‍Your heart is worth the entire world

This final journal entry is naturally a bit different from the rest. On mission trips, it is rare to find moments where we can pause, travel, and simply take in landscapes as extraordinarily beautiful as the ones we saw today. When I last wrote to you, we were setting off into the pitch-black mountain night. Here is how our final, breathtaking 24 hours together unfolded.

The overnight bus ride through the mountains was cold, and those who listened to our advice and brought their sleeping bags onto the bus were very glad they did! As the hours passed, the dark sky slowly gave way to the first soft colors of dawn. Watching the sun rise over the winding mountain roads of the Andes is one of the most magnificent sights in the world. Our first stop was Patapampa. Most of the kids were still sound asleep, but as they rubbed their eyes and stepped off the bus, they walked into a completely different climate. We were standing at the highest point of our entire journey: 4,910 meters above sea level. It was absolutely freezing. The kids were hilariously torn between standing outside to admire the panoramic mountain views and sprinting back onto the heated bus! From there, we drove down to Chivay, the gateway to the Colca Canyon and our home base for these two days. We stopped for breakfast, and despite the high altitude, the kids' appetites were completely untouched! They even tried a traditional Peruvian warm quinoa drink, filling up on heat and energy for the day ahead.We continued deeper into the stunning canyon until we reached the ultimate highlight: Cruz del Condor. Standing on the edge of the gorge, we got to watch majestic Andean condors soaring effortlessly on thermal winds, gliding up and down through the canyon depths. They flew astonishingly close to us. It is only when one glides just a few meters above your head that you truly realize how massive and majestic these birds are. After taking in the views, we returned to Chivay, where a huge Peruvian lunch buffet was waiting for us. Fun Fact: After eating chicken and rice every single day for a week, not a single one of them touched the chicken or the rice at the buffet! After checking into our hotel and taking a short rest, we headed out to the Baños Termales de Chacapi. The kids were in absolute heaven. Sitting submerged in natural, piping hot thermal waters while the mountain air outside was freezing, surrounded by towering canyon walls, was the ultimate reward after days of intense manual labor. Seeing them splash around, relax, and soak in the scenery together was pure joy. 

After returning to the hotel and taking warm showers, we all gathered for our final dinner together. After dinner came one of the most important and profound moments of our entire mission. I took a moment to thank the kids deeply for everything we have shared. I thanked them for helping Wecare take a huge, historical step forward. While Wecare has deep Italian roots, this group was truly international, with volunteers joining us from Spain, France, England, and beyond. This trip proved that international youth missions are not only possible, but represent the beautiful future of our organization. And to you, parents: thank you for trusting in this vision. It has been an absolute, undeniable success.

As the evening wound down, the reality set in: our beautiful bubble is coming to an end. To honor this transition, we follow a special tradition: we ask each volunteer to write a letter to their future self. Over the past week, these teenagers have opened their hearts, looked deep inside themselves, confronted their insecurities, and found new strength. Their hearts are in the perfect place to write. They write these letters, seal them in envelopes, and give them to us to guard. We keep them safe until a future moment in their lives, perhaps during a difficult time or a moment of deep doubt, when they need to read their own words the most.

Before sending them off to write in silence, I shared the letter I wrote to them:

‍Here we are at the end of the road. Or rather, at the end of two very different roads that we have walked side by side over these past nine days in Arequipa. The first journey was the tangible, visible one. It was concrete, noisy, and physically demanding. It was measured in mountains of sand moved by human chains, heavy buckets of piedra chancada, red bricks passed hand to hand under a blazing sun, the rhythmic roar of the concrete mixer, and the sweat poured onto a rooftop under the gaze of three towering volcanoes. It was measured in the deep cleaning of neglected spaces, the color wars in an orphanage courtyard, the marching parades at a special education school, the endless plates of chicken and rice, and the warm scarves wrapped around frail shoulders. In this journey, you gave a care home something they had been waiting twelve long years for: a beautiful, dignified comedor where abandoned elders can spend the final chapter of their lives feeling loved and remembered.

