(Sorry it’s long! I always start with the intent of being brief but end up rambling).
For me, summer 2009 will be remembered as a period of internal growth. It was my first summer without daddy. I will turn 21 next week with out him there signing my card “Now you can drink…water,” or peering in my door, crazy gift in hand.
I spend my weeks in Austin, spit between two internships, realizing my journalistic strengths and weaknesses, hoping to change but knowing that change doesn’t come easy.
I relentlessly prepared for my senior year, knowing each choice I made would determine the happiness of my future, yet struggling with my indecisive personality to narrow down my options into a finite decision—I’m still not sure if I’ve made one yet, and if I have, I have no clue if it’s the right one.
But, back to my Austin escapades. I’ve learned so much from this musical capital of the world, where people vow to “keep Austin weird.”
Spending my time between internships, one in the heart of downtown, the other on the outskirts of UT’s campus, I’d walking seven blocks to my car. Seven blocks that I never thought would define me, but somehow made me question my character.
Each day was different and with each experience I unknowingly hurt or hopefully helped others.
I’ve always been naïve—I don’t want to believe that evil exists out there. I don’t want to believe that people would really harm others, and if they do I believe they are unwillingly bound by a lifetime of guilt and remorse. I don’t think there’s a cold-hearted murderer out there that doesn’t go a day without thinking about the life they took.
I’ve changed though. Cairo made me mean, and I’m afraid it may have transferred over to my American life. You see, in Cairo I tried to avoid eye contact with strangers hoping I wouldn’t give them the wrong impression of my intentions.
(My mom already knows I went out alone at dark, so don’t gasp—I was safe, I promise) Some nights, I would walk a few blocks to the grocery store ignoring everyone in sight, except one old man who greeted all of the AUC students with a “hello” and warm smile. He’d get up from his chair out of respect. He rushed to help fellow Arabs park their cars, and boy did their responses vary.
Some didn’t want his help parking because they would feel obligated to pay baksheesh (a tip), while others returned his warm welcoming smile. I prefer the latter, and I wish the whole world would just learn how to smile.
Sometimes I sill wonder about that old man. I always saw him in that chair, day or night—no matter the hour. Did he have a place to live? Did the class of AUC students before and after me welcome him the way people should? Is he even alive?
So, I have a tendency of rambling which may lead you to ask, what does this have to do with Austin.
Here’s what. I see homeless people all around me. As a child, heck even in the past few years, when we drive to Austin as a family my sisters yell “Homeless person number one,” homeless person number two,” counting them to solicit a reaction from me. Meanwhile, I avoid any glimpse of the homeless person, saddened by what their story is—everyone has a story.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be homeless. I wonder how a person becomes so alone that their only resort is life on the streets, with a home to go to, with out a family to share a meal with and without any sort of reassurance that today isn’t their last.
Which brings me to my seven-block walk. I would pass a homeless shelter, and two churches that provide for the homeless. As I reached crosswalks there would be groups of homeless men gathered underneath a tree, trying to beat Austin’s hottest summer with record 100+ degree days.
The first few weeks in Austin, it was painful to walk past a group of homeless people and not even acknowledge their existence, yet cautious not to get myself in trouble or harm’s way.
I was hurt—I was hurt because I knew they were hurting. I was hurt because I knew ignoring them confirmed their existence was worthless, they weren’t worthy of a friendly smile that I’d give any other stranger in any other setting.
I ran into one homeless person two days in a row and he’d walk with me a few blocks as I just listened to what he said, wary that I might reveal too much about myself, and embarrassed that I was questioning whether or not I should give him money.
Helping others isn’t something we should contemplate—it’s not a big life-changing experience. You just help people, because you should.
Yet, I hear people call the homeless “good for nothings out to get your change.” Why are we willing to donate money to a charity but won’t help someone right in front of our eyes. We’ll pay ridiculous amounts of money to support a campus organization, but won’t reach in the bottom of our purse for a dime for the homeless person in need.
That’s just one of the important life lessons I learned this summer—there were many more. I will write more when I get the chance. :]
Oy! Like most of my notes, this too long, probably boring and nobody will read it. But, for what it’s worth, it’s out there.
