Seeds of Change
by Noah Tran
The alarm screeches at 6:00 in the morning, the ringing sounds ablaze in my ears. It’s time to wake up for Day 2 of work camp. My eyes and body manipulate my hands to reach for the snooze button, but my heart stops my hands and urges my body to rise, fully conscious that I’m about to be graced with the opportunity to change the lives of kids facing less fortunate circumstances than mine. My feet begin to trot towards the bathroom to get ready (rather slowly since tôi đau chân), with feelings of elation sparking through each vein in my body. I gaze into the bathroom mirror and see a wretched-looking teenage boy with messy hair going in different directions and a face inflated like a balloon staring back at me. However, I smile at this rather scary figure, knowing that the person in my reflection chose to dedicate time to changing the lives of others (and unknowingly his own), rather than spending the summer mindlessly running up the phone bill. I get ready with a smile for my second-ever day of work camp, exhilarated by what the day has to offer.
I arrive and gaze at the school Sunflower Mission had built, resembling a seed bursting at the shell to bloom. The sun above us scorches and emits beams of heat hitting me and those around me. But no young seed can bloom into a mature sunflower without the rays of the sun, after all. One may ask, don’t seeds need water to bloom as well? Well, don’t worry; my sweat (and tears) were enough to water our youthful seed. Day 2 begins with second coats of paint and tracing out stencils. As I trace and paint through the markings of the stencils, I realize that I am also tracing the outline of the lives and education of young Vietnamese students. The simple stroke of a brush unravels many layers of life lessons and feelings of gratefulness and gratitude, similar to the intricate layers of the brush my fingers are tirelessly gripping onto.
The clock hits 4:00 pm, and I hear Bác Thanh ring booming sound waves of a drum. I learn that our agenda is to go to a campfire, and my smile drops similarly to when I hear my sister Nanhi screaming in our bus at 7:30 in the morning. As I walk towards the location of the campfire, my morale is depleted from the arduous day I just endured. However, I start to slowly hear the laughter of kids and rather interesting Vietnamese EDM music gradually getting louder and louder, revitalizing me with energy and excitement to dance and see the kids. The party begins, and I see the campfire alight into mystical orange flames. Young Vietnamese students and volunteers like me begin to crowd into a circle, preparing for a series of dances and songs. We grasp each other’s hands, creating not only a physical connection but also a connection of lineage and identity with roots and blood tracing back to our beautiful country, Vietnam. We dance and sing songs, and joy overflows my body. As the flames start to wane, the fire that once directed individuals to aimlessly dance like lunatics is dying. However, the fire deep inside our hearts continues to roar with passion, embedding a core memory within each person’s remembrance.
