Joy’s family is Chinese, having immigrated to Canada when she was a young child, and settled in Richmond, BC. As she began to grow older, the cultural divide began to spread between the world she wanted to be in and the one in her home. Feeling that her two “lives” couldn’t connect, Joy began to withdraw from her parents and home life, creating a further disconnection between her and her parents. As she entered high school, like so many before her, Joy began to wrestle with who she wanted to be, falling short on both sides and within a short period of time she began to roam the streets of Richmond late at night with a group of friends out looking for violence, and out to steal. Pain and confusion can be difficult for any of us, but when your home life is unstable, when you feel like you don’t know where you belong, and when you are driven for acceptance, it is difficult to find your anchor.

But Joy wasn’t forgotten, nor was she unwanted. Leslie Dell, a student advisor and leadership teacher at her school, was working hard to help the students in their school to change the core of their school. Slowly, the students that she worked with began to draw Joy out of the dangerous choices she was making and involve her in their initiatives. As she entered her Grade 11 year, Joy was now a member of the leadership core, active on sports teams, sitting on the student council, and involved in influencing her student body for change. She was beginning to find her place and understanding her value. In September of 2007, Joy and the rest of their school’s leadership core sat in an auditorium, experience an Absolute presentation, and heard about Hero Holiday for the first time. She knew that this was something she wanted to do; something that she needed to do.

Joy began to fundraise to go to Dominican Republic with Hero Holiday. Sometimes working 2 or 3 jobs at a time, she slowly pulled the money together. Although her family still refused to support or help her in her efforts, she managed to raise enough to join her school group on Hero Holiday in July of 2008. Her life was never the same from that experience.

“Going there was the best decision I ever made. I believe in everything that we do there and I only come back home to realize that I haven’t done enough and I will always need to do more for others. I can’t be the selfish person I once was. It changed my life because I see the world with a different perspective and I approach life with new aspects.
I always ask myself what can I do to better the lives of the people around me, and what can I do to reach out to the people who don’t understand. I want to live my life to the fullest and seize every moment in the day because life is too short to hold grudges and hold out on dreams. I want to do everything now because I have it so good and so easy. We complain and complain about nothing. We say we need things that we only want. I need to see change, I want to be an influence for change, and I am making a difference.”

I wonder how many “Joys” there are in the world? How many youth get overlooked because they are acting out, seem unstable, or simply because they don’t have the courage to speak up and ask for help? Who will be their voice, will seek them out, or will give them the faith to believe that things can change?

In Absolute, our mission is to deposit hope and purpose in each life that we work with. Hope is what gives us the ability to change and it is what gives us the ability to hang on when life lashes out at us. Pain can blind us, isolate us and lie to us about our worth. But hope is what frees us to dream, to believe, and to reach out. Through our ThinkDay programs in schools, we work with schools to hold out hope to their students - the hope to hang on and to realize that they can see past where they find themselves.

In our School Of Leadership, we have an incredible experience that is now fondly named, “The Shack”. The Shack is our own version of what life would be like for the millions of people that live well below the poverty line, and basically exist on less than $2 a day. In their world, home ownership is often a pipedream, school is a privilege often denied, and healthcare is non-existent. These are the working class poor, and they are what keeps our consumer costs low, our food picked fresh, our electronics affordable, and our closets full of clothes that we can afford. The Shack is a 7 day experience that each of our leadership students get involved in, and they eat, sleep, and work among the poor, learning how life and survival happens at that level. It is a life-altering experience, and we are proud of how compassionate and inspired each of them become as a result. This year, however, there was something new in store for the students: they were able to go to work with the migrant Mexican workers and join them in the fields and labour alongside of them to help see life from their viewpoint.

Brett, one of our School of Leadership Staff Members, filled me in on what life was like that day…

“Shack Work Day #6 started out with an early wake up at 4am. After cooking their breakfast over an open fire, the students were picked up at 4:45am at the highway to be brought to a local ranch to work in the fields. The minute the students stepped out of the truck, they got all kinds of looks from the Mexican workers, they could not figure out why these “Americans” would want to work in the fields.

