YangJiang Orphanage

Our cramped tour bus screeched to a halt in front of the shabby building. Instinctively I surveyed my surroundings while advancing out. Dirty and rundown, the orphanage stood, enveloped in heavy humidity. A faint smile danced on my face as I spotted wrinkled men amid a fog of cigar smoke eagerly wave their hands and rattle in Chinese. We passed through a doorway and mounted a flight of filthy stairs. Reaching the second story, we were warmly greeted by bubbling nannies, who instructed us to enter the orphans’ room a few at a time. I hastily prepared myself for a grimy sight. Hushed, I entered and found myself gawking, not at a filthy mess, but a sterile room -- tidy, scrubbed, and sanitary; my reflection sparkled on the tile floor. I gazed at masses of cage-like cribs, each occupied by a baby. Strangely, though, no sound reached my ears. A whimper, a giggle, anything would have been welcome. I only beheld blank stares, grave stares, lonely stares. My eyes hunted up and down the aisles of cribs. I waded through the infants, searching for one face. At last, I found it; I found her. Reaching to embrace my sister, I lifted a prayer of thanksgiving that she would escape an orphan’s fate.

I admit, this is a slightly morbid topic. However, Mama suggested I begin to add a few of my writing assignments to my blog. By the way, most of the facts in this paper are true, but we did not get Emmy from this orphanage. Even though it is a bit sad, I hope you can find enjoyment in it. And maybe, just maybe, I will inspire one or two of you to adopt!

*Edit: Please excuse the large print above. Blogger is acting up and doesn't seem to want me to fix that!