My mother has always told me "벌새가 되야한다 (You must be a hummingbird)." She told me a story since a young child about a hummingbird who lived in a forest where there once broke out a large forest fire. All creatures, large and small, ran, galloped, slithered, swam, and hopped in the opposite direction to flee from the fire, all but one - the hummingbird. She fluttered in a different direction from all others towards the river where she , with her tiny beak, fetched few drops of water, and quickly headed towards the fire, despite her fears. All others stopped in surprise as they watched her pour the water out of her beak onto the flames and repeat the process. They all laughed at the silliness of her efforts, discussing the absurdity of her purpose. However, the hummingbird replied: "My beak may be small. I may not be able to put out this fire alone. But I'm doing the best that I am capable of."
Watching the news rolled up in the corner of my sofa, I watched innocent lives being vanished off the face of the Earth in the waves of Hurricane Katrina on August 26, 2005. More than 1,836 people died and property damage was estimated at $81 billion. People had not only lost their belongings but their home, their families, their future. Four years later, no one seemed to even remember that there was such an event; life moved on for all but those affected. For them, time had stopped on the 26th of August. It was, then, that I finally took a dive to directly help families in New Orleans who have been left behind.
I didn't know what to expect when I landed in Louisiana. I knew to expect the discomforts of humidity, but otherwise I did not feel completely prepared to experience first-hand the grief and destruction that has already successfully broken far too many hearts. My concerns didn't end with mental preparation; I have participated in the Atlanta 6K Marathon and the colorguard varsity 8-hour practices under the scortching sun, but never had I used a hammer in my life. With hesitation, I convinced myself, "It can't be too hard to build three houses! A few walls with some windows here and there in between. A front door perhaps." I met the other students, all around my age, here for the same purpose with the same curiosity and fear. We had all been selected by Habitat for Humanity from across the United States, twelve in all, to receive full scholarship to together complete a mission to build three houses. Our first destination was downtown New Orleans. There was no hammering, measuring, caulking, and painting, none of that yet, but with appreciative smiles, the locals gratefully thanked us, recognizing us by our blue shirts that made our purpose of our stay obvious. It meant more than an average thank you, and we haven't even begun to help them yet. In the backseat of our van, the twelve of us became close friends as we sang and danced in unison to the radio being blasted with the windows down. The start of the trip was almost like a vacation, an overnight camp without the parental supervision.
In the afternoon heat, we saw the unfinished work. Allison, the driver, turned to Teresa and Ryan and asked, "Should we show them?" They nodded rather hesitantly, and the twelve of us became tense. Allison pushed the radio knob off. We all knew it was time to stop the failed attempts to perfect the harmonies of Vanessa Carlton's "A Thousand Miles." Across the Mississippi River and into the Ninth Ward, we passed the street covered with rotting paint, shattered glass, and weeds. The twelve of us rode past the outskirts that we knew held a story of enduring past. The remnants of the hurricane and death still lived on after four years. The wooden boards covered what used to be the window watched, a door entered, and a garage closed. I remained in shock for something more terrible than the damage left. The slashed "O's" and "X's" haunted me, or perhaps it was the numbers. The "O's" represented a clear. On one apartment complex, I saw a large "X", and a circled "15" which respectively meant Death and the number of corpses found. The fragility of life, easily shown, lay there by the displacement of black spray paint. Green light: we moved on and I looked back to see life determined by sprayed markings and real people tallied up to become merely numbers; the number in which could have been the twelve of us plus my family members. My sudden awareness was like a settlement of particles in murky water turned clear. The black markings, clouded like the future may be, revealed the brevity and vulnerability of my existence. The car was dead silent, but the extremities of my existence screamed the realness of my life, the final breath, that could potentially be stripped away. The perspective of my life for seventeen and a half years changed within that moment. The paint marked my heart forever as a constant reminder for the people who I continue to serve, past or present.
Seven days it might have been, but immeasurably did we grow together and eternal our friendships would become. The tangibility of our kinships was unbelievable, but even more was our job to be done that week. We did not build the typical science project to temporarily submit, grade, and toss. We built a house to resurrect the meaning of a home. We hammered the nails of support; we climbed the ladders for a roof needed to be rebuilt, and we listened to the stories of our prospects, like Joy who after Katrina had only the items in her car and her daughter left. What might have just seemed like an altruistic duty became a willing obligation when we were one with a community. Alex, Lauren, Natalia, and I looked at each other. By the end of the week, we understood our lifelong mission without needing a word.
