2010 Closure

"But then you wouldn't be able to get attached to anyone," I said when Eunsoo explained the way NBC's "Sing-Off" worked.
"You do. You really do," Eunsoo said with a satisfied smile.
And that was the night I started.

I've always found A Capella fascinating, and this show flourished my kin to the genre. Most performances gave me chill and an oh-my-gosh-how-did-they-do-that smile in awe. I clapped along the audience, as if I were there, I grooved along the singers, and oh man, was I attached. After two episodes. Two episodes. Was it after four episodes? When I started to get attached to Will and Evan on So You Think You Can Dance?

Mind you, I'm so attached that I haven't been able to watch the final episode. The only one that America gets to judge, supposedly (I'm somewhat very cynical about this): I don't want to see a winner group, especially to find out that my least favorite group would win, because, well, let's face it, they're the largest group by this point, and they all would have many many friends, because they seem like cool people. Is this here where I should say that there's no spoilers in this post?

Here's my favorite, favorite part of the show: their swan song. They don't have those cheesy teary goodbyes they do in most of the competition shows (American Idol, ehem). It's soooooo dear, classy, lovely, and fun sometimes. And they're doing what they're great at: singing a capella. Geez, how I love it. You can just tell, by their closure to the compeition, that they have grown already, that they are thankful, and that they don't do regrets. "What is there to cry for?" they seem to say. "I've paid my dues, and I'm leaving inspired to grow, and to be better. So goodbye, y'all."

It's the end of the year, and many things happened. Yes, things always happen. But hey, I graduated! (so I can go to grad school some day.) I'm working now! (No. Not the kind of job that would save me money to go to grad school anytime soon.) Alvin and I are dating! (Yeah, yeah..you were all right. You all saw it before us.) I moved to LA! (and Alvin to Korea, hence the friggin long distance relationship.)

While I was in college, heck, even before that. As I was translating in big and small stages for conferences and seminars and church services, I imagined I would shine on the larger stage called Society. And to somewhat degree, I may have in college, thanks to its size (uhm, small), and to its kind and encouraging people. And I pridely thought that I would shine even more, that I just needed to find the right stage.

As I was watching "Sing-Off," I found myself paying more attention to the background voices. The little 'bum-bums,' voice cellos, and harmonies that are set to shine the lead singer's voice. Courtney is my favorite character by far in the show, the way she moves and beatboxes. Some of you may know that I TRIED (please note the emphasis on "tried") beatboxing and, and if you do, you know how that went. So all my respects. Plus she is so pretty and cute!
Jeremy, Jerry, and Committed members make my heart ache. Their passion, love for music, and commitment. And I look at myself. How shine without any effort or commitment or passion?

I once told Eunsoo that I admired her for going after her dream, what she loves doing, and is so fortunate to be so good at it. And I meant it. I'm experiencing what happens when a person, the kind who's always tight on schedule, loses a sight of her lifetime goal. Things seem meaningless. But I've done way too much whinning this year. I'm getting back on the track, now. Inspired by "Sing-Off," and the witty David Sedaris. It's time for me to say goodbye to my somewhat gloomy 2010 a la "Sing-Off."

"What is there to cry for?" I say. "I've paid my dues, and I'm leaving you behind, inspired to grow, and to be better. So goodbye, you 2010."

compromises

I think it happens about twice a year.

I call up my parents frequently, something I neglect to do so often, to ask for some advice and prayers. It was about transferring schools in my freshman year. It was about where to spend vacations. It was about getting a car. It was about what to do with the used car. It was about how to get to places. It was about getting another used car. It was about job offers. It was about a job I didn't get. It was about loneliness. It was about my future plans.

Small decisions gear the bigger ones,

and the bigger ones can be life-changing.

There are regrets and "what-if's," but life goes on.

Too many compromises in life, for it to go on in a safer way.

I used to be told that I could do whatever my heart desired to, and I believed it. I thought I could and would do whatever I put my heart to.

But this society says that I can't. It shows me that it cannot be done.

"What does your heart really desire anyway?" it whispers.

"I don't know! I don't know anymore!" I cry out, and I compromise.

this is what i do

"What do you do?" Many people ask: college friends, LAFSC friends, acquaintances, family relatives, friends of family relatives, and as an introductory question when meeting new people.

I work at a nonprofit organization called Good Neighbors.