“The day started with the students picking buckets full of cucumbers and hauling them to a big truck. They worked on the cucumbers for a couple of hours and by the time they were ready to move on to planting strawberry plants, they had picked two huge trucks full of cucumbers. It was only 9am but it felt like they had been out there for a really long time, and they were already feeling sore. They were then taken to a strawberry field where they were given a tool and a bucket full of strawberry plants. They used the tool to help push the strawberry roots deeper into the soil. They were constantly bent over, and they got so used to being bent over that it hurt a lot when they had to stand straight up. They all worked really hard. In fact, some of the old ladies working there said that the “little white girls” were hard workers, and out of an effort to encourage our students, the older ladies finished their own rows and came back and helped the girls finish theirs as well.

“It’s really hard to believe that people do this their whole lives. Working row upon row are children who should be in school alongside of seniors who should be free to relax and rest. The students were also thinking that a lot of these women would go home after a really hard day out at the fields to make supper, do laundry, and clean. The Mexicans work so hard, day in and day out, for a mere 110 pesos. There is no pay increase here - they all work for the same amount of income. The only incentive offered is easier jobs for the older workers. Not much of an incentive, really.

“The students didn’t really want to talk to me after because they said they had no words to describe what they had felt towards these extremely hard working people. They were feeling humbled and overwhelmed by the sadness of reality. For the students, after tomorrow they get to go back to their beds, warm showers, and a warm home, but the people whom they worked alongside will return to their own shack, left in their own poverty, only to repeat it all tomorrow.”

Row upon row, hour by hour, the world’s working poor labour to make our world easier and more comfortable. We cannot escape its effects on our lives, but we can work to make it better. Through our conscious choices, our efforts can help to change things. In Absolute, we make every effort to be conscious of what we are adding our voice to by our consumer choices. We encourage each of our students, our Hero Holiday participants and our staff and volunteers to do the same. During each of our Hero Holidays, we take time to help educate our participants about how they can add their voice to change and make a difference where they are at. The possibilities are endless; they are only limited by our own willingness to make the effort. We may not be able to single-handedly change the world, but little by little, as we dream and take action together we can make the world a better place for those who need to know that it can be.

To find out more about our School of Leadership or Hero Holiday, check out www.absolute.org.

If you have never seen the ocean, I can understand that it may not mean a lot to you. Perhaps you have never had the chance to dip your toes in the water and be awed by the vastness of a globally connected body of water, or haven’t ever thought about the perplexity of so much water and power. The incredible amount of life that teems within those waters, the number of lives that are dependent on them, and the staggering power of the roll of waves may not seem like a big deal to you. But once you see it, you view life in a different way; the secrets of the world only seem to grow when you stand at it’s edge.

For that little boy that day on a hot, January day in Haiti, the ocean was an overwhelming mystery that begged him to stop and stare, purely for the sheer joy of drinking it all in.

He had been at the children’s home for a long time. No one could give us an exact date. Like many of the other children there he was a statistic of poverty: abandoned, alone, and without any means of survival. No one will ever know what evils he had experienced or what future crisis he was now going to avoid because he was there. But he wasn’t just an average, poor, abandoned child: he suffered with severe epilepsy, was given to grand mal seizures regularly, and somehow, before he came to that home, he had broken his arm during a seizure and it was never able to be set. He cradled the atrophied appendage against his side, always walking slowly and carefully, always quiet and looking down.

