My hope to help Tibetan families

Remember New Year's Eve, 2007, Lhasa.

I looked through my hotel room window, the Potala Palace was pressed into the darkness, dotted with just a few tiny lighted windows. The base of the mountain, painted in white, looked like snow under the half moon.

For the next couple of weeks, I made my way through southeast Tibet, without a proper permit, and interviewed villagers, farmers, migrant workers, restaurant owners, herders, and even lamas. Everywhere I went, I was mostly welcomed. Some agreed to talk on my camera, some didn't. Most of those I spoke to have difficulties with their life one way or the other.

One young couple were forced to leave their homeland because of a string of mishaps, from flooding to fire to battling with new government policies; I thought about raising money to help them building a place back home.

Another family was forced by the government to build a new house by the highway. They were already knee deep in debt with nowhere left to borrow more. I wished I could land them a hand.

Another farming family lost the majority of their land due to flooding. One of their sons had to drop out of school to work around the house, at grade 5. I wish I could do something to send him back to school.

I don't know any charities that could help them, I feel powerless. I can't forget the eyes of that young mother, her daughter born one day after they fled the flood that washed their home away.

They are not victims of war, or any high profile atrocity. But I feel the desire to help them, some way, somehow.