The slum didn’t feel the way it did last year. We walked on many of the same alleys, saw many of the same places, visited the same community center, but I could help but feel that it was much worse this year. What had happened? Did I only remember the happy things, the smiling children who crowded around us and the sense of hope on their faces, and erase the trash, the poor sanitation, the hunger and the thirst? This year I still saw the children and smiled at them, shook their hands, said hello and asked “Taru nam su che?” but I felt a barrier, of my own construction, that I didn’t feel last year. I couldn’t explain why, and I still can’t, but for some reason I saw more of the negative than the positive. Once we left the slum I began to think of one of the many inspiring quotations and sayings painted on the walls of the buildings that my eyes fell upon as  we exited the Gandhi Ashram earlier that day: “My feet are tired but my soul is rested.” When I had first seen it, I felt that I understood it on some level, thinking of the calm that comes when hiking with my family, or the contenment that I feel when finishing a long and meaningful project. But thinking on it after visitning the slum, I didn’t have any of that experience of peace. My feet were a bit tired but my soul was far from rested: I was emotionally drained and questioning my experience and our role in all of the issues that we’ve been considering. I could not understand our purpose for this. Why were we going into this community? Last year I had more clarity and peace of mind. I’m not sure why, and I’m still processing my experience, but I at least know that things aren’t as simple as I thought they were before. --Jordan