I arrived at the Chios airport at 7:10 pm on the day before I started volunteering. I was so scared that the jet lag would plunge me into a slumber before I reached my apartment, but the combination of caffeine and adrenaline kept me upright. I waited for my luggage while speaking with the owner of the rental, and asked her where she would come to pick me up. "The bus stop opposite the airport," she stated. I furrowed my brow in confusion. The airport was so tiny, and there seemed to be no indication of any bus station nearby. Nevertheless, I had to attempt to find it. I rolled my two suitcases outside and looked everywhere. In my mind, I expected to see a tall stand with bright flashing lights—similar to those they had in Manhattan. Eventually, I found a tiny bench under a graffitied map right next to the sea, and realized this was supposed to be the bus stop. I set my luggage down and immediately went to stand near the edge of the breakwater. The silent waves crashed onto the coast as the sunset slowly turned the sky pink—it was the most natural scene I'd witnessed in a long time.

I'd spent the last ten weeks of my summer interning with a financial corporation in New York City. As the elevator rose through the building, my isolation from the general public grew. At first, I was mesmerised by the skyline and looking down on everything from above, but with each day, the spire of dreams revealed itself as a prison, and I—too comfortable in my circumstances—allowed life to drain from my soul. However, after seeing the view in Chios for the first time, I knew I would soon be replenished. This was the first crack in the glass where doubts about my conditioning arose. I pushed it off and took in the landscape until the car came and picked me up.

The next day, I woke up at 6:35 am, surprisingly, given the jet lag. I got up and got dressed immediately, not wanting to be late for my first day. I met three of the other volunteers near the entrance to the apartment. Two of them had been here for some time, while the other was a newcomer like me. We left together and walked along the coast to the hill where the van would come pick us up. Soon, two other girls pulled into the parking lot and greeted us cheerfully. I was surprised at how everyone came from so many different places: Italy, Spain, Switzerland, France, and Australia. Although I was accustomed to diversity after living in New York City, I still felt astounded. It wasn't the same as the United States, where people were of several different races or ethnic origins, but rather of different cultures. This caused the second crack in the glass.

Once we reached the Warehouse, the previous volunteers headed to the shop, while my field coordinator pulled the other newcomer and me aside to give us an introduction to Offene Arme. In 2010, the owner of the charity, Toula, heard children crying on the beach outside her home after a refugee landing. She gave them a place to stay in her hotel along with food, water, and clothes. Afterward, she made a Facebook post captioned "Europe, wake up," detailing the severity of the situation, and it went viral. This inspired others to come pitch in and establish the organization that is now Offene Arme. All these asylum seekers take an enormous risk by traveling to an unknown country in pursuit of better lives for themselves and their families; the least we can do is fulfill their basic needs. Shattered. Completely. My entire worldview was shaken in that instant. I had been living in a bubble for so long. Columbia University. New York City. These places became so comfortable for me that I had forgotten about life outside of them. I wasn't grounded. I wasn't in reality. However, I had a feeling that staying here would bring me to exactly where I needed to be. So, for the first time in my life, I decided to stop talking and listen.

I spent the rest of the week training for the free shop and learning with an open mind.