I walked toward the St. Vincent’s building, and saw how many were standing in line to eat. I saw a kid that was around my age. His shoes were torn up. He looked familiar. He looked back at me. His clothes hanged loosely around his body. He had holes in his pants with a backpack on his back.

It came to me after looking at him for awhile, I knew who he was. He went to my school; he was a student there just like me. I do not think he knew who I was. There he was, at St. Vincent Community Center where I was volunteering at in Phoenix.

The winter breeze brought shivers up my back. I wonder if he was cold? Or was he already used to this?

Our eyes met.

We did not talk, we solely acknowledged one another’s existence with a smile.

The children screaming and running. The children laughing and playing. The children falling and crying. I was pushing the kids on the tire swing. It was funny watching them laugh or cry, because they were all brave enough even though they had little fragile bodies; as if I would pick them, I would break them.

“Push more,” their little voices echoed.

When it was time to go in and eat, I felt bad telling them they had to go inside; they looked like they lost their toy in a river stream and watch it float away the more they walked inside. In any case, I would rather them eat than play all day outside without a meal in their stomach.

Realizing how blessed I am made me reflect on all things I had and made me feel grateful for my life, but at the same time it was like water being thrown to my face to wake me up to reality. I was motivated to help out more within the community.