Exactly a week ago, our group of twelve was meandering the streets of D.C., looking for some dinner around Georgetown, having just completed our first day of service.
That morning, my group, the red group, had gone to S.O.M.E. (So Others May Eat), where we helped prepare the dining room for the people who would be coming in for lunch. There were two rounds of lunch, each about a half hour long-- in total, we fed about 450 people in the span of an hour.
I stood by the door, hair net, gloves, and all, at the end of the long table on which the plates were being assembled. At the other end, an elderly woman took each empty plate and passed it down the table, as the plate was filled with pasta, vegetables, bread, and cookes in succession, and then given to me by another high school boy who was volunteering. The table space in front of me quickly diminished as the other volunteers were loading the plates very efficiently. However this problem was soon solved, as the people began to pour through the door and receive the plates I handed to them.
The most amazing part about this experience, and the reason I loved this day so much, was because of the variety of faces I encountered. Although each interaction was only for a few moments, each interaction was so unique that the plate-handing literally never got monotonous. Saying "you're welcome" and smiling 450 times never seemed so un-methodical. Each encounter was truly something different to look forward to.
There were some who smiled at me broadly, took the plate, thanked me, and walked on. There were some who would not lift their eyes from the floor, but mumbled a soft but unforgettable thanks as they trudged on to a table. There were some who stormed into the place, took their plate with purpose, and moved on. Simply by noting the way each person entered, looked at me (or didn't), received his or her plate, and walked towards the tables, I felt that I was able to understand a small part of each person's story, without asking.
These small, transitory, but unforgettable connections were what made our work last week the most memorable for me. On Tuesday, when YSOP (the group which assigned us our service sites) hosted a dinner for walk-in guests, either homeless and/or hungry, we were able to interact with our guests in a way that was priceless for both sides. I talked to one man for nearly half an hour, or rather I listened to him for half an hour, as he recounted to me the amazing story of his life thus far.
"How old do you think I am?" he asked me with a smile.
"Um..." I didn't want to offend him.
"Come on, take a guess!"
"Okay," I said. "35?" Seemed like a safe guess to me- and besides, he didn't look too old anyway.
He grinned. "Gonna be 53 soon!"
He told me how he hitch-hiked from D.C. to L.A. twice during his life, because he "wanted to see how the pioneers did it." He told me that he jumped onto freight trains, stopped in the most random parts of the country on his journey. "So much unused land out there, it's unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "And here we are, all squished together, no space to move. Crazy."
He told me about his family. His siblings, with a pained expression, he explained were not that close to him. He told me how it had taken him months to find out where his mother lived, and was only reunited with her when he was notified that his father was dying. He started rummaging through a little cloth purse hanging around his neck, and drew out all the articles clearly most precious to him, including his license and a picture of him and his nephew, and eagerly began to show them all to me, telling me all the stories that accompanied these momentos.
To say that listening to all his stories inspired me, broke me, and touched me, would not really begin to cover it. What struck me the most, more than any of his actual stories, what how all the anecdotes of his life thus far just poured out of him for me to hear. The stream of consciousness, that clear connection with someone you barely know- that's what I really appreciated. I didn't contribute much more than Wow's and nods to the conversation, being so busy listening to his tales, but I could tell how much a pair of ears meant to him. I wonder when was the last time he told his story to someone. I wonder how many stories like that remain untold because there's no one to share it with.
I put a picture of the Washington Monument here because I found that throughout our stay in D.C., either my mind or my eyes kept drifting back towards it. Something about it moved me, seeing it up close, its height, the grandeur of its size and yet its beautiful simplicity. In it, I saw the idea of rising high, simply but unmistakably, up to the sky. Seeing something, and reaching for it, without wavering. And always standing tall for what you believe in, and surrounding yourself with what has led to you to the top, and never taking your eyes off of what you desire.
-Mohini
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