The Place Was Clean, Though.

After a flutter of emotions as we first approached the building—anxiety, apprehension, curiosity—my interest was peaked when a man, not much older than myself, shouted a partly indiscernible profanity directed at us.

“adlkjf…bitch!”  A strange, unexpected slander that prompted an equally strange curiosity in me.   Due to the rate at which the man was able to notice our approach, and then subsequently lash out at us, the insult was thoughtless and of no significant offense.  Instead, the significance lies in its unabashed nature—the way in which the man seemed so detached from consequence that he was shameless and uncaring.  Seeing as we ignored his affronts, the man faced no repercussions for his poor manners.  To my wonder, an unmistakable envy swept over me; I resented his ability to channel his emotions into words without the obstruction of ill ramifications.  To be in a position of such unadulterated liberty, free from the binds of courtesy, is a quality I would covet, if I had the courage to seize it.  Envy was not an emotion I had expected to feel before the onset of our trip.

After entering and serving dinner to the residents, I was struck by several things.  I would be lying to you if I did not recognize my utter inability to understand nearly anything anyone said.  Many of the residents were timorous and quiet, but those who spoke were difficult to understand.  I often found myself nodding and smiling at I know not what, but this gave me the added advantage of paying particularly close attention to their disposition.  I did not know exactly what I was expecting, but I just presumed that the residents would have a somber, unhappy personalities.  I mean, after all, many of them are poor, homeless drug addicts.  Instead, the talkative ones spoke with jovial cadences that complemented their amiable faces.  Only once did anyone show any dissatisfaction or unfriendliness towards me, and the one that did only seemed disappointed in that night’s food.  I was shocked to see so many in such upbeat moods.

In all honesty, I had a strong aversion to the whole trip.  By trying to “study”, document, and “experience” them, we are ignoring their humanity. I saw very little differences separating myself from any of those who frequent the Drop Inn.  Their lives and upbringing may differ from mine, but they are still subject to the things that make us human: a conscience, human emotion, the plights of life.  I felt creeped out and uneasy about putting such a separation between them and myself.  It’s not about talking with them or mingling amongst their tables—that’s not what I mean; it’s about our motives when we went to visit them.  We did not visit them simply to help them.  Instead, our goal was more complicated.  We intended to study and use them in order to fulfill our needs, which in this case, is a writing assignment.  This agitation makes me apprehensive to return.  I did not feel bad for them—I played no part in their current state and refuse to feel guilt.