When the guys had decided to offer the kids from the home a day to party, they pulled out the usual “Absolute style” party routine: fried chicken, swimming, and ice cream. Fifty kids and workers loaded on to a dilapidated and tired school bus and made the long trek to the “good beach” well outside of Port-Au-Prince. Stopping along the way to buy bathing suits and get supplies, they continued on until they reached the quiet stretch of beach, where it was safe for the kids to play in the water. Despite living only a couple of kilometers from the shoreline, very few of the children had ever swam, much less experienced seeing the ocean up close like this. This was going to be a day like no other for them and they were ready to live it up to the fullest!

When they arrived, all the kids began to tumble out of the bus, eager to get suited up and jump in to the warm ocean water. All except him. He just stayed back, timidly waiting for everyone else to go running in, and then he followed slowly behind. A few meters away from where everyone was playing he found an old cement step on the edge of the water. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, quietly looking out over the water,  watching as the other kids waved at him to come in, cradling his arm and trying to process what was in front of him. I wonder what he was thinking? Was he dreaming of what lay beyond the horizon? Was he imagining what he would do if he could run and jump and play like the other children that day? Was he missing his mother or family that no one knew of? Was he taking a moment to allow the dream to sink in that he was finally touching the ocean? In that place, on that day, for the first time in his life, he was allowed to sit there and be free to think about what he wanted, to drink in the experience, and to know that today it was going to be okay.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds for children such as him. There are millions of disabled children around the world who like him, need to have proper medical attention before it is too late, need to be given proper medication to ensure a quality of life, and who just need to know that they are worth celebrating and that they are not forgotten. Their voice may be weak, but their spirits can be strong - if only we will help them to believe it. This year, Absolute will be returning to Haiti to work with the children’s home that is mentioned in this story. We will be helping to better their living conditions and increase their resources for success. We need your help to make it happen and we are looking for people to join us in the experience. To find out more check out the Hero Holiday Haiti section on www.absolute.org

The children’s home had given the family the option to leave their children there - they are never taken from a family home unless they are in known danger. The family had consented to allowing the younger two sisters to stay there, but they said the older sister was a help to them as she worked in the home and they promised that she would go to school. Even more than that, they promised that she would be safe. But in the end, whether it was through desperation, lies, manipulation, or a lethal combination of all three factors, she was sold for a small, insignificant amount of money. Had it not been for the workers in the home that we partner with, she would have been labeled as another statistic in the endless abyss of trafficking and sexual exploitation; she would have been dragged deeper into the trap.

But the miracle happened when I was there. The miracle of her smile. It wrapped itself around my heart, and made me feel blessed by just being able to witness it. It was a gift to the world because it was a sign that things were somehow going to get better. Although no one knew how, there was a confidence residing in it that gave us all something to hold on to. As my fingers type out these words, I feel that same confidence: somehow it will get better. Though life is shaky, plans can fail or change, injustice is somehow inevitable, yet there is still hope. Her smile was an olive branch that she held out to the world, and especially to the kids around her, wrestling with their own demons and hurt. Though it may have been small, it was a loud shout in the face of everything that had happened. She was choosing who she would become.

I have never forgotten her. I sat beside her, as she giggled and tried to teach me how to crochet (I am still a crochet dud!) and I hugged her as she leaned into my shoulder, hungry to be reassured that she was valuable. Wiggling her finger and laughing at their antics, she would mother her two younger sisters who ran around with the other children. They were oblivious to what she had been subjected to in the years that they had been apart, and I think she liked it better that way. It made it easier to stay a child just a little bit longer.

What do you do for a hurt so deep that words or comfort can’t touch - when the action has been done and the memory lives on? If you are her, you choose to smile. Bravely and boldly, you look into others’ eyes and you smile. It was that smile that broke my heart and yet made me feel courage and determination all at the same time. With the help of our financial partners, Absolute was able to help build one of the safe homes there and many of us were able to play a part in making that home a safe and better place. Perhaps it was a home that she is now living in. This is what love, hope and faith can build: the ability to smile again.

