The living condition in the Dumping Hill made me realize howweak and trivial human beings can be. Even the intention to end one's life hasbecome a luxury option when people there are still fighting for survival.Houses in puddles, swarms of flies, suffocating heat and smell, littereverywhere. Although it was not as bad as I pictured, I could not stop askingmyself, if I were in this situation, would I choose to settle down humbly, orto stray away proudly? Their innocent smiles seemed to have covered up theirillness and poverty, but how long can innocence last? Without proper education,how can they overcome poverty? As an outsider, how should I offer help?
Children in the House of Rainbow Bridges Hospice Orphanage are mostly HIV-positive. It had not been the first time I got in touch with peoplesuffering from HIV, but I still built myself a mental barrier at the beginning.As I was getting along with the kids, the barrier became a hard-to-say-goodbye.The clock is ticking for them, but at least they are able to receive anall-round education, live cleanly and have nutritious food. They are materiallyahead of children living in Dumping Hill, but mentally they are deprived ofparents' love. How dare you say which group is happier than the other?
What struck me most is from the Nutrition Centre. It was the first time I gotin touch with children like them, some are physically disabled, othersmentally. There are two pictures that will probably haunt me for the rest of mylife: The first is a five-year-old child. His rectum was not long enough toreach the anus, which means he was unable to evacuate. Probably his parentsabandoned him once they knew the problem. After he arrived in the Centre,doctors entailed two incisions in the left side of his stomach as a substitutefor the anus. When the Centre's staff removed the bandage, two scarlet bloodyholes revealed. It is solid evidence of his parents' heartlessness, as well asa shout of unfairness. Despite of the great pain, he was still smiling. Thesecond picture is a ten-year-old child suffering from cerebral palsy. There issomething wrong with his neural reflex, so he cannot help twisting his rightarm outward. When we were leaving, he seemed having a cramp. His contorted facegave me a pang of deep sorrow. It was a silent condemnation of his bodily painsand everything. The sight was a stunning contrast to the blue sky outside thewindow.
Of course, the service trip was not all about seriousreflection and condemnation. In those nine days we got the real flavor ofCambodia. The dark yellow skin of Cambodians, the tropical weather, tall palmtrees and sweet coconut drinks reminded me of the taste of my hometown Hainan.Houses set up in the air is to prevent flood and from heat steaming from theground. The old architecture in Angkor Wat is a real version of what I learnedfrom the high school geography textbook. Boat dwellers on the Tonle Sap Lake isanother aspect of Cambodia's culture.
It is lovely not only because of the views on the way or people we met, butalso because of my companions and the chatting and laughing among us. I amgrateful that SHHO has once again presented me with the world and what lovereally is.