And this is my job description:

• Works to sustain positive and mutually-rewarding relations between the Good Neighbors USA and its donors.
• Oversees the facilitation of donor recognition and assists in the coordination of various fund raising events related activities for potential donors.
• Oversee events logistics
• Compose letters, compile appropriate invitation lists for events, engage featured program participant, create event programs and provide program materials
• Establishes and manages donor information tracking including acknowledgments, recognitions, on-going communications and continued cultivation of past and current major donors to enhance relationships with children or projects sponsorships.
• Increases the likelihood of continued contributions through personalized mailings of progress report, newsletters, and reminder letters.
• Design, develop, manage and execute the bi-annual sponsored child progress reports.
• Collaboratively work with Development Director and Director of E-Marking Strategy.
• Update donors in both print and Web-based publications.
• Additional office support as needed.

Although the organization is really big, having offices in almost 30 countries

worldwide now, the one in Los Angeles is fairly small (a lot smaller than most offices in the field) since it just started a couple of years ago. And one of the perks of working at a small office is that I get to asked to be involved in many other things that may not fit in my job description, allowing me to learn more in depth about nonprofit organization's structures and mechanics.

I am thankful for the work I do, reminded each time as I go through the updated pictures of the children from our field offices, going through their handwritten or drawn letters for their sponsors, and when I read encouraging notes from our sponsors. I have learned a lot, and am in the process of learning more, trying to make the sponsors happier with their heartly donations.

downtown art walk

I got a condom for the first time. For free.

If Miracle Mile art walk got me free entry to LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Arts), downtown art walk displayed all sorts of art in its living form. Not losing sight of the friends in the midst of the busy streets itself was an art.

As soon as Isis pointed at her favorite building in downtown, my favorite Jay-Z song, "Empire State of Mind" started playing in the food trucks lot we were heading to. Surrounded by skyscrapers' lights, the unusual chill breeze, and inspired by the sweet melody, I felt like I was in New York. Then the oh-so-yummy smell. The lot was full of food trucks, and as Joe put it, it was about which ethnicity to go with--Argentine, Vietnamese, Korean, Chinese, American, Greek, Brazilian, Italian--all in fusion trucks (for instance, you'd ask "wanna try Korean taco or Vietnamese taco?" instead of, "you want beef taco or chicken taco?"). Not only were there meal trucks, but also boba tea truck, dessert truck, smoothie truck, among others. I could not have asked for more. And ironically, here is where Peter and I decided to try Dtox for 10 days, to go with a healthier diet. Just like good Los Angelinos.

Few photography, fun modern sculptures, cool pottery, distinctive drawings, awesome recycled art, and as usual for me, incomprehensible paintings. As if the art work display and music performances in galleries and on the streets were not enough, this culture salad of a city showcased a wide variety of people and their lifestyles. A group of people chanted, drumming, hopping around the streets in their distinctive clothing, a barber shop cranking hip hop with a DJ, hosting a dance party, many many people handing out flyers of their upcoming event or for the cause they believe in.

"Free cotton! Free cotton!"
I heard, and I happily accepted one.
"What is this?" I opened it looking for the cotton, nowhere to be found.
But there was something else, with something that read: Planned Parenthood.
"That's what they say," Joe said.

my keeper

"Two to Tango" by Louis Armstrong played in my car as I drove to work from LAX, after saying a tearful goodbye to Alvin. The song that I used to bounce and dance to sounded so cruel then, left alone, again, in this deserted city.

Mandy Moore was playing this morning on the way to LAX to drop Sam off, the joyful, creative, smart, tech-savy one in the family. He was here for 2 days and a half to visit me, and I was happy, laughing at his jokes and listening to the Dordt news, feeding him the food he missed, giving him a brief tour of Hollywood.

"It's Sunday today, huh? Let's listen to some Christian music instead," Sam said in a joyful tone, like the good cheerful brother I've always known. I asked for him to put Fernando Ortega on, he put him on shuffle. "I should look him up. I like him," Sam said after two songs, just like the good lifelong friend I've always known.

I don't exactly remember since when, but saying goodbye to Sam has been hard. I always wish I could have been a better sister when we were together, and that I would have given him everything he needed. Then I feel alone. And "Give Me Jesus" by Fernando Ortega played.

In the morning, when I rise. Give me Jesus.
And when I am alone. Give me Jesus.
And when I come to die. Give me Jesus.
You can have all in this world, but give me Jesus.