Along with my now faded habitat for Humanity t-shirt, this experience amplifies the call of need. As long as the call echoes, regardless of how small my beak may be, I - an individual learner, a believer, a hummingbird - will persistently respond.
Watching the news rolled up in the corner of my sofa, I watched innocent lives being vanished off the face of the Earth in the waves of Hurricane Katrina on August 26, 2005. More than 1,836 people died and property damage was estimated at $81 billion. People had not only lost their belongings but their home, their families, their future. Four years later, no one seemed to even remember that there was such an event; life moved on for all but those affected. For them, time had stopped on the 26th of August. It was, then, that I finally took a dive to directly help families in New Orleans who have been left behind.
I didn't know what to expect when I landed in Louisiana. I knew to expect the discomforts of humidity, but otherwise I did not feel completely prepared to experience first-hand the grief and destruction that has already successfully broken far too many hearts. My concerns didn't end with mental preparation; I have participated in the Atlanta 6K Marathon and the colorguard varsity 8-hour practices under the scortching sun, but never had I used a hammer in my life. With hesitation, I convinced myself, "It can't be too hard to build three houses! A few walls with some windows here and there in between. A front door perhaps." I met the other students, all around my age, here for the same purpose with the same curiosity and fear. We had all been selected by Habitat for Humanity from across the United States, twelve in all, to receive full scholarship to together complete a mission to build three houses. Our first destination was downtown New Orleans. There was no hammering, measuring, caulking, and painting, none of that yet, but with appreciative smiles, the locals gratefully thanked us, recognizing us by our blue shirts that made our purpose of our stay obvious. It meant more than an average thank you, and we haven't even begun to help them yet. In the backseat of our van, the twelve of us became close friends as we sang and danced in unison to the radio being blasted with the windows down. The start of the trip was almost like a vacation, an overnight camp without the parental supervision.
In the afternoon heat, we saw the unfinished work. Allison, the driver, turned to Teresa and Ryan and asked, "Should we show them?" They nodded rather hesitantly, and the twelve of us became tense. Allison pushed the radio knob off. We all knew it was time to stop the failed attempts to perfect the harmonies of Vanessa Carlton's "A Thousand Miles." Across the Mississippi River and into the Ninth Ward, we passed the street covered with rotting paint, shattered glass, and weeds. The twelve of us rode past the outskirts that we knew held a story of enduring past. The remnants of the hurricane and death still lived on after four years. The wooden boards covered what used to be the window watched, a door entered, and a garage closed. I remained in shock for something more terrible than the damage left. The slashed "O's" and "X's" haunted me, or perhaps it was the numbers. The "O's" represented a clear. On one apartment complex, I saw a large "X", and a circled "15" which respectively meant Death and the number of corpses found. The fragility of life, easily shown, lay there by the displacement of black spray paint. Green light: we moved on and I looked back to see life determined by sprayed markings and real people tallied up to become merely numbers; the number in which could have been the twelve of us plus my family members. My sudden awareness was like a settlement of particles in murky water turned clear. The black markings, clouded like the future may be, revealed the brevity and vulnerability of my existence. The car was dead silent, but the extremities of my existence screamed the realness of my life, the final breath, that could potentially be stripped away. The perspective of my life for seventeen and a half years changed within that moment. The paint marked my heart forever as a constant reminder for the people who I continue to serve, past or present.
Seven days it might have been, but immeasurably did we grow together and eternal our friendships would become. The tangibility of our kinships was unbelievable, but even more was our job to be done that week. We did not build the typical science project to temporarily submit, grade, and toss. We built a house to resurrect the meaning of a home. We hammered the nails of support; we climbed the ladders for a roof needed to be rebuilt, and we listened to the stories of our prospects, like Joy who after Katrina had only the items in her car and her daughter left. What might have just seemed like an altruistic duty became a willing obligation when we were one with a community. Alex, Lauren, Natalia, and I looked at each other. By the end of the week, we understood our lifelong mission without needing a word.
Along with my now faded habitat for Humanity t-shirt, this experience amplifies the call of need. As long as the call echoes, regardless of how small my beak may be, I - an individual learner, a believer, a hummingbird - will persistently respond.