Stepping foot into an orphanages’ home is something not as hard to do, as it is to see and visualize that their everyday lives revolve around and under this bare roof with four walls.
The now dirty, stained pink walls probably articulated a time where this place was once a little more soothing from what it looks like now. Hung on those pink walls were pictures of the probably deceased or worship figures decorated with Indian garlands; a sign of their adornments and faith.
Wood cushion sofas surrounded the small empty living room area, with an old TV and a corner dining table as the only visible furniture they had. The group of us crowded the small living room quickly, as most of us just stood. The kitchen appears inaccessible, as it had puddles of water littered throughout the kitchen floor, possibly from the heavy rain earlier.
At the corner of the living room floor sat an elderly lady, most likely in her eighties hunched in a sitting position while her head and shoulders always tilted slightly to her right and barely moving, it was hard to tell of her awareness to her surroundings. However at an instance when I smiled, I felt she smirked back subtly.
Despite the ominous backdrop, as we stood waiting for the kids to show up, they came running down the stairs coy yet excited and dressed though to impress. Their heavily powdered faces drew wide joyous smiles that reached from ear to ear as they quietly stood in a line, it was infectious.
They brought us up to their rooms; two rooms for all 13 of them. Joined double-decker beds filled most of the spaces with scarce spaces to walk; still we could tell they were clearly proud with what they had. They had the room dispersed with fragrance just so it felt and smelled more presentable. Drawings and paintings arrayed the room walls, an unwinding sight from the things I’ve seen today.
Noodles and pizzas was served, I aided the elderly lady sitting on the floor. Hunched with apparent physical disabilities, she could hardly feed herself, her right hand permanently clench to her side as she held the fork and her rigid left hand barely holding the plate up. Her hands could only do so much, she hunches lower reaching down to the plate that she held as she tries to push the food into her mouth.
I helped her as much as I could by feeding her and almost wiping off ever munch she made, the food was falling off the plate and her mouth, everywhere. She mumbles to no one’s understanding while she pans the hall room unfocused on what she wants to look at. It crossed my mind many times that she was just too crippled mentally and physically to be living and her passing would probably do her a favor. It was hard to watch.
Before we knew it, it was time to leave the premises. We were there primarily to bring the kids over to the church for them to do some art and sports. As we cleared up, I paid special attention towards the elderly lady which I had taken care most of the time there. I waved good bye not ever knowing if she knew what was going on or the notion of my existence. I held her hand for awhile, and just as I was about to leave, in a sudden motion she grips my palm tightly. With her only functional left hand, she tries to pulls me closer to her, stretches out and pats my shoulder as though to show gratitude.
It was startling, and much as I probably made her day, I wanted to tell her that she just made mine. Who knew such small deed could move someone who unexpectedly moved me in return. It was the purest of gratifications, and all you needed to show was a little bit of love.
If I only knew what she was mumbling or if she knew what I wanted to say. But as much as I hoped for, it didn’t matter, cause actions spoke.
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