Monterey, CA

Wednesday, Sept. 1st. Los Angeles.
"What are you doing for the labor day weekend?"
"Nothing. You?"
"I don't know yet. I'm getting an extra day off."
"Come visit me! [pause] There's a cheap airfare on..."
"Yeah? Should I? Should I?"

Saturday, Sept. 4th. SFO airport.
"Haniiiiiiiiiiiii"
"Aaaaaaaaah"
And hugs. And greetings. And 'nice-to-meet-you' to her boyfriend. And talking.
"It doesn't feel like I hadn't seen you for awhile!"
"The last time was...last Thanksgiving when you came to visit me in LA."
Jean, her boyfriend, "That has been awhile then."
"Well, Jean, it just means that Harah didn't really miss me."
And laughter.

It has been this way for..about five years, now. Prompt decisions and appeals to travel. Harah has always been easy to talk to, who listened and gave advices, who was open for advices and contradictory ideas, who was there for you to cook for you and be with you.

We caught up in the car, on our way back to Monterey, Jean being our silent faithful driver. Harah informed me of our schedule for the next three days as if she was a travel agent.
Jean and Harah seemed like a married couple already--everything they did seemed natural, and I could sense the maturity and depth of their love when they talked about each other in the other's absence. They looked lovely together. Living in this beautiful city, one of the honeymoon places in this country, maybe they had adapted themselves into a honeymooney couple. And maybe it was them, maybe it was the place, but I had never missed Alvin as much as I did there.

Jean and Harah took me to 17-mile drive, an aquarium, and......many other gorgeous places I cannot remember the names of (sorry Harah :/). One of "Jean's pointers" in 17-mile drive insisted of a path through a luxurious hotel, right besides a huge golf course. The green pastures followed by rocky blue ocean. I couldn't stop letting out my admiration: Waaaaw. Aaah. Ooooh. Haaaa!! Pictures. Food. Food. Pictures. Everything with a good amount of time. And more food. Maybe that's why I like traveling with Harah so much.
I even got to visit a military base with two marines who go to Harah's church to practice their Korean. I expected something I had seen in Hurt Locker, but it was rather....well, unbusy and peaceful.

"You literally saw EVERYTHING around here," Jean would reiterate on my last day there, when we went to a sushi restaurant where Harah used to work at.
"Fiiine. I won't come back to bother you. You come to LA next time, then."

Beautiful people in beautiful places. Another awesome trip with Harah+1. Check.

extras

I found out that my friends who get gigs as extras get paid more than I do, a full-time worker at a nonprofit.
"Whaaaaaa," I said in awe. I mean, seriously?
If it were for money, I wouldn't have even applied to nonprofits. But the reality seemed somewhat ironic to me.

"Man, I should be an extra on the weekends."
"You should! But most productions don't film on the weekends."
"Ah. Fair enough. Makes perfect sense."
"You can still try. You never know."
Luke kindly instructed me, telling me the process of being one, and working as one. I was and am still hesitant, but thought, what the heck, it would be fun, at least. He told me where to go, and I downloaded the application form: Full legal name, union name, phones, sizes (bust/bra, waist, hips, dresses, pants, shoes), age range, etc. etc. I thought, geez, too much information! Not even my parents know all this. Then casually, "Will you do nude work?"
I still have to get used to this city.

An Education

Unlike most parents in Korea, my parents never pressured me to study. Even coming from a family full of educators, and an educator herself, my mom supported my dad's theory: one learns the best when traveling, not in classrooms. So instead, we traveled whenever we could.
In fact, I had to beg my parents to send me to a private academic institute that everyone else was going. "I'm gonna fall behind!" I'd rant, but my dad calmly would say, "you can still keep your grades without going to that."

"...you should tell us why you educate us," firmly says Jenny (Carey Mulligan) to her headmistress (Emma Thompson), after being startled by her parents' reaction to the marriage proposal (you don't need the school if you have a good husband). I paused the movie and thought, yeah, what's the point of the education system when one can learn so much more by "living it"? If you know the answer, or have any idea, please enlighten me. I continued with the film without having a conclusion.

