After spending the better part of two days sitting in a crowded and stifling hot bus, I was relieved to get out as we reached the Mexican border. As our sauna on wheels lumbered through the pothole infested streets of Tijuana, I was taken aback by the stark contrast of being only a few miles from the United States and now suddenly immersed in the urban sprawl of a foreign land. Numerous abandoned buildings, graffiti on an industrial scale, and hordes of street vendors dominated the landscape. There would be no exotic resorts waiting for our group. Instead, we were treated to tents and porta-potties in a vacant lot. That first night I found myself questioning why I volunteered to spend my entire spring break as a full-time construction worker. Little did I know that the days ahead would bring the most life-changing and impactful experiences of my nineteen years on this planet. Our international excursion came with one clear objective: to construct nine homes in six days. The first day on the job site was shocking to my senses. Remaining in my memory is the visual of dilapidated shelters erected out of wood scraps and plastic road signs. This was coupled with the distinct smell of having neither a sewage system nor a modern waste management program. Rusty nails protruded from most pieces of wood in the current Sanchez dwelling and their bathroom was a five gallon bucket, which to my surprise was actually a luxury for this area. My prior exposure to abject poverty was limited to occasional and brief interactions with homeless individuals. It wasn’t until seeing how this family lived on a daily basis that I realized the true meaning of material deprivation. However, they did not project the emotions that would likely align with their economic plight. The Sanchez's exuded contentment and optimism. Freddy, the family patriarch, was a tireless worker and always made sure to express gratitude toward us through his limited English. Smiles and laughter can break through any language barrier as was evident by our impromptu soccer matches with the neighborhood children. No shoes, no shin guards, and apparently no problem for most of the kids who played unburdened by their circumstances. If the people we encountered could possess authentic joy living in such impoverished conditions, then I could afford a change in perspective at the expense of my first world comforts. Reflecting on these interactions has helped me recalibrate my own values system with respect to being more intentional in expressing my gratitude and recognizing my privilege. A week’s worth of sleeping on the ground, long days of grueling manual labor, and using the functional equivalent of a leaky plastic bag to shower: these were small, temporary sacrifices that pale in comparison to the hardships that are normalized in the community we served. The new Casa de Sanchez was simple and basic by most standards of modern single-family housing. Although its interior spaces were smaller than my own living room, this home held far greater significance to this family. The key ceremony- the presentation of the finished house to the family on our final day- was a powerful moment that is etched in my memory and comes to mind frequently. Despite having an emotionally reserved persona, watching the family accept their keys triggered a spontaneous release from my tear ducts. There seems to be a duality in the truth of our experiences. While I played a minor role in changing the trajectory of the Sanchez family’s future, this experience was a major catalyst for my personal growth and character development.