"I have AIDS... can you help me out?"
These words were uttered to me by a beggar with dilated eyes looking to pay for his prescription at the local pharmacy. He was young and nontheatening, so I happily approached him and offered him a cup of coffee and a listening ear. Limping along, the young teenager, Nestor, followed me to a nearby coffee shop. Tales of death, loneliness, heroin addiction and despair soon followed. It seemed unfathomable that such a young boy, only two years older than me at the time, had experienced what was probably a lifetime of hardships. Things that I had only heard, certainly never encountered. He lifted his jeans, revealing the cause of his limp: an infected, fetid leg caused by his constant injection of heroin.
Try as I may, I am unable to forget this otherworldly and ghastly image; his physical and emotional pain was tangible. His light green eyes evoked nothing more than sadness. A strange uneasiness ensued after my encounter with Nestor, the devastating sight that I beheld first hand that day served as a catalyst for change in my life, something had to be done; like Nestor's festering infection, my newly found passion for aiding these unfortunate people continued to blossom and grow.
A year later, while still engaged in volunteerism, a sense of restlessness took over me. My previous volunteering, while valuable, did not have the impact I had hoped for; it wasn't enough. The only way to satisfy this burning desire to aid the homeless was to take a post-graduate year. College had to wait. I decided that my life here in Puerto Rico would not be complete unless I somehow gave aid to my brothers and sisters suffering in the streets. With Nestor's gloomy glare still fresh in my mind, I contacted Iniciativa Comunitaria ("Community Initiative"), a well-respected, nonprofit organization that shared my goal of giving life necessities to those who had none as well as helping struggling drug addicts get sober.
Though I never saw Nestor again, his memory remains in my mind as I set out on my quest of improving the lives of my fellow Puerto Ricans in the streets. Soon after, I eagerly began handing out plates of hot rice and beans to beggars in the impoverished streets of Viejo San Juan. Amongst these beggars, a frail middle-aged man approached me and impatiently requested food. Since it was clear to me that he hadn't eaten in a long while, I served him two complete plates of rice and beans and wished him luck. As he returned to the street he called a home, he turned to me and bitterly said, "I don't need your pity...".
On my way back home after a long day of serving food to the homeless, I found the same bitter man nibbling on the plate of food I had given him hours earlier. I sat next to him and, though he was apprehensive at first, we began talking. I saw Nestor's sad glance within his eyes; I learned that this man, Rafael, had lived in the streets for nearly ten years after having lost all contact with his family due to his involvement with less than reputable characters in those very same streets. Much like Nestor, Rafael also suffered from incredibly debilitating heroin and cocaine addictions. He continued speaking, decribing his wanting to end his addictions. Recalling the extensive rehabilitation program offered by Iniciativa Comunitaria, I assured him that help was within his grasp.
In the intervening weeks, I befriended Rafael and learned more about his unfortunate life and his great love for his young daughter. Nonetheless, he was still reluctant, even offended by my offer to get sober. I couldn't give up on him, though. I knew that I had the opportunity of changing this man's life. I looked at Rafael's dark eyes, and I let him know that his daughter desperately needs her father back in her life. A lone tear ran down his cheek; however embarrassed he may have been, Rafael smiled. I had finally coerced him to change his life for the better.
Months later, I was reunited with Rafael, a now clean-cut, sober man ready to start his life anew. He had also gotten in contact with his estranged family. Seeing the success obtained by Rafael, I asked myself, did Nestor endure the unfortunate fate that his addiction was undoubtedly going to bring upon him? Did he die of AIDs?
Rafael is one of the few that regain their lives after addiction in Puerto Rico. Knowing that I've helped Rafael improve his life, I can't help but wonder how many other lives I can touch.
These words were uttered to me by a beggar with dilated eyes looking to pay for his prescription at the local pharmacy. He was young and nontheatening, so I happily approached him and offered him a cup of coffee and a listening ear. Limping along, the young teenager, Nestor, followed me to a nearby coffee shop. Tales of death, loneliness, heroin addiction and despair soon followed. It seemed unfathomable that such a young boy, only two years older than me at the time, had experienced what was probably a lifetime of hardships. Things that I had only heard, certainly never encountered. He lifted his jeans, revealing the cause of his limp: an infected, fetid leg caused by his constant injection of heroin.
Try as I may, I am unable to forget this otherworldly and ghastly image; his physical and emotional pain was tangible. His light green eyes evoked nothing more than sadness. A strange uneasiness ensued after my encounter with Nestor, the devastating sight that I beheld first hand that day served as a catalyst for change in my life, something had to be done; like Nestor's festering infection, my newly found passion for aiding these unfortunate people continued to blossom and grow.
A year later, while still engaged in volunteerism, a sense of restlessness took over me. My previous volunteering, while valuable, did not have the impact I had hoped for; it wasn't enough. The only way to satisfy this burning desire to aid the homeless was to take a post-graduate year. College had to wait. I decided that my life here in Puerto Rico would not be complete unless I somehow gave aid to my brothers and sisters suffering in the streets. With Nestor's gloomy glare still fresh in my mind, I contacted Iniciativa Comunitaria ("Community Initiative"), a well-respected, nonprofit organization that shared my goal of giving life necessities to those who had none as well as helping struggling drug addicts get sober.
Though I never saw Nestor again, his memory remains in my mind as I set out on my quest of improving the lives of my fellow Puerto Ricans in the streets. Soon after, I eagerly began handing out plates of hot rice and beans to beggars in the impoverished streets of Viejo San Juan. Amongst these beggars, a frail middle-aged man approached me and impatiently requested food. Since it was clear to me that he hadn't eaten in a long while, I served him two complete plates of rice and beans and wished him luck. As he returned to the street he called a home, he turned to me and bitterly said, "I don't need your pity...".
On my way back home after a long day of serving food to the homeless, I found the same bitter man nibbling on the plate of food I had given him hours earlier. I sat next to him and, though he was apprehensive at first, we began talking. I saw Nestor's sad glance within his eyes; I learned that this man, Rafael, had lived in the streets for nearly ten years after having lost all contact with his family due to his involvement with less than reputable characters in those very same streets. Much like Nestor, Rafael also suffered from incredibly debilitating heroin and cocaine addictions. He continued speaking, decribing his wanting to end his addictions. Recalling the extensive rehabilitation program offered by Iniciativa Comunitaria, I assured him that help was within his grasp.
In the intervening weeks, I befriended Rafael and learned more about his unfortunate life and his great love for his young daughter. Nonetheless, he was still reluctant, even offended by my offer to get sober. I couldn't give up on him, though. I knew that I had the opportunity of changing this man's life. I looked at Rafael's dark eyes, and I let him know that his daughter desperately needs her father back in her life. A lone tear ran down his cheek; however embarrassed he may have been, Rafael smiled. I had finally coerced him to change his life for the better.
Months later, I was reunited with Rafael, a now clean-cut, sober man ready to start his life anew. He had also gotten in contact with his estranged family. Seeing the success obtained by Rafael, I asked myself, did Nestor endure the unfortunate fate that his addiction was undoubtedly going to bring upon him? Did he die of AIDs?
Rafael is one of the few that regain their lives after addiction in Puerto Rico. Knowing that I've helped Rafael improve his life, I can't help but wonder how many other lives I can touch.