I was not happy with Jenny--I could not sympathize nor empathize with her, as you are supposed to with the main actors. Carey was dazzling in her beauty and acting, but I found the character hard to love, unlike for many others. I wondered what she was doing the whole time, when it was clear that she wasn't in love with David (Peter Sarsgaard). And I honestly couldn't imagine that David was married already, like I could from the very beginning when I saw Up in the Air. And up until the revelation, I believed that he was madly in love with Jenny. And maybe he was. But either way, such idea sickens me now.

The father (Alfred Molina) bringing Jenny some tea and biscuits, and telling her about listening to the radio that announced that C.S. Lewis had moved to Cambridge, and all through the closed door, was heartbreaking. I melted with Jenny and with the father, played by one of my favorite actors. What a wonderful scene.

Did I enjoy the movie? Yes--it was smart, well-paced, charmingly-acted, and immensely entertaining. Did I like the movie? Well, yes, I think.
Right after watching the film, I sat still trying to think the message the filmmakers wanted to get through. Education system is bad? But Jenny ends up going to Oxford and lives "happily ever after" with a new boyfriend. Don't trust much older men to be your lover? Well, Jenny knew that he was a con, yet still wanted to take advantage of him. It wasn't about trust, really. Was it?

steward

There's a sinkhole in Guatemala City.
Al Gore is getting a divorce.
Tropical storm hit Central America, killing people in Guatemala, Ecuador, and El Salvador.
The possibility of a "continued war" of North and South Korea is still in the air.
Israel prepares for showdown with two more Gaza aid ships.
An woman stabbed nine people as they slept in a train in China.

Yet our lives move on.
Yet my life moves on.
Still praying and worrying about getting my frigging Californian driver license.
Praying that my car wouldn't be towed, as my guest parking days have expired, and I can't do anything about it until I get my car registered. After I get my frigging driver license.
Still sleeping in the trains to rest my eyes.
Sighing and frowning as I read the articles, yet doing nothing about it.

"The world is going mad," I grumble, yet I don't do anything about it.

tabernacle of memory

"Like wandering Jews, Mexicans had no true home but the tabernacle of memory."
-Richard Rodriguez

I took my coat off, closed the book I'm holding hostage of, and glanced over the tiny window.
I'm here again.
The City of Angels, where my different tabernacles of memory seem to collide, yet merge into other cultures when the least expected.

이번에는

"Tienes que echarle ganas, Hani."

언제부터인가 계속 쉬운길만 찾아왔다.
나중에 힘들까봐
나중에 고생할까봐
아프지 않으려고
슬프지 않으려고
눈물 흘리기 싫어
눈물 보이기 싫어
나 자신을 보호하기 위해
다른사람들을 밀어내왔고
어리석은 행동임을 알면서도
하면서도 미안해하면서도
내게 쉽게 보이는 길을 걸어왔다.

이번에는 부닥쳐야할까봐.
뻔히 보이는 아픔을 달게 겪어야할까봐.

senior

2am, and Amy was still working on her project. "I've been a bad student today!" she said. And believe me, Amy is the last person you'd think of when you hear "bad student."
"How did THAT happen?" I asked, as I was getting ready for bed.
"Senior."
Just like that, without any hesitation. Calmly and simply, senior.

When I was a freshman, I was more than ready to go out to the "real world" and start making history. The idea of college seemed insignificant where there were too much to be done out there. Now that I'm a senior, I don't want to get out of this little college world in which I'm, well, rocking. Then the idea of graduating in 5 weeks becomes more nerve-racking than exciting.

Joel and I talked about battling against the materialistic (often referred as the realistic) thoughts in order to do what we really wanted to do. Teaching in Egypt and becoming fluent in Arabic for him, and working for non-profit organizations for me. I thought passion and love were all that mattered. But with this tight monetary reward we'd get by doing what we want to do, we decided that saving for the grad schools we both want to go to was out of question.
But God will provide, my parents always said. He always does.

home

"Which food comes to your mind when you hear home? Mexican? Korean? American?" Robert asked.
"When I hear the word, I think of my family. No particular food, scent, or place. Just my parents," I replied without hesitation. But that's not all.

I also think of my parents praying out loud constantly throughout the day. I think of my mom singing like an opera singer in the mornings as she fixes breakfast. I think of my dad trying to cuddle with my mom. I think of long family road trips involving deep conversations, jokes, snacks, music, sermons, and some car sickness.

