I recently got back from a service trip in Haiti, where we turned an old dumpster site into the foundation of a trade school and ran four days of medical brigades.

Through all the blood, sweat, and tears that came with hand-mixing 60+ bags of cement with a shovel, digging a 4-foot deep trench that lined a space 40 feet by 60 feet, and carrying 800+ cinderblocks back and forth, I came to learn and appreciate laborious work like this. During the medical brigades, I saw how privileged my own life is, especially back home in America. I realized I took many, many things for granted. I'm here to share a few, with hopes that you and I will start to be more mindful and appreciate the little things.

First of all, access to food was not easy.

The food down there almost came as its own culture shock. Haitian diet revolves around rice and plantains, occasionally with goat, chicken, or beans. They have a very starchy and unbalanced diet because the only vegetables they grow, they sell. And they don't have much money to buy all the food groups necessary for a complete diet; most people live below $2 a day. When they do buy foods, they buy canned, processed foods, which adds to the unhealthy diet.

This was seen in our medical brigade findings, as--across the board--everyone had extremely high blood pressures.

Haiti is one of the few countries where you will see a person so diabetic and yet, so malnourished at the same time. When we as Americans think of high blood pressure, we think that it's caused by a lack of exercising (namely, walking). However, these Haitians walk everywhere--many don't have access to cars! So, their high blood pressure must be due to their diet. Most of the blood pressures we saw were so high that, if they had been in America, they would have been hospitalized right away. The Haitians don't have this luxury, though, and these blood pressures were so common, they almost felt "normal." It's so easy to take your own health for granted until you see how other people live.

Here in America, we think water is free.

You can order a glass of water at a restaurant, and you won't be charged. Water is clean, water is safe to drink. That is not the case in Haiti. The water still has countless bacteria, and it's very easy to get sick if one drinks the water there--or even brushes their teeth with it. Most people spend the entire day thirsty; here, we know that there will always be water to quench our thirst. In a village we visited of over 1,000,000 people, there was one small well that held the only source of clean water. Everyone in that village had to walk there to get drinkable water.

When we think of safety and security, we think of being able to walk in the streets without risking death.

We think of our right to vote. We think of having a say in the government. The streets of CapHaitien are filled with cars that don't follow any traffic laws. Where there should be a two lane road, 4 lanes of cars squeeze to fit. Burning garbage lines the streets because there isn't an effectively organized garbage disposal system. At times, you'll even see (and smell) a burning dog carcass. The government is corrupt and doesn't use its money to help the people; rather, the wealth of the country is held in the hands of a few elite, who have no interest in giving back to its fellow Haitians. A long history of corrupt leaders has put Haiti in the economic and social situation it is in today.

As a Michigander, I always complain about the road construction in the summer.

It seems that as soon as the first layer of snow melts away, the orange construction cones come out. What I fail to realize is that American road construction is 1) very organized 2) safe for workers and bystanders and 3) very, very quick. It takes a few weeks to build a house in my neighborhood, and only a few days to repave a street. In Haiti, I experienced--first hand--the arduous construction procedure. We were equipped with only a few small shovels, a hoe, and a pickax. On the first day, we were met with a rugged landscape: an old dumpster patch. There were still tree roots and grass in the ground, not to mention the embedded pieces of trash. We broke ground with our meager supplies, one swing of the shovel at a time. It was more laborious work than any American could ever imagine.

After we dug a four foot deep trench that stretched a total of 200 feet in perimeter, we began to mix cement.

I had really taken for granted those big cement mixer trucks we have in the states! In Haiti, we started by sifting sand, one small tray at a time, until we had a pile of fine sand that stood taller, longer, and wider than two minivans side by side. Again, we used our small shovels and the muscle we had built in those few days of work. We mixed the sand with bags of cement powder; we used over 60 bags of cement in total. Then, we carried over buckets of water to liquify the cement. The shoveling reminded me of one kneading dough to make bread. I might have thought it was hard for the few days we worked on it, but I needed to remember that in Haiti, this was how it was all the time. Even after I left, the Haitian construction workers would be going through this. They had no safety nets or insurance; I saw someone with a makeshift metal torcher using only sunglasses to protect his eyes.

The life we have in America is like paradise to the Haitians.

Because of a different culture and way of life, things that seem absurd to Americans may be the norm for others. The women and girls I met through the medical brigades and the days of working on the construction site were all so sweet, but it pained me--as an American--to see sixteen year old girls who had multiple children already. I knew this was the normal life for females, and yet my American roots were uneasy. I kept reminding myself to imagine what I would feel in their shoes, how I would be doing the same thing if I were them. How strange it is to think that the place where you were born--something that you have no control over whatsoever--determines much of your future.

It's a weird concept to grasp, but as Americans, we have the luxury to worry about certain things.

We can complain about not getting a new fancy car, or about our mom not making our favorite lasagna for dinner. We can worry about the latest celebrity drama and bash American democracy. We can fret that the shower water is too hot or too cold. But in Haiti, people are struggling to find anything to eat or drink at all; people are fighting off skin funguses without going to the hospital; people are trying to wake up each morning, alive. Suddenly, our problems don't seem too big anymore, do they?

Haiti is a beautiful country. Such a beautiful country. While we were there, we learned about the history of the land: the revolutions, the heroes, the progress made. It absolutely broke my heart to see the children with UTIs and intestinal parasites--conditions that resulted from the lack of sanitation available.

And yet, these people have a beautiful life, lovely in the sense that a broken glass vase is.

The language--oh how beautiful Haitian Creole is! I was able to learn a few words to communicate with people and have basic conversation, and I am more than grateful to have been exposed to such a rich culture. Goodbye, Haiti; orevwa, Ayiti! I know we'll meet again someday.