Letting Go, pt. 1
Today, I did something that might seem unthinkable to some people.
I donated my Playstation 5.
Strangely, giving away my PlayStation felt like things had come full circle. I never thought it would end up back in the country where I first bought it.
I had been thinking about quitting video games for a while, but breaking habits is hard, and I soon gave in, knowing how difficult it is to change routines.
Not long after, I found myself at a store counter in Medellín, wondering if I should really spend $800 on this system.
I did it anyway.
I paid $800 for a PS5.
A few years later, I was back in Medellín. This time, I had the very device with me that I had started to resent, which felt like the beginning of a new chapter.
As the New Year approached, I decided it was time to let go of the PlayStation, but I felt torn. Deleting Instagram and stepping away from Facebook was easy by comparison. Deep down, giving up gaming felt like facing a much stronger attachment.
After a tough day playing NBA 2K, I gave up. I reset the system, unplugged it, and packed it away.
I thought I was finished. Or at least, I hoped so.
Once I made my decision, I had to figure out what to do with it.
I didn’t want to sell it, since I knew I wouldn’t get my money back. Instead, I wanted to give it to kids in hospitals or orphanages who didn’t have things like this.
After a few setbacks, I found Acarpin, Hogar de Niñez y Juventud in Copacabana, Medellín. Finally, my efforts had a purpose.
As I drove north for the first time, I tried to stay in the moment, even though my mind kept racing about where I was going and if my driver noticed the PS5.
I’m spiritual but not overly so. Passing through new neighborhoods, I kept noticing the number 444.
Somewhere along the drive, my shoulders dropped.
I knew I was doing the right thing.
When I arrived at a tall, orange brick building, a kitchen staff member greeted me and showed me around, including the laundry room. She told me their dryer had stopped working and they hoped for help getting a new one. Seeing these parts of their daily life helped me understand where I was.
After a brief conversation and some paperwork, the PlayStation was officially transferred to Arcarpin.
I felt relieved and excited, thinking about the fun these kids would have with it in the future.
After completing the donation, I was given a tour to meet the kids and see the facilities, allowing me to witness firsthand who would be receiving this gift.
We stopped in a medium-sized computer lab, where a group of girls ages 6 to 17 gave me a beautiful welcome they had learned to do together whenever someone visited their home.
Yes, this was their home.
These kids had been abandoned or had been abused and left to survive on their own. Arcarpin was their new beginning.
They never left those walls.
That stayed with me.
I spoke to the girls in Spanish, explaining the gift, my reasons, and how I learned their language while they looked at me in surprise.
They were told to thank me; some shook my hand, and others gave me hugs.
Then, one Afro-Colombian girl told the others that she had found her dad.
It was a priceless moment that I never expected.
We went to another room where a group of boys were. They repeated the chant, and I explained myself again. This time, I shared with them that even people from far away cared about them.
I thought the boys would be the excited group, but to my surprise, they didn’t even know what a PlayStation was.
The tour continued, and we visited the rooms where the kids slept.
The girls shared a large room with bunk beds, and the boys had their own room too.
They had a play area, a cafeteria, and small cubbies for their only belongings: soap and a toothbrush.
Seeing where the kids lived stirred many emotions: sadness for their situation, happiness that I could help, and a strong wish to stay with them.
I love kids. I always have.
Since my sophomore year of high school, I’ve volunteered in summer programs with the YMCA and later at the Boys & Girls Club during college.
As I was leaving, I found myself lost outside. Then I heard one of the boys, standing behind a brick fence, shout, "Chao!"
I promised him I’d come back.