I can easily tell you how much I love Mexico. I can delicately tell you how much I miss Korea. I can now tell you how much I appreciate this small Midwest community in the States. But I can't tell you where my home is.
I used to find great comfort in words such as "our home is in heaven," but Reformed worldview tells me that "our home is on earth as it is in heaven." And I don't mind it. I have faces to imagine when I say home and I will see them soon.

beautiful

"Too weak. Maybe use a different word like marvelous or splendid," a classmate commented on my paper, and as much as I respect the person, I disagreed.

The word beautiful is simply...beautiful, and no other word can quite convey the same chill I get when I say beautiful.
Don't get me wrong--I don't intend to demean other wonderful words like marvelous, fantastic, stunning, splendid, magnificent, and so on. But I get frustrated as some people order the words to express "the degrees of beauty," often the word "pretty" being on the bottom. In my opinion, they all express different kinds of beauty and there's no point of labeling one "higher" than another. To me, the word "beautiful" has a mild sense of breathtaking pleasure aesthetically and sometimes even morally.

When I watched the Canadian couple Scott and Tessa free dancing on ice, the only word that I could think of was "beautiful"--and they were. Simply beautiful. They danced, smiled, and held each other so gracefully on ice that I believed it all: that they were deeply in love with their dance, that they were enjoying every single second, and that every single movement was a part of who they were.

When I watched Kim Yu-Na figure skating last night, the word I could think of was "stunning." I held my breath throughout the performance despite the confidence she showed from the beginning. I prayed she wouldn't fall, that she would do the best she could. And when she was done, I found myself clapping and screaming in awe. Stunning, I thought. Absolutely stunning.

Both dances were outstanding yet they had different feel to them, and the words that came to my mind reflected it. Maybe it's just me. But I refuse to change the word I chose for my paper. I refuse to believe that the word "beautiful" is somehow weaker than "marvelous" or "splendid."

Beautiful.
I love the subtle chill the word offers.

religion and intolerance

"[Guiso, Sapienza, and Zingales] found that people who were raised religiously were more intolerant and less sympathetic to women's rights."
-Journal of Monetary Economics, 2003

Three fairly opinionated female students, two thoughtful and respectful male students, and the professor who did the research for his book we're helping with talked about this for the most part of our regular meeting.
The discussions moved further as we mentioned women in church offices, church limitations, homosexuality, church's lack of tolerance, what is sin, and so on. And of course, there was no conclusion. I don't even know if there can be a conclusion. We still believe what we believed before the discussion only this time, with more reasoning and justification.

But I'm still startled. Is their finding still true?
How has this happened?

Ellah Acosta

"Aaaa, me voy a morir Andres, me voy a morir."
"No te vas a morir, Vero. Respira."
"No si, si me voy a morir. Aaaa ya ya ya ya"
And I just stood there thinking I was never going to have a baby.
It was too intense and painful to be in the room. I felt powerless and useless as I couldn't share the pain. So I excused myself and called my mom.

"But what if she really dies? What about the baby? What about Andres? What should I do? What can I do?" I was freaking out.
"I said that too twice and I'm still alive. She'll be fine, don't worry," said my mom so calmly and naturally. I wanted to believe her but the painful moans and screams were more real to me.
Time went by too slow. When I first got the news that she might have the baby today, I was simply excited. Then nervous. Then worried. Then anxious.

It was 2:30pm and we all thought the baby would be born at around 10 or 11pm. Vero and Andres had been in the hospital since 7am. And apparently, Vero was about to die--or so she screamed. And she gave birth to Ellah Acosta at 3:48pm. Ana and Tazz came at 4pm and we waited together in the family lounge. We talked about how Mimi would have loved to be there with us and how beautiful the baby was going to be (also how beautiful Ana's baby would be if she had one). And we were right. Ellah Acosta (middle name to be determined yet) was beautiful.7 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches.

I couldn't stop smiling in awe. And when I finally managed to take my eyes off Ellah, I noticed how exhausted yet relieved her parents looked. Parents. Suddenly Andres and Vero seemed so much more mature than me.

"Your family is complete now!" I said joyfully.
"No...one is still missing," Andres said looking at Ellah lovingly.
"No, Andres. It is complete. I never wanna go through the labor again," Vero said, still in pain.
Andres stayed in silence smiling. "We'll see," his smile seemed to say.

