Personal Narrative: My Trip To Guatemala

"¡Recógeme!" the child babbled, looking up at me with imploring dark eyes. I glanced apologetically at a worker standing nearby. “He wants you to pick him up,” she said in thickly accented English, and I looked down at the little boy as he reached towards me with eager hands and a beguiling smile. Spit dribbled from his mouth, his clothes were streaked with brown (hopefully dirt), and the remnants of his last meal caked tellingly on the corners of his mouth. Flustered and uncomfortable, I mummered, “I have to go,” and walked out the door into the bright, Central American sunlight. Affection has never been hard for me. I hug my friends and obligingly kiss my grandmothers. But until my trip to the Agua Viva Children’s home in Guatemala, I did not realize how expressing love often requires self-sacrifice. The boy’s name was Enrique. After his mother died and his father severely beat him, he was tossed into the orphanage. His days were filled with circadian monotony, and when a tall, lanky American came to visit, he extended his arms for a simple hug. And I walked away. Now I know the importance simple actions hold. Even when the bubbling saliva and stained clothes of an active toddler cause discomfort, the right thing to do is silence your squeamishness and reciprocate the offered love. On the returning plane ride, I sat looking at a picture of

The day of the competition, I awoke at 3:00 AM with a sore throat and chills. My neck throbbed painfully and my body shook. I reached for the phone to call my coach, but before I could dial, I realized that as one of the most experienced debaters, my teammates were looking to me for guidance. It was the first time debating for several students, and if I did not go, they would be even more nervous. So with an achy, trembling body, I put on my suit, tied my lucky green tie, and headed to the