The scene is set in Xela, Guatemala, where a teenage boy is sick of shopping even though he has thoroughly enjoyed haggling with store owners for lower prices. He has a plastic soccer ball in his bag that he purchased for 3 quetzal or roughly 38 cents.  To entertain himself he takes the ball out and starts juggling it. After he plays for a while, some local children come up to him and ask “podemos jugar?” The boy can speak about 3 words of Spanish and has no idea what the children are saying, but he infers from their gestures that they want to play some futbol. He says “si” and they proceed to show him where the goals are and sort out teams.

One goal was between 2 glass bottles, and the other was the bottom of a set of steps. The impromptu game goes on for a little while and the boy eventually learns how to say “here” in Spanish. As the game goes on, more and more local children join. Their enthusiasm was contagious as each goal celebration mimicked a World Cup Final. The teenager eventually has to depart and the local children realize that their fun is over. They hand the ball back to the teenager, but he immediately says in his newly acquired Spanish “aqui” and hands the ball right back to the kids.

Confused at first, the kids quickly realize that the boy is giving them the ball, and their faces light up with joy. They had never expected when the game started that they would be the proud owners of a soccer ball. Soccer is a game that can help cross many boundaries, such as language, age and race and the teenage boy received a small taste of its ability to cross these borders.

If you haven’t guessed by now, this teenage boy was me. This little exchange as a high school volunteer  had a big impact and broadened my perspective on the world. Coming from a comfortable existence in a suburban town in New Hampshire it demonstrated to me that material things are not that important. I saw how these kids who had next to nothing were much happier in life than people with all the money in the world. These kids with no shoes, or shirts played for the sake of playing. At the end of the day it didn’t matter who the winner was, they played their hearts out simply because it made them happy. They taught me to appreciate the little things and gave me far more than a 38 cent ball would ever be worth.

I’m not the kind of girl who devotes every waking hour to “the cause.” I shop, I waste time online, and more often than I’d like to admit, I sit at home wishing my life were different yet never seeming to do anything about it—or at least I did.

I wish you could have seen the look on my parents’ faces when I told them I wanted to spend $6,000 on a high school volunteer abroad program in the Galápagos Islands. First thing they said? “Well, it sure isn’t going to be our money that gets you there.” And let me tell you, it wasn’t.

At a very minimum, I spent twenty hours per week during my summer vacation babysitting to the death. I signed over every paycheck to a seemingly insatiable debt that was my trip. At times, I nearly became convinced that it had become nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Yet, somehow, nothing had ever felt so right. Even now, when people ask me why I decided to go on this trip, I find myself at a loss for words. Perhaps a story will do justice.

It was our fourth day on the Islands and a peculiar man named Jefferson had apparently requested that my group take the day off of our usual volunteer work and come help him instead. We were told that Jefferson was an employee of the Galápagos National Park and that he manned the enormous greenhouse that services the entire island of San Cristóbal. We learned that because of park budget cuts, all of the other workers at this greenhouse had been laid off. Jefferson had been left on his own to tend to and distribute the thousands of plants that were growing in that palace of a greenhouse.

That particular day, he needed us to accompany him to a place on top of an old volcano called El Junco Lagoon. We were to be planting seedlings of the miconia plant—an endemic species that had been nearly wiped out of the area by invasive plants and animals. When we arrived at the base of the trail, the weather was miserable. High winds, rain, cold, mud, you name it. As we hiked up, the conditions only got worse. Most of the group was put off by this and begrudgingly carried on up the slippery trail. I, however, could not seem to help the euphoric sensations that were erupting inside of me. I felt so lucky and humbled to be of aid to this man who was so clearly in need of it.

As we began our work, I quickly fell into a rhythm with José, the man with whom we were both living and working for the rest of the week. As he dug, I transported and planted the miconia, carrying more and more back with me with each trip I took to the receding bins in which the plants were stored. Somehow, I could always find my way back through the bushes and fog and there José would be—shaking with laughter with his goofy and nearly toothless smile at me, slipping and stumbling up the lava rocks to meet him. His absolute joy and determination made the hours pass quickly that day. I soon found that our time at the lagoon was almost over and we had even worked straight through the group’s designated break.

Rarely have I ever felt as in synch with a person as I did with José that day at El Junco. It amazes me even more as I recall that neither one of us knew more than a few basic phrases in the other’s native language. Though this must seem like a glaringly obvious barrier, at the time it could not have felt more insignificant. Indeed, there was next to no verbal communication between the two of us—or, for that matter, between myself and so many of the locals I met on the Islands throughout those two, sublime weeks I spent there. Despite this, these relationships that were formed through such bizarre circumstances turned out to be infinitely more deep and powerful than I ever could have expected.

I had found my cause. And that life I’d always longed for? I’m living it.

“Si.” That was my answer to any question that I didn’t understand. Incomprehensible questions came rapido because they were asked by Spanish speaking children who spoke too fast and mumbled their words. During three weeks in Costa Rica, I would say that simple little word countless times. Though I had five years of Spanish in school and what I thought was a proficient understanding of basic dialogue, I was quickly humbled and found myself relying on that one word: “S.i”

With my ultimate desire being to pursue nursing abroad, this summer I grasped the opportunity to work for Global Leadership Adventures educating young students as an avenue to help under privileged children. This experience provided me with an unexpected perspective, and in just three weeks made me realize how much I love making a difference.

