I thought a lot about the blog I wrote yesterday, about the challenges I face here everyday. I think I’ve been fighting off my feelings—I didn’t want to be overwhelmed by poverty, I didn’t want to feel lonely or needy for people I love. I didn’t want to feel awkward, to stumble my way through the language, to have people laugh at my mistakes. I felt bad because I am sick of being stared at, being different, foreign; unusual. I suppose I thought I’d be so comfortable with all these things, that finding out the contrary disappointed me some how—as if I hadn’t lived up to my own expectations.

Well, yesterday I finally decided that it was okay to feel all these things. They’re not the only things I feel by any means—I’ve had some wonderful experiences here as well, some real breakthroughs. I’ve started to get more comfortable with the language; Tanya has learned my name, my project is picking up speed, I’m writing more than I ever have before, my family next door seems to really care about me…and Matt will be here in just over three weeks. But more than that, it’s okay to be uncomfortable. It’s okay to be a foreigner, to be different and to not like it. I’m not perfect. It’s okay for this to be hard. It seemed like once I stopped ignoring my experience and I acknowledged it instead, it allowed me to look at the other elements of my time here as well—and to laugh at myself, to not take myself so seriously.

Yesterday I decided to go for a run. I hadn’t in the past because I’d never seen anyone run around here, and I just knew I’d get stares, dog barks, constant comments, etc. I didn’t want the attention. But, I decided yesterday that I didn’t care. I’d get all the same attention walking anyway, so why not run and get some exercise? So what if they think I look funny with my pink face and running shorts. I do look funny. I’d probably laugh at myself too. So—I did it. I ran for about 45 minutes uphill. I smiled and waved at people as I ran, spoke to them in my limited Ifugao, and laughed a lot. I was trying to say “I’m exercising,” but since the pronunciation for ‘I’ and ‘you’ are so similar I think I actually said, “you’re exercising,” and “you’re jogging!” as I ran along the way. They probably thought I was crazy, and I think that’s great.

I had a few conversations with loved ones yesterday. During one of them I realized that it made perfect sense that I was uncomfortable, in fact, that was why I’d come here. I decided a long time ago that I wanted to commit myself to creating solutions for poverty and environmental preservation. But sometimes people don’t get motivated until they’re uncomfortable, angry, depressed—affected, essentially, by the reality they want to change. It’s not enough to read about these things in book, I had to come face-to-face with them and experience this volatile chemistry. My experience here affects me deeply.

And while sometimes I wish it didn’t, sometimes I wish I could float placidly through my experience here, unaffected, how would I ever be inspired to create solutions for the problems I see? What would there be to write about? So—even though I struggle here, I hurt here, I am lonely here—I am grateful for the chance to experience the depths of myself. I’m not always comfortable with what I see, but at least I’m looking.