But then there was the second journey, the one that took place quietly, invisibly, inside your own hearts. And ironically, that is the journey that will leave the deepest mark on reality. In a world that constantly screams for your attention through screens and artificial expectations, this mission offered you a rare, privileged gift: silence. A space to look inward without masks, pretenses, or filters. Slowly, over our evening reflections, you began to listen to the quiet places inside yourselves. You examined the four chambers of your heart: your joy, your pain, your fear, and your desire. You wrestled with questions that most adults spend a lifetime trying to avoid: "Who am I?", "Why is it beautiful to be me?", and "What kind of happiness do I actually need?". In everyday life, it is so easy to construct walls to protect ourselves. We fear that if people see us as we truly are: unpolished, insecure, carrying quiet wounds, we won't be enough. We fear disappointing others, or failing to measure up to a world that demands perfection. And so, we retreat into safe, comfortable routines. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, wrote about this tragic temptation to hide from our own humanity:

"You have built your peace by cementing up every chink through which light might enter, like termites do. You have curled up in your security, in the suffocating rituals of your daily life: against the winds, the tides, and the stars you have raised this humble rampart. You do not want to be bothered by the great problems; you have already labored enough to forget that you are a human being."

These nine days did not allow you to hide behind cemented walls. You couldn't hide while lifting an elderly resident into a bus, or while sitting patiently beside someone who needed to be spoon fed, or while sharing your deepest vulnerabilities in a small circle. You allowed those walls to crumble.

We saw the beauty of human nature here, but we also touched its profound fragility. We saw it in the failing bodies of our abuelitos, in the painful backgrounds of the orphans, and yes, we even saw it in ourselves. We stumbled at times; we made mistakes because we are human, imperfect, and young. But as we learned on our hardest morning, a single mistake or a temporary stain does not erase the vast ocean of goodness you have poured into this place. Pain, wounds, and stumbles are not dead ends; they are thresholds. They force us to look inside and decide who we want to be.

As we reflected through C.S. Lewis, the only way to protect your heart from ever being hurt or broken is to lock it away in the dark, safe casket of your own selfishness. But in that casket, safe and airless, it will never grow. To love, and to live fully, means accepting vulnerability. It means taking the risk of opening your heart, offering your hands, and giving your energy away, even when it demands sacrifice.

Now comes the hardest part of any true journey: going back home.

For a short while, we lived in a unique spiritual bubble. We stargazed under the cloudless Arequipa sky, wore fake "Patagonia" fleeces, laughed through 3:00 AM wake up calls, and celebrated birthdays with fruit cakes and chocolate. With natural ease, the superficial nonsense of daily life fell away. But now, it is time to descend from the mountain and return to ordinary life with all its cares and anxieties. 

Returning home is a gift, but how do we face it? Let me be honest with you: the world you left behind has not changed. Your families are the same, your school desks are in the exact same spots, your old routines are waiting, and the social pressures of being 15/16/17/18 are still there. Nothing back home changed while we were away.

So, what changed? You did.

‍Your heart is worth the entire world. I am convinced that if you take yourselves seriously, if you refuse to go back to "cementing up the chinks" of your soul, if you commit to looking for what is good and true in the people around you, you will transform every room you walk into. Take the treasure of silence home with you. Keep creating moments to pause and listen to your inner voice. Remember that you are uniquely loved, exactly as you are, and that you do not need to prove your worth to anyone. Remember that love is an active verb, it requires effort, presence, and patience, but its supply is boundless.

We did not come to Peru to "save" anyone. We came here to learn how to stay, how to look, how to listen, and how to love in truth. My deepest hope is that the union of these two journeys gives you the tools, courage, and serenity to face the world waiting for you at home, to meet life's inevitable challenges not with fear or cynicism, but with open hearts, gentle hands, and a joy that no one can ever take away from you.

Late into the night, as I sat in my room, I heard quiet footsteps in the hallway. One by one, sealed envelopes were gently slipped under my door. I am writing these final words to you now from our bus ride back to Arequipa. Looking around me, teenagers are leaning left and right out of their seats, pressing their faces against the windows, pointing at herds of llamas, alpacas, and wild vicuñas with the pure, wide eyed wonder of little children.

Thank you once again for trusting us with the most precious thing in your lives, your children. They are deeply grateful to you for giving them the gift of this journey. Though it lasted only a short time, it will stay with them for the rest of their lives. They are coming home to you now with dirt under their fingernails, warm hearts, and an internal compass that will guide them even when all the maps in the world burn down.