“Why did I even volunteer?”I asked myself, hesitantly gazing out of the window at the scenery of countless homeless individuals. Piles of used plastics overflowing stuffed into a Fry’s cart, made me wanna look at it closer, so I rolled down my window. The unpleasant scent of spoiled meat, rushed into the bus. I closed the window out of disgust. The sight of tents made from smelly rags, looked as if the rain sprinkled once it would be instantly soaking. Gazing out the never ending scenery of homeless hundreds of experiences, which I had yet to learn from. Suddenly I caught myself occupied with personal moral concerns. “I am so privileged!” As we were waiting for the gate to open, smells of pee and leftover from weeks wafted across the parking lot, influencing me to make a disgusted groan. The fact there were more than hundreds camped outside, made me question how they all live there. I can't even handle living with my entire family, that consists of only four people.
Lindsey welcomed us into Andre House, I got these warm chills that reminded me of home and the feeling of walking into a typical family dinner late. She asked “if it was anyone's first time” with overwhelming anxiety and sticky floods of sweat rushing down my forehead, I raised my hand. The sound of pans clashing against one and other. The sound of knives dicing through the salad against the cutting board, caught my attention. “Would you like to help us” said this older women with silver white hair .The sound of elder volunteers offering you a seat across the room reminded me of my grandparents .Next thing you know I'm slicing fruits and vegetables double the size of my palms combined. The fact so many people had given up their free time for the line of hundreds of people waiting for food outside, made me teary for seconds. We all had incompatible experience of life, but we all had respectable perspective of making a difference for the neediness homeless. After Lindsey’s short speech, about Andre House’s purpose, “A house of hospitality,” I quietly told myself the reason I came. It was because I needed a reminder that the world still is a good place, but you get to choose. Passing out tortilla taught me of the courage that is required when a stranger “rejects free food.” I noticed their deep cuts on each crease of their hands, that told unimaginable, but brutal stories of where they came from. The Some women with rainbow polished nails grabbed the tortilla in such a hurry, made me wonder if they were rushing for food or to pass me.
The cravings of food they had was glowing on their smiles, effortlessly. Their intimidating “thank you” made me want to just keep passing tortillas out, as if I had eight arms.The priceless smiles I witnessed were brighter than a typical summer day in Arizona. “Thank you” vibrated across the lines, as if I'm a celebrity signing autographs. Unlike a celebrity’s reason to be liked, I felt like a hero in reality. This women with excessive amount of makeup, caked.The number of blessings I got while standing with tortillas on my hands, were beyond what I deserved or imagined. This small woman came, I believe her name was Miss Wuo or something like that. Her shortage of height told the old age, instantly. From her unsettled response when I asked her if she needed help. Her little eyes elegantly elaborate her discomfort of socializing with others. To talk to her is to make her uneasy, to walk away from her is acting rudely, and to wait for her to open up is being reverent of her decision. I’ve so heard only a “thanks” and have seen an anxious nod. In hope of wanting to hear her story, I volunteer at Andre House as often as I can.