Category: 2018-2019 Page 1 of 6

It was day two of orientation for Mennonite Central Committee’s Serving and Learning Together (SALT) program. We were learning about managing our expectations, something that I learned at CMU but still hadn’t fully come to internalize. Looking down at my last remaining goal, I couldn’t help but smile at the seemingly simple, unimpressive, and unimportant goal that I had left— smile at one person a day.

I lived in a studio apartment by myself. It was at the far end of a courtyard inside the school gates of Chuyen Hung Vuong, the school where my SALT friend Eva taught. Every day an old man would do laps around my courtyard. We would occasionally cross paths and I decided that I was going to try to smile at him every day. So when we crossed paths I would look up into his weathered and wise face, give my best Natasha smile, a bit of a head nod, a mumbled “xin chao” (hello) and keep walking. But instead of smiling back at my over-eager face, he would nod his head a bit, and continue biking on. He would do laps for an hour or so and then disappear only to return the next day, where we would do the same thing. I’d smile at him, he’d nod his head and keep pedaling on. This happened day in and day out. Throughout the seasons, my good days and bad days my biker friend (as I have come to call him) would bike, I would smile and we would go our separate ways.

Many times this year I have felt like my biker friend, continuously going in circles, not really getting anywhere or feeling ‘successful’ as I had come to understand that word. I didn’t get a participation mark for every day that I sat in the staff room surrounded by a spoken language that I did not understand. I didn’t get a grade for noticing that the architecture was different, or for how many people would stare at me for a myriad of reasons as I walked down my street. I most definitely did not get a grade for every time that I would reach for something with my chopsticks only for the food to splash in my bowl and stain yet another of my shirts.

This year I have come to see the meaning of success not only through an academic lens, but also through the lens of my biker friend. He showed me that success means showing up and being present. It means becoming part of someone’s fabric, routine, and life. It means acknowledging the anxiety and laughter, the homesickness and joy, the constant embarrassment and grace, and continuing to persevere. It means noticing the unspoken languages of love, courage, and hope amidst the spoken language of Vietnamese.

Two weeks before I left Viet Tri, I made my way back to my room bleary eyed, in desperate need of a nap. I had stayed up late lesson planning the day before, not so uncommon to my late nights of studying, and had two hours before I taught again. Through my narrowed eyes I saw my biker friend doing his laps and approaching me. I didn’t want to smile at him. I was tired, and he hadn’t smiled back at me for the last nine months, so I didn’t have much hope that today would be the day. But a goal was a goal, so I opened my eyes wide, gave my best tired Natasha smile, and was shocked when instead of seeing a weathered face, I saw eyes that twinkled, lips that twitched into a smile, and a hand that was raised and waving at me.

Like my time at CMU, this past year has given me another perspective and lens through which to look at the world. I have come to act on the lessons that I learned through classes, conversations and friends. I have come to learn that the biggest challenge we face wherever we are is to show up, be present, and to keep smiling every day.

As a Communications and Media student, I spend a lot of time looking very carefully at the news. I listen to the radio, read the newspaper, and probably spend a little too much time on social media.

It’s what I love to do, but if you, like me, spend too much time reading the headlines, you know the accompanying feeling of hopelessness that can come along with it.

Gun violence, famine, and borders. Death, disease, and destruction. It’s enough to make one want to throw their TV out the window, lock the doors, and draw the blinds.

But there’s a quote by the one and only Mr. Fred Rogers, of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, that I like to remember when I feel this way, and it goes like this:

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping’.”

I was walking around campus after class, and I came to realization that Canadian Mennonite University is a school that is equipping its students to become helpers.

My friends in the science faculty will be the helpers fighting climate change and sickness.

Our English majors will one day write the books and poems that inspire us to go on and look for beauty in this world.

I cross paths with the counsellors and music therapists of the future, and play volleyball with the business leaders of tomorrow who are learning how to run a business that creates profit while respecting people and the planet.

I hear the beautiful music throughout the halls that comes from my friends that have chosen to live their lives making a joyful noise, and I rub shoulders in the cafeteria with people who will one day become the pastors of our churches.

I meet students who create their very own interdisciplinary degrees, who will do some job that doesn’t even exist quite yet, but it’s a job that’ll need to be done.

Our professors and faculty, who read the same headlines that I do, see us as helpers as well, whether they’ve watched Mister Rogers Neighborhood or not. They’re not scared. They have hope.

If they didn’t have hope for a brighter future ahead and better headlines in the news, they wouldn’t be here, sharing their knowledge and experiences with their students. They wouldn’t share their testimonies in chapel, invite students into their offices for meaningful conversations, or care so much about their jobs.

And they care so much.

And you, dear donors, you see hope for the future as well. You’re investing in the next generation of helpers you’ll see in the news. And we are so grateful for all the opportunities that your donations give us that help us to become better helpers.

And me? I’ve decided that I’ll be the one writing the headlines of the future. Holding that camera. Doing that interview. Telling you the stories of the helpers that you invested and believed in. Sharing that hope that I feel every-day that I’m at this school. Becoming a helper in my own unique way.

Looking at the world around us, it can sometimes be hard to see the helpers. 

But if you take a look at CMU, you’ll see them everywhere. And that gives me hope.

– Chloe Friesen, 2nd year Communications and Media student