In so many ways time seems to stand still when you are there. Life is at a different pace: food is cooked over an open fire, families sit around and chat, most transportation is by foot, and even water is carried by hand from a distant pump. Neighbours are only a conversation away and the walls of each house are shared, often only with a tin sheet or a cardboard chunk between the two families. Any electricity used is tapped into, and cell phones are the only mode of communication, as all incoming calls are free. There are no luxuries such as newspapers, books, or even pencils lying around waiting to be used, there is only survival on so many levels. Most of the people who live in this village in Dominican Republic are Haitian, and of those, most are stateless. They are without citizenship, without protection, without basic rights such as education and health care. Most of them work in the garbage dump 4 kilometers away, working long hard days in the Caribbean sun, providing for their families on less than a dollar a day.

If you think about it for a moment, you realize how incredible it is that these people let us into their world. Our Hero Holiday teams work alongside of them, helping to improve their community, helping to build schools for their kids, even helping them to increase their income. It only seemed natural that sooner or later, we would get to be a part of the really important things in life, like dominoes tournaments! Dominoes have been around for almost one thousand years. It is rumoured that they were created by the Chinese, and quickly spread around the world. Dominoes is a fun, challenging game of strategy, and easily accessible to most. It is a great party game, and it is wildly popular among Caribbean and Latin cultures. Our little village was no exception, only the rules here were slightly different: when you lost a round, you were forced to hang a clothespin on your skin somewhere: lips, ears, eyebrows, lower arms, even the skin on your calf was fair game and in order to get rid of the clothespins you had to win a designated number of times in a row.

As we sat around on three-legged resin lawn chairs, huddled around old pieces of plywood resting on stumps, leaning into the small amount of shade provided by overhead branches, it was hard to suppress the laughter and giggles amongst ourselves. The game began, and within moments, many of us were covered in clothespins, smiling as we smacked down our domino for the next move against the fierce competition, teasing our opponents and reveling in the incredible gift of camaraderie. Despite all the immense barriers: language, wealth and education, we really were in this together. Sure it looks different in my world than it does in theirs, and of course we need to level the playing field of life on a global scale; but sometimes the best things in life are not only free - they are freely shared. And for those few sweet moments at the end of each work day, we got to sit across from each other and just be simple opponents in a humble little game called dominoes.

Absolute works in Dominican Republic throughout the year and we will be taking teams this Christmas. You can join us! If you would like to find out how to be a part of a Hero Holiday in Dominican Republic or any of the other countries that we work in, please check out www.absolute.org. Who knows? Maybe you can find your fame in a dominoes tournament after a hard days’ work?

Although they may look like simple structures to the outside world, within many schools there is a world that is a law unto itself. In the hallways, locker rooms, playgrounds and classrooms of our schools, many important people find themselves being victimized. They are insulted, pushed around, and brutalized and the saddest part is that many of the people who see it happen never say a word. Yet, according to recent reports, when bystanders actually step in, bullying is often stopped. Where is their voice? What is it like to be locked inside of something you cannot escape from? Every day you wake up and leave your home, knowing that all that is waiting for you when you arrive at school is brutality, humiliation and rejection. It’s easy to see why fear, insecurity and depression are familiar friends to many teenagers.

School violence is the dark blot on this generation and those of us who have gone ahead of them need to help lead the way out.

Gem has been touring with Absolute since 2008. Born and raised in New Zealand, Gem is a creative, attractive and vibrant member of our road teams. Like everyone in Absolute, Gem has a story to tell. When you hear it for the first time, you cannot believe it. She seems so far removed from it for it to be true. But it is real, and it needs to be told.

“From age 5 until I was 16, I was probably the number one bullied kid in my school. It wasn’t just about physical abuse like bruises, black eyes, pushes and shoves. I was told I was stupid, I was ugly, I was fat, no one liked me and that I would never amount to anything. For years of constant torment, I couldn’t even go a week without a new bruise. I would even lock myself in the art room at lunch because I was scared to walk down the corridors by myself.

