For centuries, we have wondered as a society: what does it mean to be human? Humans are creatures that roam the planet earth. There are over 7 billion of us spread over various continents and countries. Of all different races, religions, and ethnicities. Of different lifestyles and classes. No two of us are alike. We are each unique in our own special way. There are many perspectives on this topic, and there is no single definite answer. The answer to this question involves everyone’s perspective brought together. Everyone’s perspective is different. For me, I was finally able to answer this question when I was required to volunteer for church. Back in around October 2014, I was required to volunteer at a soup kitchen as part of a requirement
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Leaves were falling off the ground, tumbling as the wind swept them away. As I got dressed, I kept wondering why I had to volunteer for this event. If I saw a homeless person on the street holding up a sign, craning their head downward, or holding a change cup, I typically would pass/avoid them. To me, they were the unknown. I actually feared them. On that day, I headed down to Harlem in New York City to feed these “unknowns”. I left the safety and comfort of my home for a beat-up, rusty, early 2000s Ford E350 that would take me down to the depths of Harlem, to a soup kitchen that was completely unfamiliar to me. I loaded the van with countless trays of cold pasta and sauce. By the time we got to Harlem, it was already drizzling and cloudy. I got out of the van along with the other volunteers and a representative from our church, who also ended up volunteering. We got out of the van. I looked around and took it all in. All around me were small brick apartments. Everything looked the same. It gave off an eerie vibe that sent chills down my spine. I went into the soup kitchen with the others. We got to work, heating and mixing the food, as well as setting up tables, plates, utensils, and cups. We were rushing to meet our “deadline” - the time when the less fortunate would arrive, hungry and
Leaves were falling off the ground, tumbling as the wind swept them away. As I got dressed, I kept wondering why I had to volunteer for this event. If I saw a homeless person on the street holding up a sign, craning their head downward, or holding a change cup, I typically would pass/avoid them. To me, they were the unknown. I actually feared them. On that day, I headed down to Harlem in New York City to feed these “unknowns”. I left the safety and comfort of my home for a beat-up, rusty, early 2000s Ford E350 that would take me down to the depths of Harlem, to a soup kitchen that was completely unfamiliar to me. I loaded the van with countless trays of cold pasta and sauce. By the time we got to Harlem, it was already drizzling and cloudy. I got out of the van along with the other volunteers and a representative from our church, who also ended up volunteering. We got out of the van. I looked around and took it all in. All around me were small brick apartments. Everything looked the same. It gave off an eerie vibe that sent chills down my spine. I went into the soup kitchen with the others. We got to work, heating and mixing the food, as well as setting up tables, plates, utensils, and cups. We were rushing to meet our “deadline” - the time when the less fortunate would arrive, hungry and