The too often quoted phrase that repeatedly comes to my mind when thinking about Cornell these days is “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.”

I’ve always been extremely thankful of my experiences and time at Cornell, be they good, bad, mediocre, or out of this world, and yet, when my time there was brutally cut short and I was disturbingly uprooted, I could not stop think about the moments I had not cherished and the time I hadn’t taken advantage of. I’ve gone through many a range of emotions throughout these past few weeks. Most of them centered on the world around me, focused on those who are suffering so much more than I am, be it physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritual. I’ve exhausted myself thinking about family, friends, peers, strangers… fellow humankind. And still, it is not enough. People are still suffering, but I’m trying to do my part. I’m staying home, limiting exposure to others who I could potentially put in danger (including myself), I’m praying, I’m paying attention, we’re trying to do little things to physically help our neighbors without endangering anyone. It’s hard to remain at peace with something you can only do so much about, but one must try. It was hard at first, as blessed as I am to have a good home and a good family, being violently torn from my routine, from my plans, from my friends, from the world. Things have felt so alienating. And, yes, there have been many little blessings and many little joys, including time for much necessary rest, so I do feel quite blessed, I am quite thankful– I’m hopeful, I am.

But, there’s still no doubt about it. There’s a deep sadness in experiencing such change and seeing such hurt and suffering. There’s a deep sadness in not being able to do the things one had set their heart on– things that were so dear and near and were not quite cherished enough in the moment, as is proven by the distance. The uncertainty of it all, I think, is what makes it even harder. When will things be generally okay again? Sure things can’t go back to normal but when will they be a little less crazy and scary? When will I be able to go out and about again? When will I see my friends again? When will I be able to sit in a coffee shop or step into a library again? When will I be able to hug the kids I usually babysit? When will I be able to go back to Cornell again? When will I be in beautiful Ithaca with my dear friends, going to class, going on adventures again? When will I be back for Rose Taco Tuesdays or BJM Thursdays? Things are uncertain and they are difficult… but in these coming days, I will continue to have hope.

My last visit at BJM was not like anything I expected. The day went by as most do, new in their own way, but never out of the ordinary. I hung out peacefully with the kids, they didn’t demand my attention that much this specific week. They seemed more content with my presence than anything else. I remember not minding much, it had been a rough week of long papers and extensive readings. Most of the kids were happily playing with legos or their own toys. Some were coloring, some wanted to be read to. That’s where I sat between, coloring and reading. It was therapeutic for me– not just the activity, but getting to see the look on a child’s face or listen to the eccentric stories they love to tell. I’m constantly fascinated by how intelligent and creative children are, at all different ages. It’s disheartening now to think about that day. It seemed pretty simple among other days, special in its own way, but not too important. I miss it now. I miss seeing the kids, I miss being asked to read stories, I miss being given drawings, I miss hearing them laugh and ask questions and tell the most interesting anecdotes. I miss watching them learn, I miss witnessing their small everyday growths, and I miss being at BJM. If I would’ve known it had been my last, I would’ve hugged Mrs. Stacy a little tighter, spoken to Mrs. Sarah and Mrs. Patel a little longer, been a little, even just a little more present and engaged with the kids.

Blue skies, white clouds, sun shining bright,

it doesn’t always look like this–

But the journey’s always nice.

Melodies from another decade, rhythmic steps against asphalt, and pausing as cars go by.

To the brick building on the corner of the street

my heart is leading me,

red door, a few trees, and long, concrete stairs,

I smile as I pass a Tiger by, I know I’m almost there.

Mrs. Stacy greets me with a hug,

Mrs. Patel offers me a seat,

Mrs. Sarah tells me a story

and I know the day’s almost complete.

The room is full of laughter and colors,

sometimes of boredom and cries,

at least there’s always someone there

to make the hour go by.

A 4th grader who loves Harry Potter,

a 2nd grader who enjoys dodgeball,

a kindergartner who is a great colorer,

and a few other kiddos who are always having a ball (educationally, artistically, sometimes frustratingly?)

Every day is a new adventure and for that I am so thankful,

my college days would not be the same,

if BJM wasn’t so experiential (challenging and wonderful, what a place!)

I’ve been volunteering at BJM since my first semester at Cornell, which was four semesters ago. It’s crazy how much time has gone by. It might seem cliche, but it really does feel like I just met Mrs. Stacy and the rest of the BJM gang yesterday. My first day volunteering at BJM this year was as heartening as most of my visits are. I got to sit down to catch up with Mrs. Stacy who I had missed a lot over the break. It’s nice to wind down after a long day and get to talk so leisurely and comfortably with someone who shares some of the same passions as me. I missed Mrs. Patel who was out for sometime because of an injury. But, Mrs. Sarah was there to cheer me up and laugh with me as we colored with the kids. As visits have come and gone, I’ve found that some days are busier than others, when the kids have a lot of energy and they want all of your attention, while on those others, they tend to play and work on their own, only coming up to you to talk occasionally. I enjoy this constant change. Every visit is a new experience, even on the slowest days. As someone who wants to be a teacher in the future, this is a comfort and something that excites me. Days will be challenging, some may be boring, others may be great. But everyday will be a new adventure, no matter how similar it might look to previous days.