And then there was the day like no other. I walked into my classroom and sat down. A group of girls came and sat down behind me, giggling and whispering. I just put my head down and tried to ignore it, but then it happened. Before I could stop them, they took my ponytail and simply cut it off - completely. All I remember is feeling numb, like nothing they could do - no names they could call me and no amount of bruises - could have hurt me more than this. I was so scared I didn’t breathe, I didn’t cry. I just sat there, feeling this unfamiliar wind on the back of my neck. I was almost scared to move, afraid I might fall to pieces.

It has been ten years since that day, and if I tried to tell you that those words and actions don’t hurt anymore, I would be lying to you. They are still very painful memories. I wish that I would have reached out to someone, that someone would have told me it would get better and that I was worth more than what my experience had led me to believe. It wasn’t until I was out of school that I realized that there is more to life, and there is more for me. I am irreplaceable and I am valuable. Every morning I wake up and choose to believe that I am worth more - even when I may not feel like it. I have come to realize something: it wasn’t my fault that I was bullied. It’s not anyone’s fault that they are bullied. People bully others to try to make themselves feel bigger for a moment, and that’s not the victim’s fault. But together we can change that. Whether we realize it or even care about it, our words have power. They have the power to tear down, to destroy and to steal hope. But they also have the power to bring others up, to make them feel significant, and to give them hope. There is hope for you; you are not alone.

It’s up to us to decide who we will be. It’s up to us to change it.”

Most days of the tour, Gem stands up on a stage and shares this story. Each time she shares it, she is offering a little bit of her heart to people, and with that offering comes a tangible portion of hope. Inside each of us is the need to know that we are valuable, that we count, and that we belong. Why is it so easy to step back and watch people be brutalized, tormented, and rejected and yet so difficult to find the voices of those who are able to rise above that? We believe that we can hold out hope to a generation who needs it. Through our stories, our presentation and through sheer willingness to reach them where they are at, our road teams are some of the unsung heroes of our organization. Absolute’s High School Assembly program, Think Day, is able to stay on the road because people like you help to support them, help to get them booked into schools, have hosted them in your homes, and have sat in a high school gym and experienced the message and the very essence of what we are. Through our presentations, workshops, online email response, and one on one contact with thousands of students, we are helping to turn the tide on hopelessness.

There are many Gems in the world, and together, we can reach them and offer a way out of hurt and loneliness, because they are worth it. Please help us to help them.

“Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.”
~ Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.

Half of us knew where we were going and none of us knew what to expect. The sun had already gone below the sea, so we could only barely recognize the face of Maria, the mother of the family for whom we are building a house this week. She greeted us from the warm yellow light pouring out the door of her original house, and we stepped inside onto the tidy dirt floor. Pitiable in broad daylight, this shack, her home, in the midst of the cold of the night, was as warm and welcoming as any house blessed with a mother’s touch.

Once inside, I was careful to avoid a young chicken hurrying on its way out of the crowding house, and the stove just by the door, dutifully cooking tortillas as any respectable Mexican stove would be doing at this hour. To my other side sat the family television. A Spanish black & white film set in the Middle East entertained the family up until we arrived. This was to be a special night for them; a special night in a special week. This week they are to get a new house, but tonight, their daughter starts on the road to a better life. Valeria cannot walk or talk due to complications from meningitis and tuberculosis, which she has been battling since age two, but like I said, tonight was a special night. We came with Angel, the locally-known charity wheelchair-builder from the Orphanage, to measure her up. 

After looking past the sticky fly trap, spiraling down from the ceiling, humming with immobilized flies, I saw her—Valeria, upon the bed where she spent her days. Angel sung, “Baila, baila, baila!”  Valeria danced with a joy untainted by the truths of her life—an enviable joy. She relished in the presence of her family and these strangers who she knew were here to help her. We forgot about the damp, moldy walls and the scores of buzzing flies, and became part of the magic. We moved her, hammock-style, using her blanket, in front of Angel’s wheelchair. He measured her. He was proud of her size—much bigger than when he last saw her two years ago. Her father held her hand. That’s when I knew how important this moment was. The new house will be convenient. This wheelchair would enable her to experience sunshine, her community, and the dignity of mobility. For Valeria and her family, this chair is a chance to share the flavours of life.

