When we first arrived, it had been a long day traveling at the airport. I was tired, frustrated, and in great need of a long hot shower. Then came our accommodations consisting of a church floor and some very used sleeping mats. I had brought a light camping mattress, often used on trails, and my 20 degree sleeping bag; but I could never have been prepared for what lay ahead. In a brand new city, without understanding the area or neighborhood; I laid down on an stained green mattress and listened. Every sound, every noise that was audible awoke me. It sounded always as though someone was trying to break into the church through a duct vent or door. Each bumb was some unknown terror coming; and I was honestly slightly afraid. And then I thought, this right now is what it feels like to be homeless. To be poor without the security of a quiet neighborhood, family, or friends. It is the feeling of being utterly alone coupled with the slight pain of constant fear. The what if of the unknown. And that was my first night on Staten Island.

The next morning we began work, and being ambitious I volunteered to work outside raking leaves at a home for families. The work was not difficult, but seeing the families became a true test. We had taken a break from raking the playground, to come in for some hot coffee and a little heat. Standing in the cafeteria, with a plastic hero sword tucked behind his shirt, was a little boy who looked exactly like my four year old brother. But he was missing something, his eyes seemed a bit distant and somehow sad from some tragedy that should never befall a child of that age. He was waiting in line for juice, and I approached him to make a joke about his large sword. A comment that would have immediately elicited a playful response from my pre-schoolers, only drove the child further into his isolation. He looked straight ahead, and only asked for a straw. The lady gave him a 'big boy' straw, but he only gave a slight smile. What had happened to him? What had made him so old? I cannot say, but I do know this; that poverty ages people far beyond their time. It can make the middle aged look haggard and worn. I've seen 35 year old women who looked 55 due to circumstances. It forces people to grow up and grow distant. I cannot say what has happened or will become of the boy yet, I dedicate my life to changing his chances. To allowing children like him to have the precious gift of time. Not to speed up their life, but allow them to hold on to their childhood and with it their hope. Project Hospitality works as a community, as a warm smile and 'big boy' straw for families in needs. They reach out and give compassion. It is that compassion that helps mold lives for a better future.

Today, I have traveled the world, and I love what I see. I worked at the food pantry helping customers shop for their groceries. Each customer was handed a list for groceries based on their needs. It was confusing even for an almost college graduate, much less an individual that spoke no English. The pace was fast, with people pushing and rushing through the three small aisles to grab at the 'best' of donations. An old man looked remarkably confused, and I went over to ask if he needed any assistance. He smiled and nodded his head. Thinking he was just shy, I went to explain in English what the list was for but soon stopped. The man did not reply in English, he did not reply in a language I had ever heard before. I asked him what he spoke, and with a confident smile he stated, "Russian." I know one word in Russian, and that is 'goodbye'. So we walked down the aisle very slowly and I held up each can of corn, or beans, or pears and said the word slowly pointing at the picture. He looked at me and replied in Russian what each item was and I replied back in Russian. He was my teacher for fifteen minutes today, and I was a very eager students. We counted bread in Russian, we talked about meat in Russians, and we replied about each others help. He repeated my English and I repeated his Russian. At the end he took my hands and warmly thanked me. I took his hands and confidently replied "Do svidaniya!" Which means not goodbye, but 'till I meet you again'. Today I visited Russia, China, Yugoslavia, and Aruba. I saw parts of the world I will never physically visit and yet I have seen them and felt them and for a brief while been a part of their culture and community.

---Whitney Rudin