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Being a part of a culture entirely unlike your own culture has its repercussions. It’s perfectly acceptable to discuss worms over lunch (as in, intestinal worms-which I myself had mere weeks ago), to slide halfway down a mountain, losing clothes and skin en route-and just laugh about it. Rice is probably one of my favorite foods; a hot shower sounds terrible….having a naked kid on my lap to lice-inhale-it’s all the norm now. But, those are just the superficialities. I have changed, inevitably, hopefully irreversible.

On Friday, my students, several of our Palawano friends, and I were excitedly heading down the mountain to the lowland market. Our goals: eat lots of ice cream (I was preluding on charcoal), meet the Goodson’s (AFM family visiting for a fortnight), and maybe carry 20 kilos back to KMTN. Then, I tripped. And because my butt is a long way from the ground, I foolishly put out a hand to break my fall. “Ay….negsugbek ku!” I needlessly announced, and tried to brush the dirt off my hand. It wasn’t dirt. It was basically a small tree, embedded in a bloody gash in my hand. “Uhh, Sandra, I gotta go to the clinic…” I announced. “Can I see?” “No,” in fact, I covered my hand with the other hand, and tried not to notice the blood dripping out. Leaving my batik and dualities with the women, I tore off down the trail. Barefoot. Making it to KMTN in an adrenaline-failed rush, I was soon lying on my back in the clinic, grimacing as my hand was shot full of lydocaine. It was a good cut—long enough for two nurses to learn the mattress stitch, deep enough that I have significant nerve damage, and full of nasty splinters.

The funny thing was-it really wasn’t a big deal. I was grateful that my girls were still able to eat ice cream in Bingbilang. I was glad the nurses were able to learn a new technique. I was glad I wasn’t hurt worse. True, it’s been hard not being able to wash my own hair, open dry erase markers, or cook my food. I don’t like feeling like a burden. But, had this happened in America, I know  I would not be as positive nor as well cared for either.

It’s not worth dwelling on when there are bigger battles to be fought…and, if nothing else, the scar will make for a great children’s story someday.

Kalu atin lang