When we see children laughing and having fun, we tend to smile and be happy for them. Yet, there I was, standing unhappily, surrounded by laughing children. I was about to tell these children that I wouldn’t be playing and having fun with them anymore.
So how did this happen? I was then volunteering to teach English with my friends at an orphanage, and we had been doing this for six months. Initially, we were bombarded with the number of applications for the volunteer teaching positions, and the children received great lessons from enthusiastic teachers. But after my two week absence, I came back to find a disastrous situation: the volunteers were scattered and disorganized, and the students were in chaos. A group of the volunteers who had remained had the following things to say: the kids don’t care about learning anymore; besides, it’s not like they will actually ever use what we teach them.
I know what they meant. I had my doubts too, and I was the one who had just been away for two weeks. However, the two weeks that I took off were for a good reason.
I had a friend named Huy, and he was my classmate in the English specialized class. Huy is from the countryside, and he had to live away from his parents in the school’s dorm, as our school is in the city. He is quite smart, but thanks to his laziness and addiction to video games, his grades had plummeted so low that the school was threatening to expel him by the end of the year. Concerned, I convinced him to stay at my house so that I could keep an eye on his studies.
I took two weeks off right before midterms to help Huy. As I was confident that things at the orphanage would be fine, I didn’t think too much of my decision. Huy passed his exams, and he insisted that he did not need any more help from me. I also felt that I needed to check up on the classes at the orphanage, so he went back to the school dorms.
It seems as though things take a turn for the worse whenever my take my eyes off of it. With all my time spent trying to fix the mess at the orphanage, Huy’s grades went downhill again, and before I could do anything, his dad withdrew him from the school. Nobody knew about it. One morning, when Huy’s usual seat remained empty. He had left without saying goodbye or cracking a joke.
I had lost a friend and I was about to lose many more of my little friends here at the orphanage. One of the little girls, however, tugged on my shirt, before I had my chance to say anything, asking, “Are you guys going to stay? We’ve had many helpers like you guys before and although they promised, they always abandoned us.”
She changed my mind about leaving. No, I wasn’t going to lose any more friends. With my newfound resolve, I regained control of the English classes. I sacked unenthusiastic team members and took on new ones. I reorganized the class schedule and made sure that everyone was on the same page.
Why should we help these kids, knowing that the chances that one of them may one day become “somebody” is like winning the lottery? Why should I bother thinking about Huy when it was he who chose the path to failure? Perhaps everyone deserves a chance, even when they don’t realize they need help, even when effecting change seems impossible.
I’m happy to say that the English classes at the orphanage is still running smoothly and helping kids every day. The kids are truly learning, once they knew that we were there to stay. I failed to help my friend, but I won’t fail them.
Tbh, how long did you take to write this? Im not trying to be judgmental, but hey, it helps. I see constant English errors, and I think you can make it sound profound. To me, it sounds a little flat. I like the content, and the touching moment you want to convey, but you need to use better words and phrases to “touch” the reader, not just to tell him or her a classic volunteer story. Cause lets face it, everyone writes about this. Maybe I’m biased since I’m writing one myself, but this one is not compelling to me.
Take this advice with a grain of salt. I’m not the expert but I have read multiple good and bad ones and can discern which is which.
You’re writing a PS too 
Anyway yes, I can make it more… “profound”. Thank you for the encouragement though, this is the version I already sent to NYU though 
I can try polish it up a bit and send it to other schools, still got RD to go.
Well…you should never post your essays online.
I’ve always wanted to be a story teller. It’s just “magical”, telling stories that is. Could be your stories, could be anyone’s stories, and you tell them anyway, in your own way, touching everyone’s emotions in the process.
So here’s a story. Could be my story, could be anyone’s story.
Once upon a time, humans used to have wings. Not all of them though, there were both winged and wingless humans.
Bib was a winged little boy. Jolly little boy in a jolly family. Papa always told him that one day, he would have to spread his wings and fly.
One day Bib met Boo, a wingless boy.
Boo said:
“I want to fly some day.”
Bib was surprised. “But you don’t have wings.”
“I wanna see the world from up there, high up in the sky. The valley we live in, the mountains over there, and further than that. Maybe one day, the sea.”
“But you don’t have wings.”
The next day Boo brought a friend, And the day after that, another friend. Eventually there were 5 of them (including Bib). And they all shared the dream of reaching the sky.
Bib played tag with his wingless friends everyday. He could run really fast, and he could run really far. He enjoyed running. His parents were concerned, though.
“You have to play with winged kids of your age… that’s how you learn to fly.”
At the age of 10, when every winged kid was suppose to start flying, Bib still couldn’t lift off. His father gave him lessons every day, but they were all to no avail. Bib still couldn’t fly. There was nothing wrong with his wings, though.
One day Boo and the gang showed up at Bib’s place and said:
“Let’s go to the big hilltop with the big old maple. We’ll teach you how to fly.”
Bib and his friends tried everything they could. Bib even broke both his wings once, trying to jump down from the big maple tree. Every time he fell, though, his friends came to get him back on his feet, patch him up if they had to. Every time. Every day. Every night. They patched him up and cheered him on.
One starry night, Bib was able to fly for the first time. There was nothing much left for his friends to do after that: Bib stopped falling down, and instead, he kept soaring higher and higher. He could see the valley, the mountains, all from above. Once he even reached the sea.
Bib told all his friends about his flights. About the thrill of tumbling in the air. About the clouds that he tasted. About gales that rustled his wings. Instead of playing tag, they all gathered at the hilltop with the big maple tree to listen to his stories. But they never said anything. They couldn’t. And Bib felt uneasy about it. He felt disconnected.
Bib made new winged friends, and they all did daring things together. They had flying contests, and in those contests, Bib was always among the fastest. He felt good. Really good. He stopped going to the hilltop with the big maple tree, where his old friends gathered.
One day, there was a storm. People were not supposed to fly that day, but Bib was a daredevil. He got caught up in it, and was tossed to the ground. He was in pieces. Then… silence and darkness.
When Bib opened his eyes, he was under the big maple tree. With Boo and all his old friends around him.
“Boy, today you sure knew how to make an entrance. No don’t move. We managed to bandage you up a bit, but you need rest. Not the first time I have to treat broken wings.”
“How do you know I’m here?”
“We were waiting for you, dude. Haven’t seen you for a couple of days now. Though you were sick or something. Hey, don’t be such a teary baby, ‘tis but a scratch. You’ll be back in no time.”
“Thanks guys… really. You always know how to patch me up.”
They all shared a moment of slience.
“Hey… guys, when I get better, maybe we can play a game of tag? Maybe I can carry you guys up there too… but one at a time only, okay?”
Moral of the story? I’m not sure. You can’t say that Bib’s relationship with his friends helped him to understand himself better: his friends made him the person he is.
This could be my story, this could be anyone’s story, but just this time, I’m gonna tell you that it’s my story.
Another PS I wrote.