AN UNTOUCHABLE DREAM

It’s unbearably hot; the sun’s rays
continue to swell over the small orphanage, trapping everyone under the
protection of the trees. As I walk, I try to lift my eyes off the ground and
slowly look in front of me to be aware of my surroundings. The brightness of
the sun stops this simple act from happening, so I keep my head down almost in
despair. My feet follow the path, one foot in front of the other, all without
my mind registering the actions of my body. I continue trudging towards the
front gate, careful not to step on the plants which are on each side of me.
“Slow down,” he whispers.
It’s as if he’s trying to stop my
departure from happening. Other children surround me, pulling my arms back with
so much force that I somewhat stumble back. I don’t want to leave as much as
they don’t want me to.
Before I know it, we’re in the front
of the orphanage. I still can’t fully register all that’s about to happen, but
it’s difficult to miss the crowd of kids crying and hanging onto my other team
members.
“Don’t cry.” I say to myself. I
still can’t bring my face to look up, for there are too many tears rolling down
my face; and I can’t show my hurt in
front of these kids, whom I’ve given my heart to.
My throat tightens, and my heart
rate speeds up as I turn my back to the group of children surrounding me, watching
as people start to pile into the van. It’s time to go home.
I pick up my right foot and bring it
in front of me, as if to walk, but a little tug on my hand causes me to retreat
and turn around. It wasn’t a very forceful pull, but something leaps in my
heart and whispers in my ear, willing me to turn around.
I slightly turn my body to the right,
but I don’t see anyone, yet I feel it again. This time I look down to a pair of
large, chocolate orbs staring up at me. It was him. As much as I didn’t want to say goodbye, I had to. I faintly
hear my name being called out, but I can’t un-focus my eyes nor thoughts on
anyone else but Luka. Those deep eyes of his continue to penetrate my soul and
smile up at me.
“What if…what if, I just picked him
up, and brought him home?” I ask myself in a low, somber voice. I can’t bring
myself to leave him here. He doesn’t have a mommy and daddy to hug him and tell
him that they love him or that everything’s going to be okay. I can be his mom, dad, sister, brother
and everyone in between.
I can just imagine it; it’s so real.

