Green shirt volunteer

One March afternoon, the sun was just beginning to spread across the path. I was sitting working when my nephew knocked on the door. He asked to borrow my suitcase so that he could go volunteer with the school's youth group the next day.

I thought my memories had been forgotten in some very tight drawer, but when my nephew mentioned volunteering in March, my heart stirred up tiny ripples. It had been almost twenty years since I put on the green volunteer shirt.

I remember very clearly the first time I volunteered was when I entered my first year of university. According to the plan, the school's volunteer team would go to a small riverside hamlet in the suburbs to provide material support as well as promote cleanliness in eating and living places, helping children study. The first time I volunteered, I was extremely excited, waiting for the day to go.

But when we got there, a silence rose in our hearts. Before our eyes, the image was beyond our imagination because we did not expect that the people there were so poor. The shabby roofs were made of temporary fibro cement. The path leading to the house was covered with weeds. For someone who had never done heavy work or lived in the countryside like me, I was a little worried at that time. But strangely, in a moment, all the worries disappeared, I quickly joined everyone and started doing the planned tasks.

The villagers were very happy to see the volunteer group. They were friendly and talked and laughed, treating us like their children and relatives. According to the plan, the whole group only had two days and one night to volunteer in the village. Our immediate tasks were to clean up, clear weeds and trees on both sides of the path, re-roof two houses and give gifts to the children. Our group consisted of just over 20 people, mainly students, except for a few teachers and members of the village's Youth Union who came to support.

Standing from afar, I looked at a group of people wearing green shirts, their laughter and voices were lively, carefree and enthusiastic. I remember the green shirts soaked with sweat, I remember the faces glowing red under the sun. I remember the laughter and excited voices.

After two days, everyone was tired and sore, but the whole group felt very happy. That evening, we had a meeting with everyone in the village. The villagers enthusiastically brought countless gifts to treat the whole group. Bags of dried fish, river shrimp, and bags of vegetables followed the group back to the city.

In the following Marches, I had the opportunity to travel further, to many new lands, to remote mountainous villages. The number of volunteer days was up to a week. Only by volunteering in such areas did I realize that in the S-shaped strip of land, there are still many pitiful situations, lives that need help.

The days of volunteering in March are forever the most beautiful days of my life. Through each March, I have truly “grown up” both physically and mentally. Thanks to the volunteer days, I know how to be more tolerant, moved and loving towards difficult situations. It is also an opportunity for me to look back and cherish what I have now. Closing the memory stream, I think that my youth was more meaningful and complete when I participated in the years of volunteering in March.