We thanked God for Ellah was born healthy and strong, and not with six fingers (Andres' fear) or three fingers (Vero's fear). We thanked God for Vero's hunger and pain, reminding us that she was, after all, still alive.

dating worthy

"Is it right to date a person you can't see yourself married to?" Megan asked in hopes of solidifying her own opinion for her class.
"Yes," I answered without hesitating. "As long as your intentions aren't abusive, it's worth it for the sake of knowing the other person better. You get to know a person at a different level once you start dating and who knows? Maybe you could see yourself married to him then. Besides, you can date someone you can see yourself married to and find out he's a complete jerk."
Megan chuckled in agreement.
"Wow. And I don't even follow my own thoughts!" I said my surprise out loud.

It was Lydia whose impact changed my perspective. She is always genuinely interested in getting to know people as they are. She would make you feel so comfortable that you'll start telling her everything. She can relate to anyone, anything. So you'll listen to her stories, laugh along, and you'll know her. A beautiful relationship-driven person that she is, she won't forget memories she shared with you. But more importantly, she won't forget you.

"Don't waste your time with the wrong guys. Wait for the God-anointed person and marry him," a doctor's wife I translated for advised when my friends were encouraging me to date as many guys as possible for the experience. And since I didn't want to date guys for experience, I had unconsciously followed the lady's advice.
And here I was, in my twenties, unhesitatingly saying it is right to date "seemingly unmarriageable" guys, for the sake of knowing them better. Because you can't possibly waste your time getting to know someone. Because each individual is worth knowing better, worth your time, energy, and possibly even your marriage delay.

...right?

haunting questions

My day started at 3:30am today.
Tired of tossing and turning, I decided to get out of my comfy bed and be productive.
I used our big clean bathroom, checked missed calls and texts on my cellphone, turned my Mac on, uploaded pictures, and listened to pastor Tim Chaddik on iTunes while eating Activia and a bowl of cereal.
I put lotion all over my body and wondered what I should wear. A sweater? A jacket? A vest? Pants? Leggings? Boots? Canvas? A hat? Which one though: black? white? blue? pink? long? short? Should I carry a yellow purse? No, it's such a summer color. Black purse is too small (but not as small as my brown or black clutch) to put any textbook in. I should get my orange backpack out. I should wear earrings. But not a necklace. I'll wear a scarf instead.
I tucked my iPod with its red cover in the pocket and went to register. I bumped into Alice and went to have my second breakfast at her place.
Then I went to my first class in a room full of computers, two projectors and screens.
A brief training for work, sharing stories with some friends, more classes, then work. My suitcase finally arrived (I felt no need for anything even with my suitcase missing for 2 days) so I took the tripod and mics to prof. Volker's office. After satisfying dinner, I started unpacking--mostly gifts for my loved ones, dirty clothing, and camera charger. Would they like their gifts? Would they find use of these gifts? Do they need them?It still breaks my heart that I had to keep so many things to myself in the slums: mineral water, bracelet, necklace, shoes, cash, digital camera, notebook, pens... Things I have more than plenty of, yet things these little kids stared at in awe, things they couldn't stop peaking at, things they chased after. We were specifically told not to give anything away unless we can give it to everyone. Impossible.
"Can I look at your pen?" A kid asked while the other kid was playing with my camera.
"Of course!" I gave him my pen and was looking for a moment to get away, "accidently" forgetting my pen and camera in their hands. I have many other pens and another camera in the States. But I was too late.
"It's very pretty," praised the kid as he returned the pen. Gosh, kid. You're not helping.
"This is dead now," said the other kid with my camera. The batteries. He handed it back to me as if it had lost its value.
"Asante," I thanked both of them and put the items back in my sling bag Lem had given me.
What bad have they done that they have to go through such despair?
What good have I done to enjoy Cheez-It even as I write this?

let it be

"Hani, you better be careful touching the kids. Most of them are HIV positive and who knows what other diseases they might have," said the captain of a NGO medical staff.
"Thanks," I smiled and lifted another kid to receive him into my arms.
"Well, I'm just warning you. You gotta learn how to say no to these kids."
"Yeah, I do need to learn to say no," I said, wishing these kids wouldn't understand English.
I didn't want to say no. Why would I refuse to hold kids? Not only was I there to capture the ministries but also to share and receive love. How could anyone possibly reject to have this so needed warmth anyway? I held the kid even tighter.
"If I die hugging a kid," Danielle started the sentence affirming my theory on our way back to our comfortable guest house.
"Let it be," I completed it.