I walk off the plane, weary from my
travels. I’m finally home. The frail, tiny bundle I carry in my arms slows down
my walking. I follow a crowd of people to baggage claim, too tired to think and
find my way around the large airport by myself.
My pace picks up speed as I pass by
coffee shops, and restaurants which are just closing for the night; I can see
the escalator ahead. My body trembles from sadness, knowing that my journey is
over. It’s as if my entire being realizes that I’m finally home.
As I step down onto the moving
stairs, I’m careful not to drop the sleeping child in my arms. I can only
imagine how tired he must be. He’s never traveled outside of Cambodia, or his
small town for that matter. I lift my right foot off of the ground, and place
it onto the first step I spy. The small child cradled in my arms, and I are
carried down to the next level. As I’m taken down to the next floor I lift up
my head to try and get a better view of the people waiting at the bottom.
They’re not easy to miss. It’s a
large crowd of familiar faces full of smiles, awaiting the prize that I bring
back from another world. The sun is starting to rise and its rays shine through
the windows, into my eyes. I can’t help but smile, for my life is about to
change forever.
As soon as my feet hit the final
step, my family and friends rush over to me. Luka stirs in my arms from all of
the commotion. It’s difficult for the average American to know that I’m not
carrying a small toddler, but a seven year old boy. His Asian body is so small
that he fits perfectly into my arms. I like to think that it’s God’s way of
showing me that He created us to be in each other’s lives.
Before I know it, loved ones are
peaking into my arms to catch a glimpse of this mysterious boy. The loud voices
quickly wake Luka up from his slumber. He looks around with confused eyes,
worried because he’s in an unfamiliar place.
“Neecolles,”
he says in a quiet and thick Cambodian accent.
“I’m right here, Luka.” He picks up
his head to make sure I am the one holding him. Once his eyes confirm what he
sees, a bright smile appears across his face.
“I love you, Neecolles.” With the few words that he knows in English, he is able
to warm my heart. This just happens to be my favorite phrase.
In that moment, I have no idea what
my family is doing, or even saying for that matter. For all of my attention is
focused on Luka. Before I know it, I’m being moved outside and into my mom’s
car. The cool wind hits my face as I walk through the automatic doors. It’s a
relief to finally be out of the humid, heavy weather of Cambodia-- I can
finally breathe!
Minutes seem to go by, and the car
pulls in front of my house. I’m the first to step out of the car and smell the
crisp air. Fall will be coming soon. I turn back around to the open car door;
Luka’s arms are held out, waiting for me to pick him up. That’s exactly what I
do, bringing him and I to the entrance of his new home.
As I walk through the front doors,
excitement and anticipation can be felt from my family members, especially my
mom. She’s so jubilant because there will finally be a young person in our
house again. Her children have all grown
up, and she’s longing to have the joys of another child running through her
home again.
Luka starts to shiver as I walk
through the house. I had forgotten how cool it can get this time of year, and
he won’t be used to it yet. What is refreshing for me might be frigid to him.
My two dogs come running from the
kitchen and into the hallway, where they’re standing to greet me. They run to
me and try to jump into my arms, but they see someone is already occupying
them. I look down at Luka, to see what he thinks of them…and he seems confused.
“It’s OK,” I try to explain. “They
live in the house…they’re pets. You know?”
I had forgotten that animals don’t
live in people’s homes in Cambodia, even if they are labeled as a “pet.” It’s
more important to take care of yourself rather than an animal, for people don’t
have the luxury to take care of things which aren’t important.
We finally step away from hallway,
as my mom looks at Luke, still in my arms.
“Nick, he must be exhausted. Are you
hungry? Should he eat before he goes to sleep?” She asks.
My family takes it upon themselves
to move into the dining room to eat. As this happens, my mom’s smile becomes
larger and larger. Luka is about to have his first meal in America. I go to my
regular seat, to the right of my father who sits at the head of the table. I
sit Luka down into the empty seat next to me. He rubs his eyes, as they try to
stay open. My mom sets a plate of spaghetti in front of him, and the family
waits in anticipation only to watch Luka do nothing. The look on his face is
closer to distress than excitement, as if something vital was missing from the
table.
“Well, isn’t he hungry?” my brother
asks in a confused tone.
That’s when it hits me. There’s no
spoon for him to use, and he only ever eats rice.
“Sorry, sorry. I will teach you,” I
explain to Luka. I proceed to pick up the awkward tool that he’s never used
before in my right hand. I reach over to his plate and try to show him the
motion of how to pick up food with his fork. He reads my every motion, studying
me as I twirl the spaghetti with my fork between my fingers.
It’s Luka’s turn. He takes his fork
out of my hands and places it into his, just as he saw me do. He begins to use
his little fingers to spin the fork, only to have it drop into his plate. He
looks upset, on the verge of crying. He tries to copy my motions over and over
again, only to fail.
“It’s OK, you do good.” I say still
using the broken English which came so easily to me in Cambodia.
“Mom, I think it’s time for Luka to go
to sleep. He seems too tired.” I say to my mother as a look of understanding
spreads across her face. Her eyes soften as she watches me pick Luka up and
walk towards the stairs.
“Ready to see your room?” I ask,
knowing that he really doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but he still nods
and a beautiful smile breaks across his face. I walk him upstairs and turn to
the right, bringing him to his bedroom. As I open the door, I’m not surprised
to find it already set up, thanks to my mother.
I walk towards the bed and set Luka
on the bed gently. After putting him into brand new clothes, and saying a
prayer, he falls asleep instantly. I find my own body being overwhelmed with
weariness too. I walk out of Luka’s room, closing his door, and go across the
hall into my room. I leave my door cracked open, so that I can hear him if he
wakes up in the night.
Before I know it, I find myself in
my own bed falling asleep. I don’t bother changing out of my clothes; I’m too
tired to do practically anything. My mind and body are finally relaxed after a
full twenty-seven hours of traveling.
I sleep for what seems like days, but
that’s not what my alarm clock tells me when I wake up. The bright red letters,
read 2:00 AM. I have only been asleep for a few hours. My mind automatically
goes to the little boy across the hall from me. In an instant I get up out of bed
to check on Luka. I walk across the hall, and open his door slightly, careful
to be quiet so that I don’t wake him up.
Panic strikes my body when I see
that Luka’s bed is empty. I step into the center of the small room and look
around.
“Where is he?!” I ask myself, still
searching around the room, as my nerves get the best of me. That’s when I hear
a quiet, breathing coming from the corner of the room. Luka was curled up in
the corner soundly asleep. He seems extremely peaceful and content being on the
hard wood floor, pushed up against the wall. Why didn’t it cross my mind that
Luka’s never slept in a bed before? Back in the orphanage he was accustomed to
sleeping on a bamboo matt and next other people. It seems that there are many
things that Luka isn’t accustomed to, that I keep forgetting about.
“Will
it always be like this?” I ask myself. I
continue to sit in Luka’s room to collect my thoughts and ponder our future.
Soon he will have to go to school, but he can’t speak English. How will that be
for him? He won’t be in a “normal” classroom, and able to make “normal” friends
like everyone else. What will happen to him once it starts getting colder
outside? Will his body be able to handle it? Or, what will happen when he wakes
up in the morning wanting to eat rice for breakfast and my mom serves him
scrambled eggs? Questions about Luka’s future raced through my mind.
“My country will just end up being
the corruption to everything Luka is. He’d probably grow up not appreciating as
much, and taking many things in life for granted. He will become a boy more
foreign to me than he is now. His innocence will be taken away from him,” I
tell myself in the dark, quiet room.

I take a few more steps, getting
closer to the van. Luka’s still holding onto my hand. As we walk, he wraps his limbs
around my arms, as if to hug them. Our steps become slower and smaller. The sun
continues to beat down on us from above, but I’m perfectly fine with Luka
hanging onto to me. The closeness of his body actually comforts me.
I walk over to the side of the van
and take in what seems to be one last deep breathe, making sure I get as much
of Cambodia into me as possible. I bend down, kneeling, so that I am on Luka’s
level.
He smiles at me, and stares at my
face. I stare back. It’s as if we’re playing a game with each other, a game
that only the two of us play, a game of memorizing each other’s faces; so that
we might hold them into our memory for as long as possible.
“I love you, Neecolles,” he reminds me. “I see you again?”
I don’t know how to answer his
simple question, but a burning desire in my heart tells me to say yes. Even
though it’s not an Asian custom, I reach my arms around his body, and envelope
him into a hug. To my very surprise, he hugs me back, as if it were the most
natural reaction.
I finally turn around and step into
the van, which is holding the rest of my team. Everything is quiet except for
the noises of the kids screaming goodbye outside. We back up out of the
driveway, and into the street. The car proceeds down the road, making our way
to the airport. That’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of weeping. To my
surprise the person I’m hearing is myself.
The tears that run down my face aren’t of hurt, despair
or discouragement, but of hope. Hope that Luka will always be the same little
boy that stole my heart in a tiny orphanage in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, and
that nothing or anyone will ever change who he is. For, his customs are
intertwined within his person. That’s why I love him so.