This past week, Brian and our other School of Leadership students, who are currently living in Mexico, returned to see Valeria’s family. Only this time they came bearing a gift: a wheelchair that she can use everywhere she needs to go. Brian helped to carry her outside onto her new wheelchair. It was the first time she had been outside in five years! For the special occasion, Valeria was wearing a new dress that had been made for her by Laura, another School of Leadership student. In Brian’s own words, Valeria “just giggled to herself mischievously” as she was being wheeled around. As these words are being typed onto this screen, I am imagining the songs that were playing in Valeria’s heart: songs of freedom and hope, of thankfulness and joy. Valeria is a life that was changed by someone else’s kindness, and her heart has touched ours.

Moments of kindness are a gift, but they can be found everywhere. Our School of Leadership students live that experience every day, and we are proud of each one of them. Thanks Brian! You are a part of the picture we call Absolute, but even more than that, you are a vital piece of the picture of what our world needs to look like.

“Three things in life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.” ~ Henry James

Houses in Mexico are one of many projects that we complete on our Hero Holiday trips. This is possible because of people like you. Thanks for your support and for adding your voice to those who need it most.

If you would like to know more about our School of Leadership program, please contact us at www.absolute.org or email nbrown@absolute.org. Your life is powerful and you can join something that is making a difference!

Five years ago, Cory, his mom, and two other siblings were sitting down to watch a movie, waiting for their dad to get back from his mountain climbing expedition. The phone rang, and from that moment forward, life would never be the same. Cory’s dad had slipped and fell from a cliff during his climb, and that fall took his life.

Untimely death is always unjust. Intense loss and grief can rob you of the ability to make good choices and to protect your relationships. You are left wondering if you will ever be free of the blinding ache that steals from you, moment by moment. Being a teenage guy who is faced with so much pain and loss can be almost too much. At first your friends can try to be supportive, but being guys and being teenagers, there is only so much support they can offer. The hardest part about watching someone go through loss is how it can somehow put the same panic in you. What if you end up being hurt by the same thing? It is awkward and uncomfortable to know what to say or do for that person, and many people hope it just goes away.  But time moves on. Pretty soon, you are the only one who is mindful of how much you hurt, how much you have lost, and what you will never again experience. That’s where Cory found himself, and the best answer seemed to be to find ways to numb the ache. He wanted to forget about it - to stop feeling like the centre of everyone’s pity.

Smoking pot seemed like a good answer, if not completely logical.

Smoking up may seem harmless enough: you feel good, you forget the ugly stuff, you are united with the people around you by the fact that you are all reaching out to the same replacement. But just because you are numb doesn’t mean it will go away. The drugs don’t stop it - they just help to dig the hole for you. They are a greedy cohort, demanding your money, loyalty, and emotions. Pain doesn’t stop because you will it to, it needs to be faced. Loss is unavoidable, and no matter what you try to do to make it any different, it still comes down to the fact that you have experienced it and you must choose who you become in spite of it. Cory was slipping into a deep place and his family was scared they were going to lose him.

Cory’s mom and sister found out about Hero Holiday through some friends. They worked tirelessly to convince him to take a chance and go to Mexico on spring break with 80+ other teenagers from his city. Reluctantly he agreed. Ten days without pot. Could he do it? Did he even want to?

To his surprise, amazing moments happened on that trip: unexpected friendships, intense moments of laughter, a lot of hard work, and an intense cultural experience. But it was when they stood in front of the Mexican family’s completed house that Cory was changed.  Although Cory’s world seemed to be different from theirs in almost every other way, he realized that he shared an affinity with them that was more real than anyone else could understand: they had lost their father too. That day, under the Mexican sun, Cory’s eyes were opened. If they could get this far, so could he. He could get through this; he could turn his life around and begin to make it count for something more.

