During our island tour around Guimaras, our driver stopped at a home in the windmill farm. This carabao was chilling in the rice field. When we approached, he got up and tilted his head to us. It was such a neat moment connecting with this gentle giant. I didn’t notice until after, the house behind me. The house with wood bars for windows and tin for roofing. The house that probably fetches water from a well every day to shower and do dishes. More then likely has no A.C. and sparse electricity. Being in Southeast Asia for the last 2 months has been a constant reminder of how blessed I, and everyone back home, truly are. The things we take for granted someone else is praying for. There’s 30 pairs of shoes sitting in my closet back in the states when a child here is wearing the same ripped pair passed down from his siblings. It’s humbling. Each time I travel, it changes me more and more.