When I walked into La Libertad, a one room classroom, I noticed it was too small for the number of students it housed. The first day was awkward; the few students that spoke did so only to others who were fluent in Spanish. Surprisingly, I felt expendable and slightly intimidated due to the inability to properly communicate. I was never in a situation where I solely had to rely on Spanish and I knew I was butchering their language. The turning point soon came: after a basic conversation, a couple of weird drawings, and a tickle fight, the language barrier started to breach but no fully apparently.
In Costa Rica I found myself wearing sunglasses as a necessity. Naturally when I was inside the children would find them and try them on. Soon a photo-shoot began. When a leader took out a camera, there would be a crowd of eager, young faces seeking out the lens. Most of the kids had not seen a picture of themselves before. One boy was Esteven, who I photographed wearing my aviators and his Top-Gun T-shirt. After I showed him the picture, he said something that made me believe it was a question. His eyebrows were raised and a smile stretched from ear to ear. I said “repita por favor” twice before I turned to my favorite word, “Si.” He walked away with the glasses tucked into his pants pocket. I slowly became aware that he asked for my glasses and I apparently said yes.
It took my interaction with Esteven to gain perspective on how difficult the inability to communicate can be. Children like him needed to learn English not as a extra-curricular activity, but as a necessary tool to better their lives.

Overall I had accomplished far more in three weeks than expected because I was a difference maker. Eventually, I want to make a difference in their health. Although it was a struggle, I was able give children the foundation for a priceless tool. Sure, I don’t have my favorite sunglasses anymore, but I have something better now- a passion for what I want to do for the rest of my life.

“I had set out to make a difference in the lives of others, but in the end, it was the Dominicans who made a difference in me.”

Regardless of my anxiety of not being able to shower, in the summer of 2010 I was fully ready to immerse myself in the culture of the Dominican Republic. I applied to and was accepted by Global Leadership Adventures, and was about to spend two weeks in the poverty-stricken town of Puerto Plata. I had set out to make a difference in the lives of others, but in the end, it was the Dominicans who made a difference in me.

Although the Dominican Republic is not as impoverished and uneducated as its neighbor Haiti, many of the places and people I saw still brought tears to my eyes. I never understood the meaning of hunger until I saw a young boy with protruding ribs fall over due to extreme malnutrition. I never understood the meaning of inequality until a young girl explained her only wish was to attend school, but her father would only allow the boys in the family to go to school. I never understood the meanings of strength and perseverance until a ten year old girl explained that the barrels of water she carries up the mountain everyday were not for her own sake of drinking uncontaminated water, but for her father to bathe in. Their substandard of living in an impoverished country is something I as an American could never truly understand. Yet, despite the hardships, the Dominicans are the most determined people I have ever encountered. Even though many are starving and the odds are against them, they still fight to gain a better life.

When I returned home my entire perspective on life changed. I took the skills and knowledge I learned in the Dominican Republic and applied it to my daily life through more teen volunteer work, school, and the local government. I took the issue that was the most important to me from the Dominican Republic, inequality in education, and applied it to my community. As a junior commissioner for the Status of Women for Sonoma County, I got the privilege to present my concern to the California State Legislature. I am currently writing a proposition through Global Student Embassy to get money to build schools in third world countries. I learned to fight for what I believe in, to make a better life for myself, and others, just like the Dominicans do on a daily basis.

It is difficult to understand how two weeks could change a person so much, yet I feel that my time in the Dominican Republic has set the course for my life. I now know that I want to join the Peace Corps, and have a career where I can make a difference in the lives of the less fortunate. The beauty of service work, of my experience, is learning that there is so much more to life than just the simplicity of living it day to day. I want to live to serve others.

“No gracias” we tried to tell the little Guatemalan boy after he repeatedly asked us to buy his homemade bracelets for fifteen quetzals.

“I give you for ten quetzal” he smiled, but with a look of desperation in his eyes.

“No gracias, we bought las pulseras yesterday.”

He understood, but he would not leave us.  He had been taught to follow around Americans because he knew they would eventually give in.  We saw many children with bare feet and raggedy clothes and would normally feel guilted into giving them a few quetzals, but this had already happened to us so many times that we were used to having the kids follow us around.

We thought we would escape him when we entered the restaurant to have dinner, but the boy followed us in there.  The trip leader mumbled something to him in Spanish, pointed to the door, and he quickly left.  We enjoyed our dinner without thinking about the boy again, but afterwards, we walked outside, and he approached us once more.

“Special price for you five quetzals” he said, this time without the smile.

“No gracias” we replied again, just trying to turn away so he would leave.

Still, he was relentless.  He followed us onto our bus and finally made one of the girls give in.

“I only have American money,” she said.

“We take American!  We take American!” he yelled as his face lit up.

She handed him a ten dollar bill. “Here just keep this,” she said.

The boy yelled, “Gracias! Gracias! Thank you!” and then he started to cry.  Tears streamed down his face as he jumped up and down with excitement.  He walked off the bus with the bill tightly in his hands, sobbing and giggling at the same time.

The rest of us sat in the bus quietly, thinking about what just happened.  Our spare change was probably enough money to feed his family.  The clothes we wore and the bags we carried were probably the cost of their homes.  Our lives were so different.

This small encounter with the Guatemalan boy truly made me think how much I had in my life and how little I appreciated it.  I was aware of the poverty in countries like Guatemala, but meeting kids who were living through it was much more powerful than reading about their stories online or in magazines.  I complained about not having smart boards in every classroom or not having the new iPhone, but these kids had nothing compared to me, and they smiled in the face of despair.  I had a family, a home, a safe neighborhood, and so many other blessings, and when I returned from my high school study abroad trip I felt that these were things I would never take for granted again.