Into a Miracle

Even though it has been a long time, I still like to open my small box from time to time. I look at the origami, the drawings and the letters that say “I love you...waiting for your return”.  Staring at the words I wrote on the box "Into a Miracle", I realize my heart is filled with both warmth and bitterness again.

For nineteen years, I have lived an ordinary life with some glistening slices. I struggled for my grades. I was happy for the tiny successes. I read. I travelled. I participated in various activities. In my life, I only learned how to think about my own feelings. I did not expect that a decision to go to Inner Mongolia as a voluntary teacher would bring me such a warm and moving but frustrating experience. 

In early June, on the train to the small village where the school is located, I was imagining what would happen in the next two weeks, with the shaking of the carriage and changing scenery outside the window. I moved from the rolling hills to the prairie with sparse and yellowish grass. At that time, I was full of pure public-spiritedness and all my thoughts were quite simple. 

"They are poor students who need our help. Maybe they are like the children on the public-service ads, studying in a small classroom with broken desks and tattered books. I can teach them something that their own teachers will not give to them.” 

However, when I finally set foot at the school, I was astonished. What a big and brand-new school it was. The first time I looked around, I found there were touch screens and some facilities even more advanced than my primary school in a city. I was confused, and I asked myself: 

“So why they need us?”

Two weeks time gave me a few answers. I came to realize although the campus was big and rebuilt by the government, the buildings were very empty. There were only twenty children in a large classroom in each grade and only a few older teachers were there. They could only take some basic courses like Chinese or mathematics. However, what these children needed most was company and understanding, not only education and teaching equipment. 

I spent two days learning all their names, but I used the whole two weeks to know their inner world. They were so young. When I was the same age, my parents waited for me and picked me up after school. The delicious dinner and cosy home were waiting for me. 

But at their young age, these children had to live in residence and learn how to look after themselves. Many times, I watched a little boy eating a piece of watermelon with black hands because he had just played in some mud. His dirty face and clothes broke my heart every time I saw them They were not only poor but suffered in many ways.

Some of their parents were divorced, some were dependent on their grandmothers, and some had mental problems. But these children gave me the most trust and love in the worst case. When the school bell rang, the boys ran over to me at a 100 meters sprint while each girl held one of my fingers. Many students gathered around me asking about the baobab trees I mentioned in my botany class. Several shy children also begged me softly to tell them about the legend of Libra. On the way to the residence, they sprayed me with mosquito-repellent that they didn’t use often. They insisted on taking me to the door of my room and saying “Good night!” in unison loudly. In their eyes, I could see they relied on us. They accepted me unconditionally. I was perfect in their view. I was needed.

However, they were so sensitive that they could perceive our upcoming separation easily. They always said: 

“I will cry a whole day after you leave.”

“We will miss you so much.”

“Will you come back?”

“Will we see each other in the future?”

These were all questions that I couldn't answer. I can’t promise anything. I can’t tell them cruelly that after saying goodbye we may never see each other again. I felt deeply guilty that it was me, a passer-by, who interrupted their normal life track. I obtained more from them than I paid. Looking at their handicrafts full of love, my reward can only be to write down my best wishes in the letters to each of them. 

In my last class, I said:

“I want to thank all of you. Because never have so many people told me that I love you. I love each of you, too.” Those children taught me another kind of love. Completely.

The first thing I did when I returned home was to find a box for my treasures. On the lid of the box I wrote “Into a Miracle",  the same initials as “Inner Mongolia”. Each time I look through that box which sits on my desk....