A hop, skip, and a plane ride away and I arrived in the tropical green Dominican Republic.  As I jumped off the plane, I knew this wonderful place was going to change me for the better.  I didn’t know what to expect or who to expect, but that’s what made the trip.  It was my first mission trip, my first time out of the mundane coffee-colored country, my first time facing my social anxiety straight on; however, when I arrived there, these kids, strangers, with smiling faces ran up and held my hands, soft to the touch and walked with me, speaking a language I did not know, except for the exciting shouting of, “!Hola!” Throughout my entire life, I had never felt less anxious.  I relaxed; my muscles stopped tensing, and it seemed nothing in the world would ever go wrong.  I could communicate with them in ways I had never been able to with anyone back in the states; in fact, they weren’t quick to judge, or mean, I appeared as a golden goddess to them, and I did everything in my power to never enable the feeling the Dominican Republic gave me escape me again.  For what seemed like my whole life I was shy and had no self-confidence.  Not here.

When I traveled to the Dominican, everything changed.  One night happened to be a special turning point for me. That night I felt carefree, indestructible, and a better version of myself.  It was the night I went to an outdoor restaurant with my mission group, our translator, who I learned to love as my brother, Franklin, and a family who developed into three of my closest friends.  We were laughing and eating and carrying on a good time; other families and visitors appeared at the restaurant, which was right by the beach.  The smell of salt permeated the air, and it was a breath-taking view, with a crystal blue pool off to the side.  For some crazy reason, Franklin, Shalom and Charis, (two girls from the family), and I decided we should go and get up to belt a song to the restaurant, just for the fun of it.  Laughing, Shalom and Charis in `being the self-loathing, unconfident grimy muskrat, chickened out; thinking to myself, There is no way I will ever sing in front of people.  In an attempt to convince me, Shalom and Charis led me down to the cool pool, and that was where we stumbled upon Wesley. 
He was a boy, about Shalom and my age, maybe a little older thirteen, fourteen, and he had a guitar.  We started conversing, and we confided to him our plan to sing and told him that I was too scared; he suggested, “Can we just sing down there?”  If I could perform in front of one stranger that I’ll never see again, why not a restaurant full?  “Have a song in mind?” he questioned.  I, being the pre-teen fan girl, excitingly requested, “‘Little Things’ by One Direction!”  Luckily for me, he knew how to play it on guitar and knew all the lyrics.  For that split second, I broke out of my clouded shell.  He played guitar, and we sang “Little Things” together: “I’m in love with you and all your little things.” As the song ended, I finally saw the world as I had wanted to see it my whole life; the stars were brighter that night; the pool water seemed a lighter shade of blue, and a giant smile was pasted on my face.

It was that day and that moment I finally stopped hating myself and when the tough shell began to fracture, I was like a newborn dear discovering it could walk.  I never saw Wesley again after that, but he was the boy who changed me.  I didn’t have to hide from the world anymore; I realized it was okay being me and that I should love myself.  It is still a struggle being outgoing and being around people I don’t know, but it gets easier every day.  My anxiety isn’t gone, but because of Wesley, it just isn’t nearly as bad.  I wrote this for you, Wesley, the inspiring people who helped me become me in the Dominican Republic, and all the little things I learned about myself while I was there.