In the corner of the optometrist's shop, my attention was drawn to the thin and quiet boy standing alone. Something seemed off. On the trip here in my car, he was quite a happy boy, but now he was keeping to himself. When I approached him and asked, he didn't respond. Instead, I noticed tears streaming down his face as he tried to hide them with his hands.

Keeping Hope Alive organized a "Glasses for Children" event aimed at aiding underprivileged families. We invited children for eye examinations and, if necessary, arranged follow-up visits for them to receive new eyewear. The collection of the glasses involved a sponsor, who would personally drive the children from their homes and cover the cost of their new, discounted glasses, supplied by Nanyang Optical, a renowned chain in Singapore.

It struck me that this boy might not have had the opportunity to express his emotions freely. I will be first to admit that anything I write from this point is purely speculation, so read this knowing that I understand that I was definitely projecting.

In our Asian culture, there is often a strict expectation for children not to cry. Adults scold them and tell them to stop. I'll admit that as an adult, it can be frustrating when a child cries and we can't understand what they need. “Could this be the reason why he cannot cry?” These thoughts raced through my mind as I watched this boy silently sobbing in the corner.

Instinctively, I reached out to provide comfort by gently patting his shoulder. I remembered from my experience as a parent that sometimes children need physical reassurance when they are overwhelmed by their emotions. My attempts to console him seemed to make him cry even louder. Other Keeping Hope Alive volunteers noticed the commotion and joined in, trying to help. While their intentions were good, their voices added to the chaos, unintentionally overwhelming the boy even more.

As a volunteer, I felt unsure of how to handle the situation. I wished I could pass it on to someone more knowledgeable, but deep down, I felt a connection to this boy. I understood the challenges of parenting and the need for compassion. So, I stayed by his side, offering a calm presence amid the confusion, gently placing my palm on his back, telling him everything was fine.

I did so even though others suggested ignoring him, believing that he would come to us when he was ready. In fact, this point of view was something I used to believe in, that showing any acknowledgement to his crying encouraged him to continue, because it got him what he wanted. The belief was that it becomes a form of manipulation on the part of the kids.

To the adults who felt this way, I explained that in this case, while acknowledging his emotions, I will never give him what he wants just because he is crying. It is the same with my kids. 

I am telling you I am here, and I see that you are upset. I am here for you and see you. 

But am I going to buy you a new PS5? Give you more ice cream just before dinner? No. 

And even if you cry until the tear ducts go dry, it would still be no.

So, in this case, what was important was for me to acknowledge him. Time passed, and he continued to cry inconsolably. We tried a few more things, but I remained steadfast, sitting with him, and eventually carrying him in his moment of distress.

Together, we found a way to divert his attention. Pointing to the glasses on display, one of the other volunteers asked him about his preferences, hoping to spark some joy. Slowly but surely, his sobs turned into sniffles, and he regained his composure. To make his day a little brighter, I suggested we go to McDonald's for breakfast. The happiness in his eyes confirmed that these children longed for an outlet to express themselves and experience simple pleasures.

On the way to McDonald’s, I tried to put him down (I was carrying him for a while), but he initally resisted, wanting me to continue holding him. I was a total stranger until an hour ago.

The experience left a lasting impression on me. After this event, I would go back to my family, and he would go back home, their lives largely unchanged, their financial woes unsolved. I couldn't shake off the feeling of helplessness, knowing that I couldn't solve any of their problems. What was the point?

I remembered Fion, the founder of KHA and her constant reminder that volunteering isn't about fixing everything—it's about creating small moments of comfort and relief.

Volunteering is both a selfless and selfish act. It allows me to practice gratitude and acknowledge that I have enough to give. However, what I have may not be enough to change anything. It reminds me to be grateful for what I have. The act also comes from acknowledging that my actions are driven not only by kindness but also by the fulfillment it brings me.

This experience also reminded me about my own parenting style, that I need to put in more compassion and provide more space for my children to express their emotions freely. It is the best way to foster healthier emotional development. 

Moreover, volunteering serves as a powerful reminder to appreciate what we have and extend kindness to others. Though our impact may be limited, every small act of compassion can make a small difference in someone's life. Even little, sometimes this keeps all our hopes for a better future alive. The people we serve, and us too.

Why Keen