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When I graduated from college almost fifteen years ago, I felt joyous, freed from the weight of final exams, and internships for the first time in years. That summer I was anxious to travel on my own and have a little fun before I settled into the working world. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" my boyfriend asked as he pulled me aside, away from our group of friends.

"Yes, I'm sure." I nodded. I had only been in Escondido for a few hours visiting my boyfriend who was stationed at Camp Pendleton, when we decided to take a trip to Tijuana. "It's only Mexico."

"Yeah, but it's a third world country and you've never been to a third world country. Canada isn't classified as a third world country. You will see things here that are going to be difficult for you. Sometimes being overly compassionate has its downside." This was a man who spoke from experience. He saw first-hand the ravages of many third world countries. He had been shot at in Somalia as he tried to feed starving children. He cleaned up dead bodies in the Philippines after Mount Pinatubo erupted. He fixed combat helicopters in desert war zones of the Middle East.

Still I brushed him off. "I'm ready. Let's go! Woohoo!" I grabbed him by his hand and we rejoined our friends and left San Ysidro, California and entered Mexico by foot. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that as soon as we walked through the big wrought iron gate we were in a different country with an entirely different way of life. A few steps south made a world of difference. It was and still is mind blowing how this is possible.

As I made my way through the turnstile gate I immediately smelled a mixture of human body odor and urine. No sooner than I had entered Mexico a little boy of five or six walked up to me with a cigarette tray asking me if I wanted to buy some tic-tacs. My heart melted as he smiled a toothless smile and I looked into his big brown eyes. I looked at my boyfriend with my big green eyes that he found so irresistible. He rolled his own green eyes and grabbed me by the hand abruptly pulling me away from all the panhandlers.

I took in my first sights of a third world country. Women sat on sidewalks with empty tin cups and signs begging for money. Little children as young as two and three walked up to me with weeping eyes, rattling tin cups in front of me, begging for American coins. These children should have been at home, in their beds, long ago, dreaming childlike dreams. Instead they were on their own at midnight,

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