Adios

            At first she was an enigmatic creature. But, by catching her off-guard with my Spanish and incessant wandering throughout her puzzling streets, I have broken through the maze of Cusco. The dim alley lamps, cobblestone roads, clay roofs, plazas, fountains, and cathedrals have been embedded in my brain. Host family members, fellow travelers, Spanish teachers, and the orphans have been embedded in my soul.

After two weeks of volunteering, I have put in forty hours of work—work being the worst term to describe my time with the kids. Two days ago, the last day with los ninos, I felt that I was finally able to connect. Through my persistent reminding of their possibilities, they have begun to see it plausible to swipe away the black shadow in front of their bright futures. My favorite kid of the group, a defiant eight-year-old named Carlos, told me that one day he would visit me in Los Angeles, as a business man, and would bring me Hot Wheels—the blue carrito I gave him clutched in his right hand as he assured me of his plan. To see through the perspective of Peruvian children who have nothing but hope, no guidance throughout the large, mysterious world around them, has made my life in Monterey Park (with a cell phone, computer, new car, Playstation 3, and a flat screen TV with High Definition) seem so privileged. Give, give, give, and give, I kept telling myself on this trip. To the children I gave toys, candy, and, most importantly, my friendship. They may grow out of the toys, and gobble up the Crunch bars in record time, but they will always have my amistad—as I will theirs.

Thank you to Cusco, Peru and everybody I have met along the way.