As the bus pulled up to the gates of Escuela Santa Ana, my heart raced, and my hands were clammy. I had so much anticipation, not knowing who I would meet, speak to, and see, and it had built up and made me quite nervous. Painting seemed like such a difficult task when my stomach was turning. I continued to watch the little boys, content and laughing, run by the bus while small girls timidly hid behind the gate doors, waiting for our group to exit the bus seats. Yesterday we painted the school’s external wall for the community and future students to enjoy for years to come, and today we are finishing what we started. When it was time to get off of the bus, going through the door and stepping onto the road made me feel as if I was stepping through a magic wall, one that gave me a great amount of strength and confidence.
After experiencing this trip last year, one of my new goals was to speak Spanish much more, and not be fearful of making mistakes. But a part of me feared speaking to students my age more than speaking to adults. Stepping through this wall and gaining some form of confidence and strength combined, I knew that painting would not be too hard, especially after yesterday. As I unpacked the brushes, and Peniel opened the paint, students of all ages slowly began to appear with excitement in their eyes. In the moment that the first paint jug was opened up, students grabbed their brushes, grabbed the color they needed, and began to paint away, continuing what we started yesterday. After some time of assisting small kids with creating little flowers, and taking color mixing advice from students my age, the wall became more and more complete with the movement of the sun. Finally, the final touch, our hand prints!
As we began to pack our brushes, the sun was sinking lower in the sky, the heat was beginning to fade out into a warm breeze, and my hands were coated in a bright pink. I pressed them to the wall, and thought of the future, where I would be, and who I would be with. Despite the anxiety and breathlessness I felt after thinking about it, I realized how content and proud I was to be leaving something so personal in a place that welcomed me with open arms. When I slowly peeled my hands off of the faded white wall, my pink hand print remained. I smiled, looking at it amongst all the others, and for a moment the world around me stopped. I felt my heart beat at ease, my breath continue quietly, and the warm wind embrace me.
When I realized the pink paint still remained on my hands, I ran to the sinks, hidden behind beautiful, tall trees, and held my hands under the pouring water. Soon, another student my age ran over to wash the paint off of his hands too. When he looked at me, the most intrigued and reminiscent smile I have ever seen before wiped across his face. He slowly and cautiously began to wash his hands off next to me, and when we were both done he asked for my name. Once our conversation took off, I could see deep sincerity in his eyes. Before I left to get back onto the bus, he stuck out his arms wide, asking for a hug. He hugged me tight for a while, and mentioned that I reminded him of a close friend, one he has not seen in years. I saw small tears in his eyes, and we giggled. He told me he hoped to see me again soon, and I left.
Once I stepped onto the bus, I felt a weight lay itself in my heart and mind. The connections that a person can make with another through something as small as paint covered hands can lead you to desire so many more experiences when working together with new people. I keep thinking if I had never met or spoken to him, and how my day may have gone differently. But because we spoke, and because we connected, I recognize how vital and important working together truly is.
Camilla R., Rockville High School