House of Flowers

When I first stepped into the House of Flowers as a volunteer, I was shocked to find that I was scared to approach the children. I was scared, not because of their strange appearances, but because I was uncertain about how I should react. Flowers have long been cherished as symbols of physical beauty, but at the House of Flowers, the word meant something else. The facility was occupied by disabled children, who were abandoned by their families and cast away from society because they were broken. They were damaged flowers that needed special care and attention. And I could not bring myself to sit next to them. I was ashamed.

Time passed but I was still intimidated by the children. I did what my supervisor told me to do and wiped the floor, cleaned the bathroom, and prepared the children's snacks. But I never even tried to communicate with the kids, thinking that they would not be able to understand me. One day a boy named Jun-Soo asked me to read the story of Aladdin to him. He was autistic, which made it hard for me at first to even understand what he was asking for. Nervously, I grabbed the book off of the shelf, put on a smile, and started to read. As I read to him about magic carpets and the Genie, his eyes filled with a glow. More and more children gathered around me to listen. Not wanting to disappoint, I read with even more enthusiasm. By the time I finished the book, there was not a single pair of little eyes that was not focused on me. To my surprise, I found that my fear was no longer there. I was communicating with these children in a way that was genuine. I had been scared only because they looked and acted differently from what I was used to. As I learned more about them, I learned to look beyond the surface, to cherish these kids for who they really were, and I learned more about myself.