Pamela Hung

Two years ago, I was simply another teenager from the wealthy city of San Marino.  I had never really gone to downtown Los Angeles even though it was just 20 minutes away.  Just the word “downtown” provoked unattractive images of dirty bums begging for money.  My protective Asian parents and sheltered environment had left me in a bubble. 
Fortunately, that bubble was poppable.  During the winter of 2005, I received a letter with information about the Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth Civic Leadership Institute.  At first glance, I thought it was just another camp for high school students to have fun during the summer.  But the second time I looked at it, I realized that this camp would be far from fun in the sun.  Students would volunteer every other day at a variety of places throughout San Francisco.  This would be my chance to really explore a city without having my mom worry about my safety, thanks to the chaperones.  I applied and was admitted to “CLI.”
Everyday, there were different options of where to volunteer.  When the teachers gave us a choice to work with children at a typical daycare center or to volunteer at a ministry in the most run-down area of San Francisco, the Tenderloin district, I immediately chose the slums.  I knew I would never have a chance like this at home, where the most heinous crime committed is parking on the side of the road past the two-hour limit.  
When our group of eight students and a teacher arrived at the Tenderloin district, people on the sidewalk immediately noticed us.  I became scared; I did not know what to expect in an area that was such a stark contrast to my hometown.  The streets were lined with the homeless and the buildings mainly consisted of derelict apartments.  I will never forget the smell: an overpowering mixture of marijuana and unwashed-body odor.  Just walking through the area, I could not stop thinking about how the place came to be, why the homeless people chose this place to live, what was being done to restore the area, and several more tangents I had never thought about. 
Arriving at City Team Ministries, we were immediately given the assignment of giving out “Bags of Love” to a nearby hotel.  When the volunteer coordinators mentioned a hotel, I was confused; hotels were luxurious resorts…right?  Wrong.  The hotel we went to was dark, falling apart, and roach-infested; the rooms were maybe 15 feet on each side.  As we passed out the bags filled with food and hygiene products, most recipients were extremely grateful, praising the Lord at one glance of the goodies.  I witnessed the effect that such seemingly insignificant items could have on people in need.  Every little bit counts.
After passing out the bags, we came back to the ministry’s headquarters to reflect on our experience.  Most of the other camp kids were just as surprised at the conditions as I was.  Other volunteers told us that they were hopeful for the future because they had seen our potential to help others and change the world for the better.  A ministry coordinator then began talking about the effect just one person can have on another.  He shared his story about his daughter, who helped him overcome his alcoholism and drug addiction.  Soon, tears were rolling down everyone’s cheeks, including mine.  I could even feel my heart beat and pulse abnormally; I was truly touched.  This was when I realized that one person CAN make a difference.  I can make a difference. 
From this one day in the Tenderloin area, my view on volunteering made a 180.  Now, donating my time means much more than doing labor to garner hours for graduation requirements.  I know that by volunteering, I’m helping someone, whether it is a food festival coordinator or a hungry homeless man.  Either way, lending someone a hand is always appreciated and rarely forgotten.  Since CLI, I’ve helped out at dozens of service events and even convinced my mom to let me go into Los Angeles to volunteer.    Although I’m quite busy with schoolwork and extracurricular activities, I try volunteer at some service event at least three times a month.  I know that when I give a few hours of my time, it isn’t really giving; the opportunity I get to touch someone’s life is invaluable.