I find that the struggles of this nation have stayed with me. After seeing the lives of millions of people, people just as I, living in such poverty, I feel a great sense of appreciation for what I have, yet a great sense of despair for those that do not get the chance to ‘have.’ We think that our lives are difficult and that the petty reasons for us to argue and cry are important. Yet, I cannot help but realize that our ‘struggles’ are bliss to those in need. If only they could complain about the things that we complain about. I cannot stop picturing an old woman we had seen in the alleys in Marrakech: with her head in her hand, clothed in layers of rag, she seemed to escape from the difficulties of her life that had weakened her in that moment. She sat leaning for a great length of time against the tattered wall in this moment of stillness, perhaps finding her own form of appreciation to continue on her journey.