By Sudeep Stauble

This piece was intended for publication in the final issue of the fall semester.

As we strolled along the city street, the sensations of the new world closed in. The humid air, with its pervasive scent of gasoline mixed with the smoky aroma of cooking food from a nearby vendor, was enough to excite my senses. The engines of vehicles roared as they zoomed past us. And somewhere behind me, I could discern faint clicks as someone in our group snapped pictures with their cell phone. New Orleans was alive, a sentient being of sounds, smells and emotions possessing a vitality that nearly overwhelmed me.

Having spent a day and a half traveling on a bus, I was part of the majority of college students on this trip who were glad to finally be on our feet. We were on a service trip with a Christian organization called Intervarsity. For one week in March, our aim was to play our part in rebuilding areas of the city that were devastated by Hurricane Katrina 10 years prior. For me, it wasn’t the work that impacted me, although the service to those communities was rewarding. Rather, the stories I heard while interacting with victims of the hurricane, coupled with witnessing the remnants of devastation, was enough to leave an imprint on my heart.

One such story was from a man who found himself on a dark path. Having lost his home, his livelihood, and those close to him, he was consumed by substance abuse, a hell from which he was just beginning to recover. The tears, the pain, the raw emotion with which he recounted to me this story, forever changed my perspective. Any of us can lose — and may have lost — everything, and, as a result of our destitution, we may resort to choices that ultimately lead us down a destructive path.

Since my return from Louisiana over a year ago, I have not been the same. For instance, recently there was a massive storm in our state of Maine that rendered us all without power, including our own SMCC campus. That whole day I kept recalling the devastation that still lingers in that city like an open wound. I remember touching the levy, that halfheartedly fashioned wall of concrete and metal that failed to protect the city from the encroaching storm. The day of our storm, while everyone was complaining about the trivial, I kept commenting that there are worse fates than not being able to charge our precious devices. “Be grateful,” I was tempted to remark, “that we at least have somewhere to sleep and food to eat.”

The contrast between the trivial and what matters seemed to be a theme with which I struggled this semester. I suffered disillusionment as a result. I’ve seen much during my travels, suffered a tragedy of my own, and lost too much to take things for granted. As the semester draws to a close, and as I prepare to move on to university, I’m reminded of the lessons that shaped me. Granted, there were rough times, but there were some good times.

There’s no doubt that as I continue the journey and find my place in this world, I will continue learning. I’ve made mistakes and fixed some of them, lost some friends but gained new ones, and survived the tumult of these past few years. I’ve come to learn that no matter how dark things get, how miserable I feel, how desperate I sometimes am to give up, there is always something to push me forward, some strength I had no idea I possessed.

I’m excited to move to the University of Maine at Farmington, but, truth be told, I’m scared. I suppose it’s the unknown, the what-ifs that play in my head over and over. What if I don’t make friends? What if people don’t like me? What if my mistakes haunt me? What if I fail? I fight the what-ifs by reminding myself that I got this far, that there’s no turning back. All I can do is my best. I can continue to pursue my passions, be kind and rely on God and people around me in times when I can’t do it alone.

What inspires me is the resilience of others who have suffered. New Orleans may have been nearly destroyed, but from the rubble emerged a hopeful community. In contrast to the despair and resentment harbored by some, I saw optimism. People willingly returned to the very place of their trauma, wanting to rebuild. Having witnessed destruction but also recovery, I, too, have learned to rebuild when things fall apart.

As I leave, I do so with hope. Hope to foster meaningful connections. Hope that, for once, I can help, rather than hurt, people. Hope that the ones I did hurt can forgive me. Hope for new beginnings. I hope you all succeed in your own way. I wish you luck and joy.