I've been meaning to sit down for a while now and delve into some meaty reflection about my time here at YMCA Wainui. The nature of this job seems to move the grains of sand at a much faster rate, and I'm constantly making excuses for my lack of writing when I drift off into sleep with my eyelids all but glued shut. So here I am again with one week left in my work contract. In all honesty, my work contract should've extended to May of next year... but I find myself inexorably caught up on the gravitational pull of that place called home. I have no regrets though; here are a few reasons why I'm ecstatic to have Wainui for another home away from home.
Every day is different and unexpected; the dynamic you create with a group of kids is unique for those couple of hours. You might be kayaking or singing campfire songs, but it's special. My favorite part is seeing and relating to those budding senses of humor. Kids can be so disarming and hilarious, and it's a real treat to bring that out of them in any moment. It's reciprocal and liberating, too. I don't think people will be able to handle me if I go back into a desk job; I've regressed to the maturity level of a ten year old. Well, there's some sophisticated nuance: there's nothing like a well-timed fart. I'm getting really good at this in my months of experience.
In truth, there is some sadness underlining all of these special moments. The nature of the job is ephemeral; kids come and go, faces quickly forgotten, names replaced by the incoming campers each week. Of course, the sheer number is impossible to remember. The whole experience is memorably, but the details dissipate quickly, leaving only a general feeling of sorts. Some weeks I wish I could relish those memories a little longer. At any rate, if all I can remember is laughing and giving people an awesome experience I must be doing something right.
Another thing I relish is becoming an instant role model for these kids. The red staff T-shirts and baseball caps with YMCA logos abound. Not to mention, something I forget is that having a foreign accent gives you a bit of exotic allure. But first impressions aside, the crux of it all comes down to how I talk to kids on a level they can relate to. Camp might be all about care-free fun in a lot of ways, but the kids are also faced with new challenges. In some small way, I am framing their experience with life: things might seem frightening, but don't forget how it feels to conquer it. I get a lot of little ones who have a tough time going into the ocean or dealing with heights. It brings me back to that time when the world seemed so damned big. Even now I am grappling with eventualities that seem so insurmountable, but I know I'll have the support to get through it. Encouraging these kids to do their best and work together might sound cheesy, but it's somewhat crucial that they get that stuff down before they have to face something big. It also breaks my heart to think that some kids have a hard time with developing this trust, and it's a crying shame that these sorts of camp experiences aren't more prevalent to rekindle that light. I concede I live in a pretty affluent part of the world, and it would be nice to bring these sorts of life lessons abroad to those not so fortunate.
I don't know what I'll do next, but I know that this experience was paramount in my own personal development as a human. It has inspired a sort of comfort in the midst of the unknown. Going through it all with a handful of other young volunteers made it even more beneficial. Being able to reflect on those challenges with each other, whether in comisery or glee, makes some lasting friendships. We might gripe a lot or occasionally rub each other the wrong way, but we've all sort of emerged as new people throughout our months here. I can still remember the anxiety and trepidation I felt when I moved here, not really sure what I was doing or who these people are. But as I might tell my campers, we're going to have an awesome time and do great things. I certainly think I am sometimes talking to myself a little bit when I try to inspire confidence in these little ones; I have certainly found new promise in my own abilities.
The only trouble I face now is how to say goodbye. I've been brooding lately, caught in that internal swell of memories and expectations for the future. I think of Cape Three Points and how I tell the kids how special it is: the thunderous volcanic activity, millions of years of erosion, the power of the tides, the thriving life in such a chaotic place, seeming to last forever but in reality disappearing someday. It's coming sooner for me. The refreshing sadness of a new chapter. I'll be sure to leave some good vibes in my wake.
Every day is different and unexpected; the dynamic you create with a group of kids is unique for those couple of hours. You might be kayaking or singing campfire songs, but it's special. My favorite part is seeing and relating to those budding senses of humor. Kids can be so disarming and hilarious, and it's a real treat to bring that out of them in any moment. It's reciprocal and liberating, too. I don't think people will be able to handle me if I go back into a desk job; I've regressed to the maturity level of a ten year old. Well, there's some sophisticated nuance: there's nothing like a well-timed fart. I'm getting really good at this in my months of experience.
In truth, there is some sadness underlining all of these special moments. The nature of the job is ephemeral; kids come and go, faces quickly forgotten, names replaced by the incoming campers each week. Of course, the sheer number is impossible to remember. The whole experience is memorably, but the details dissipate quickly, leaving only a general feeling of sorts. Some weeks I wish I could relish those memories a little longer. At any rate, if all I can remember is laughing and giving people an awesome experience I must be doing something right.
Another thing I relish is becoming an instant role model for these kids. The red staff T-shirts and baseball caps with YMCA logos abound. Not to mention, something I forget is that having a foreign accent gives you a bit of exotic allure. But first impressions aside, the crux of it all comes down to how I talk to kids on a level they can relate to. Camp might be all about care-free fun in a lot of ways, but the kids are also faced with new challenges. In some small way, I am framing their experience with life: things might seem frightening, but don't forget how it feels to conquer it. I get a lot of little ones who have a tough time going into the ocean or dealing with heights. It brings me back to that time when the world seemed so damned big. Even now I am grappling with eventualities that seem so insurmountable, but I know I'll have the support to get through it. Encouraging these kids to do their best and work together might sound cheesy, but it's somewhat crucial that they get that stuff down before they have to face something big. It also breaks my heart to think that some kids have a hard time with developing this trust, and it's a crying shame that these sorts of camp experiences aren't more prevalent to rekindle that light. I concede I live in a pretty affluent part of the world, and it would be nice to bring these sorts of life lessons abroad to those not so fortunate.
I don't know what I'll do next, but I know that this experience was paramount in my own personal development as a human. It has inspired a sort of comfort in the midst of the unknown. Going through it all with a handful of other young volunteers made it even more beneficial. Being able to reflect on those challenges with each other, whether in comisery or glee, makes some lasting friendships. We might gripe a lot or occasionally rub each other the wrong way, but we've all sort of emerged as new people throughout our months here. I can still remember the anxiety and trepidation I felt when I moved here, not really sure what I was doing or who these people are. But as I might tell my campers, we're going to have an awesome time and do great things. I certainly think I am sometimes talking to myself a little bit when I try to inspire confidence in these little ones; I have certainly found new promise in my own abilities.
The only trouble I face now is how to say goodbye. I've been brooding lately, caught in that internal swell of memories and expectations for the future. I think of Cape Three Points and how I tell the kids how special it is: the thunderous volcanic activity, millions of years of erosion, the power of the tides, the thriving life in such a chaotic place, seeming to last forever but in reality disappearing someday. It's coming sooner for me. The refreshing sadness of a new chapter. I'll be sure to leave some good vibes in my wake.