Today, Cory is touring with Absolute as one of our School of Leadership students. He has returned twice to Mexico since the time that he stood in front of that house, and each time he has returned with a little more resolve to leave his mark on history. Each week, Cory shares his Hero Holiday story with thousands of high school students, hoping to give them the courage to step out and recognize how powerful their lives can be. He shares it because he has realized that change is possible, we just need to be willing to try. And, of course, because he loves burgers and gets to eat them almost everyday in the high school cafeterias that host our teams!

Want to be a part of making change? Check out www.absolute.org. Absolute helps many families in Mexico have safe and secure housing. If you would like to know how you can help us, please check out our website for projects that we are currently committed to.

Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. ~ Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh

Alissa is one of those people that you can’t help but like. As a nursing student from London, Ontario, she is outgoing without being gregarious. She lacks pretense. She loves people. When Alissa joined our Hero Holiday medical trip, Danica’s Dream, she got more than she bargained for.

Medical trips can be a stretching and growing time for all of us that are involved.  It can be rewarding, exhilarating, and incredibly heartbreaking to be exposed to this side of humanity. At the end of the day we are always ready to unwind and celebrate what was accomplished, dreaming of how we are going to take this experience and translate it into change in our own world. Not everyone will understand why we do what we do on these trips, but we do our best to equip people with what it will take to live your life in light of understanding. I have spent countless hours talking, listening, and communicating with those who are wrestling with how to live out life change in the world that they are returning to. Some fail. Many succeed. All are forever different.

Two weeks after returning from our medical trip, a letter from Alissa showed up in our office, describing what the experience has meant to her…

The words that Christal used to describe poverty continually ran through my head; the statement that she used was honest and raw. It gave me a deeper perspective: poverty is an overwhelming and insatiable beast that shows no mercy. Throughout the trip it became less of a word and more of the beast that everyone talked about. It now had names and faces. I witnessed it. I hugged and kissed its victims. How could it be just a word?
At first, I begrudged you guys; I hated you for taking my ignorance away. The bliss of not knowing was a comforting lie. You took away the reliable excuse that I just didn’t know it was happening. In all honesty, to make myself feel better I tried to ignore the initial feeling of guilt that you all so knowingly speculated we would feel when we returned home. When it finally became overwhelming, I felt the need to share it with others in order to offset how selfish and guilty I felt. I found that no one really understood, or they didn’t care. This led to feelings of anger and frustration. (Ironically, how can I be angry with people for doing the same thing that I was guilty of before the trip). In fact, ignorance is bliss.

But, although it may sound cliche, I feel as though I am in the right place at the right time. My life has greater purpose and meaning than just finishing school and getting a decent job…I am aware that there will most likely be situations that seem impossible to overcome with outcomes that look bleak. But where there is hope there is a possibility for change and if I am only able to make a difference in one person’s life, to make them feel important and worthy, to make them feel loved, happy and healthy, then it is entirely worth it.

Thank you so much for showing me how good it feels to truly help other people.

Like Alissa, we have come to accept that not everyone will be as passionate as we are with what we are a part of. Not everyone who hears about our participants’ experience will be as excited as they are about Hero Holiday. However, we do this with the dream that somehow our lives will ignite a flicker of hope for someone else. Alissa showed us it is possible; we just need to be willing to try.

Thanks, Alissa, for being honest and willing to share your experience. Thanks for working so hard to be a part of change. Thanks for believing in Absolute. Together we move forward.

If you would like to find out more about Absolute, Hero Holiday, or our School of Leadership program, please check out www.absolute.org. Absolute has numerous projects throughout Canada and around the world that need your help to complete. You can join us and become a part of the ever-growing story.