"I just wanted to make the apartment reflect me," I told my friend as I gave her a tour, stopping at the half-painted mural along one wall. "I wanted my art on the walls, not just white."
She glanced around the small living room and laughed.
"You say that you want your art on the walls, but it already is!" she grinned.
I looked around. She was right. My sketches, my writings, my travels are plastered everywhere, and I grin too.
Isn't funny how a sentence from the right person can change your perspective? I try to be that person to every kid I work with, but I know that my messages don't always hit home. But when they do, I see it. I see their eyes light up, their mouths open in surprise. It is as though for the first time, something makes sense. And that's when the questions start.
They ask each other about their views, about their experiences. They ask me about mine. They think and think and think, and try to imagine what other people see. It's incredible, seeing it in teenagers.
Sometimes, if I'm lucky, they'll write me a letter before they leave, thanking me. Once, a girl mailed me one (to the hospital, of course) a few months after her discharge, telling me she was doing well, that I had helped her. I teared up to think that she still remembered me, and that she thought that I had forgotten her.
I do forget names. I'm very bad with names. But I never forget a face. And always, I try to remember to take a look through their perspectives as well. It changes things.
