His Name is Antonio

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” (New International Version, Mark.12.31.) As a Christian, I have heard this verse countless times but I could not follow it for I loathed a particular race; I abhorred certain ethnic people so much that I even wanted them to be exterminated. This particular race I am talking about is gypsy, an itinerant people who reside in many countries.

This hatred toward gypsies started in fourth grade when I went to a public Turkish School. Every day, on my way to school and back, I had to pass by a street where the gypsies resided. Because I looked different from them, I stood out and once in a while mobs of gypsies assaulted me, cursing, swearing, spitting, and beating me for absolutely no reason. This bullying continued the rest of the school year, both on the streets and at the school. I was wounded and indignant but I could not resolve any of these feelings inside of me. I told my parents but they asked me a ludicrous favor: to forgive them and to love them.

Fortunately, I was able to move to a new school in fifth grade and did not have to see those vicious gypsies again. However, even as time passed, the bitterness and animosity towards the group persisted, rooted deep within my heart. In 10th grade, I was able to attend a voluntary service called Spring Service Project. I joined the Romanian team and flew to an orphanage located in Timisoara, Romania. Our team did all sorts of work starting from manual labor to taking care of kids. Because I had affection towards children, I prioritized spending time with the kids but there was one big problem: a gypsy kid was also among those kids. His name was Antonio, a seven-year-old gypsy who looked like those gypsies that had done me harm in the past. At first, I tried to ignore him since I did not want to incite my hatred toward his race. But that did not work; he was the brightest, the friendliest, and the most outgoing kid among the group who kept following me, calling me his best friend. I tried so hard to ignore him but after a while, I gave up and treated him as I treated any other kids there. Seven days in the orphanage passed quickly and I had to say bye to those kids I got to know; Antonio and I had become best friends and I promised him that I will return next year.

One day after the trip, I saw gypsies on the street and noticed something bizarre. I realized that I no longer had animosity nor ill will toward gypsies but instead, I had sympathy and tenderness toward them just as I had to Antonio. I realized I had forgiven those people unknowingly; that interaction with Antonio had done me a miracle, to forgive a race that I vowed not to forgive.