As I waved goodbye to my parents and got in line for security at the airport, it was hard to distinguish my dreaming from reality. In part, this was due to my state of sleep deprivation, as I had long ago formed the unfavorable habit of packing at the last possible minute. But, in part, it was also due to all of the unexpected, new experiences that I would soon have to face alone. This was not my first time traveling alone, but it was my first time traveling alone internationally. Within just two flights and a layover, I would soon be separated from the comforts of speaking English for the next two and a half weeks. Little did I know, that would prove to be easy compared to what I would encounter.

At the end of my sophomore year, an opportunity arose to volunteer in a Chinese hospital — I could not resist.  But now it had arrived, after a 15-hour flight from Toronto to Beijing, and I was overtaken by doubts that cut far deeper than living alone in a foreign culture. My job as a volunteer would be to accompany children with leukemia and teach them activities, ranging from painting to planting flowers. How could I even relate to such tragic circumstances in a drastically different culture?  What if the kids don’t accept me? Or worse, what if they hate me for who I am?  Sure, I look Chinese from the outside, but living in America my whole life has created cultural differences that would not be invisible to them.

Yet I never doubted the profound significance of volunteering. The Fuwai Hospital in downtown Beijing, where I was to volunteer, was one of the best in all of China. A few years prior, one of the top doctors at the hospital had created a center for child patients that provides relief not only for the children but also their parents. The first of its kind in the country, the Fuwai center has since been the model for others that have been constructed all over China.  In order to continue running, the center relies heavily on its volunteers and donors, providing even more purpose for what I had traveled so far to experience.

I arrived at the center early on my first day, helping to set up before the first activity: an ancient Chinese calligraphy class. As the children — some as young as three and others as old as 13 — began to appear, one parent inquired where I was from, as I was a new and unfamiliar face. After I replied that I had flown in just the day before from the United States, she turned to her own child and exclaimed in Chinese, “After you get better and if you study hard in school, you can go to America one day just like her!”

I couldn’t help but feel naive. I had never thought about my residence in the United States in that way. I never had to work hard to get to America.  Attending a diverse school district ever since kindergarten, I have always been surrounded by children who were just like me: “first-generations,” or kids whose parents had immigrated to the United States before they were even born. Thus, I had never thought much of it. But for many of these patients and countless other children in China, my life was a dream.

Throughout my two and a half weeks at Fuwai, as I became a more familiar face, I began to connect with the patients and their parents alike on a more intimate level. One girl named Yue Yue stood out to me in particular. While she always walked into the center with a mask looped around her ears and covering her mouth, I was always able to sense her excitement through the way her eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners as she laughed.

I soon learned that her favorite day at the center was Wednesday, when the painting class was held. Each week, she updated me on the progress of her painting by showing me all that she had done during that Wednesday morning art session. By the conclusion of my stay, she had completed her painting, one that she had labored over at the center for the past five weeks. Intricate dots and vibrant brushstrokes filled the paper to depict a group of children enjoying the pleasure of a bright field of flowers. It was Yue Yue’s painting that truly put into perspective the significance of what I came to China to accomplish.

Since the hospital is one of the best for treating leukemia in all of China, many children and their families travel long distances to be treated there. As my newly-made friends at the center explained to me, some of the children only had one scheduled treatment per week but still had to stay in the hospital in the interim, as it was too difficult to travel back and forth. The Fuwai center was their only opportunity to continue the hobbies they had no choice but to leave behind at their distant homes. Even more impactful than the activities themselves, the center gave each child the chance to experience a sense of camaraderie. Each child at the center, while they varied in age and were at different stages in their life, had something to relate to, and together, it was all of them against leukemia. I was humbled, yet proud to have played a small role in such a noble undertaking.

On one of my first days at the center, it was also the first day of classes for two new girls, both around seven years old. However, they soon became inseparable, and when one girl took a break from her painting class to play with toys, the other would quickly follow suit. Often, towards the end of the day, the kids would not want to leave the center, just so that they could spend more time with the staff members and fellow patients that they had grown to love.

And yet, even though these kids had received so much from the center and its people, they were adamant that nothing in life would be handed to them. I soon became close with a ten-year-old girl, who was a regular visitor at the center, and one day she wanted to have lunch together. Leading me by the hand, she took me to one of her favorite restaurants just a short walk from the center. Assuming that I was to pay for both of us, I immediately grabbed the bill at the end of the meal. However, she suddenly stopped me and was insistent on paying for herself. While on a minor scale, this one instance was representative of the attitudes of all the children at the center. They faced every encounter with this same mature positivity and likewise didn’t want anyone to pity them.

However, the Fuwai center didn’t benefit only the children directly diagnosed with leukemia — it also helped to heal their parents. On weekends, the center’s staff would tend to the children while offering complimentary yoga classes for their parents. I was struck time and again at how the center benefited everyone who walked through its doors.

By the end of my stay, strangers had turned into close friends over the short course of two weeks, and I found myself dreading the thought of returning home. While I had initially come to China to help patients with leukemia, it was through my relationships with these kids that I truly grew as a person myself. Whether it was from bonding with the patients, their parents, or the other volunteers, each moment at the Fuwai center was an inspiration that continues to stay with me to this day. 

It was over a month after my return to the U.S. when I was surprised one afternoon by a WeChat notification on my phone. 

How did you do on your test?

Right before I left Beijing, I had added all of my newfound friends on WeChat, the leading social media and messaging platform in China. It lifted my spirits when I saw that the message came from Yue Yue. Knowing that I was scheduled to take the ACT once I returned to the United States, she had texted me from what I could only guess was her mom’s phone.

I smiled as I tapped send on my reply — I did well!  I miss you!! — knowing in my heart that she would feel the warmth of our bond even half a world away.