The stamp by linda

The stamp by linda - January 2024 Scholarship Essay

I sat in his rotating chair while trying to find my balance for a few minutes. My father also sat at the opposite end of the table, holding a stamp moistener. Wide-eyed, I followed his hand movements, memorizing his instructions and listening carefully as he spoke : "Not too much water; it will be damaged, just enough to make it stick." Then he handed me an ideal example that could be easily mistaken as a machine-stamped parcel. As perfect as it may seem, I was not surprised by his potential, acknowledging the fact that my father worked as an executive director of the local post office for more than 12 years in a row.

I started my first shift with a whirlwind of emotions. Although I voluntarily came to help my dad when he informed me that the postage meter machine went out of order, I felt a bit overwhelmed observing the fast-paced environment around me: piles of letters that needed to be stamped, hundreds of parcels that had to be delivered, and the endless queues of people that represented the melting pot of Tunisian society. Yet, I was mostly enthralled by the permanent presence of a petite 10-year-old boy holding, with shaky hands, a cumbersome basket of "Mechmoum." Although selling these bouquets of jasmine Sambac for passing people was a widely spread tradition in Tunisia, it was a tiresome task that should not be accomplished by a child.

Driven by my insatiable curiosity and the pleasant smell of "Mechmoum," I started a friendly conversation with Ahmed who answered my stream of questions patiently. I recognized that Ahmed was compelled to work during the summer to cover the expenses of his and his siblings' school supplies. I treasured his energy and goodwill to labor against huge challenges, watching his eyes glow with excitement as I mentioned anything related to school. His yearning for education and thirst for knowledge fueled my determination to help.

Back at home, I spent hours preparing plans and arranging meetings with a team of volunteers. We aimed not only to help Ahmed but also to overshadow the financial adversity of one hundred and twenty children in two schools in rural areas. The first few weeks were trying; I felt unbalanced while holding tight to the pledge of helping my father at work and advocating the dream of these children. Tirelessly, I knocked on every door of hope. I discussed my desire with potential sponsors, sent unrelenting emails, and made strong connections. Although I was initially met with skepticism, I insisted on sharing my vision, highlighting the positive outcome of our social action, sailing through the limits, and getting back up on my feet each time I faced rejection. The turnout of aid was thriving each day, grabbing the attention of radio stations and social media and pushing people to become more trustful towards our contributions.

I still remember the day I handed Ahmed his backpack; his grinning face was full of gratitude. He clutched his backpack tightly to his chest, hopping the length of the classrooms, giggling, and chanting. The children around us followed his steps, and so did I. Ahmed pulled me into a world of simplicity and childishness that made me stumble upon the most important lessons of my life. His enthusiasm and indomitable spirit in the face of adversity empowered me to move forward and introduced me to my virtues. The journey that began with helping Ahmed turned into a journey of major personal discovery. Helping children like Ahmed becomes a ritual in my life, a permanent stamp that fulfills my purpose in life: Every year, at the start of the summer season, I would start my work of filling little hearts with joy.