I first saw that blue and white bracelet on a wooden stick, carved with small etchings and writings, along with about 50 almost identical ones. The only difference between all the bracelets were the colors, every bracelet had a unique color pattern, but a similar woven design.  Bolivia is a colorful country, the people hand make and dye everything they sell in their stores. I didn’t know what I was looking for when I walked into the tiny room the half size of my kitchen, but I knew I wanted something to remind me. To remind me of what, I had no idea. I believe in my bracelet because sometimes we all need a reminder to live with humility and compassion.

It’s hard to be grateful and appreciative for what we have and it’s so easy to take everything we have for granted. As Americans, we are raised to expect the best and nothing less, but sometimes we get so focused on that idea that we forget to think about others. In Bolivia, I had many eye-opening moments. It’s kind of funny, because we think we know what poverty is, and then you go to a third world country and really see what poverty is like and it’s absolutely shocking and devastating. You wonder why nobody has done anything about these starving, disease ridden children with rotting teeth, but then you remember what you find important. It’s so important to get the new iPhone when it comes out, and new shoes every school year, and be the best athlete. We put ourselves before anyone else and we forget about others. We are so focused on us and what we want, but we need to start considering the problems in the world around us.

Once I bought that bracelet, I never took it off. I wear it every single day; it’s ratty looking, falling apart, and dirty. Sometimes I don’t want to wear it because it looks so gross, but then I remember how it got that way. Playing with kids of all ages- running around in mud and rain and carrying bags of food to the houses of those kids. On either the the third or fourth day of being in Bolivia, we visited the plot of land where the new church and schoolhouse were to be built. Right when the bus pulled up to this land, with nothing but a shack for a school, the kids came pouring out. There had to be over 50 kids, from the age of 4 months to the age of 9. They didn’t know us, they didn’t know where we came from, they were just happy that someone cared enough to come play with them. They gave us hugs and kisses, handed us drawings they made, and showed us everything there was to see in that tiny “schoolhouse”. In that moment, I forgot about myself and my desires, and my bracelet was there to save the memory.

Back in America, I constantly struggle with living with that same compassion and humility I felt in Bolivia. I always put myself first, I do what’s best for me, and I put others down. Being a junior, you get this idea that since you’re an upperclassman, you get to talk however you want to whoever you want with no consequences. You get to do whatever you want, no matter who it offends or affects. About two weeks ago, I was walking in the hallway during passing period and a freshman ran into me. I was immediately offended and shocked that some “dared” to bump into me. Me, a volleyball varsity playing upperclassman. I then yelled, “Excuse you!” rudely, and she just turned around and said, “I am so sorry”, in the saddest voice. Right after that, I happened to look down at my bracelet, and I immediately regretted what I had said. I felt a lump of disappointment in myself, I realized that I’d forgotten everything I learned in Bolivia in that one moment, and I put myself high above others, when I should be the last person I think about. I don’t remember who the freshman girl was, but I wish I had the chance to apologize and get to know her. I believe in my bracelet because sometimes, I need a reminder to live with humility and compassion.