I am still helping others: I do not jiàn sǐ bù jiù

Rodin statue

Two days ago, I gave a pair of my socks to someone who had no socks.

Two weeks ago, I spent hours talking to a young woman who was having major anxiety. I shred my knowledge with her about anxiety and coping. She came back to the hostel a week later and she was much better.

Two months ago, a drunk man walked around the hostel until he found an unlocked door to a dorm room. He went in. He stared at a young woman who was sleeping, then he touched her hand to wake her up. She woke up, was startled, yelled, and he left. She and her friend watched the security tape of the incident, called the police, and made a police report.

They tried to go back to sleep because they had an early flight, but they were too scared to sleep. My dorm room had two open beds. They moved to my dorm. I stayed up all night so that they would feel safe enough to sleep. The woman who had her hand touched was able to sleep for a few hours. Her friend has frightened, and we figured out that she instinctively wanted to talk–and think–about other things, so I told her stories about anything not related to what had just happened. I talked for hours so she would not be scared. They both thanked me. Part of their job at home is to talk to teenage girls about sexual violence and how to cope with it. One of them gave me a great compliment for helping them: she said, “You are amazing.”

I cannot jiàn sǐ bù jiù. Ever.

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