “Were they cattle? Was I seriously seeing people tied to a wall?” The scene seemed unreal. As I quietly scurried to a kind-looking lady on the opposite end of the room, I avoided any eye contact with these people tied to the wall. I couldn’t look into their eyes. Suddenly, one of the ladies that was tied to the wall reached out and grabbed my arm. I jumped at the sudden movement in the room. I cautiously turned my head to look at her. Her eyes pleaded with me as she croaked, “Get me out of here! Take me out of here!” I slowly nodded because I didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to say anything in Spanish. I didn’t know what to say in any language. I quickly broke my eyes away from hers and looked down at her frail hand on my arm. She continued to beg for help. I uncomfortably stammered a few words and tried to pull away from her. Despite her small and crippled looking body, her grip was tight and I could tell she was not going to give up easily. I crouched down and looked at her with a stronger gaze. She pleaded one last time. I looked deep into her eyes and saw so much sadness and fear. Her face was wrinkled with experience. Her beady black eyes pierced mine. She seemed so utterly alone. My eyes started to glaze over. I looked up to avoid the downpour that I was sure would follow if I didn’t fight it. I couldn’t believe I had ever thought that my problems were bad. I couldn’t believe that I had overlooked all of my blessings. Nothing could be as bad as this lady’s problems. Nothing. Tears easily ran down my face. I reached out to hug my new friend. I felt like my body engulfed her small frail body. I held her for a moment as I stared up at the ceiling trying not to cry. I whispered my promise to her that I would return the next day. I pulled away slowly and gave her a comforting smile. I tried to convey my dedication to the promise I just made in my eyes. She had to understand that I would be there for her. I had to return the next day. I was already learning to love people that I was sure I wouldn’t love.
As I was leaving, I stepped into the bright, Mexican sunshine. Maybe I wouldn’t lose myself in service, but rather find myself. I smiled faintly as so many thoughts ran across my mind. I turned to Ashley and nodded. I knew she was feeling things that I was. This would be the experience I needed and hopefully, my elderly friends would need.