“What is my name?” A Fijian Peace Corps volunteer says in a trailing-off kind of way after I ask what her name is. She continues, “In Fiji, I am Claudine…so Claudine.” I can relate to these two perspectives from my Peace Corps days; my Lesotho name was Nthabiseng.

We just happened to be staying at the same place that these volunteers flocked to for the 4th of July; the Maravu Lodge on the small island of Taveuni. Franco, another volunteer, gave us a hot tip. “At the café just down the road, they have the best brownies in all of Fiji; they are ice cold.” This land is perpetually temperate with only a 2-degree difference between day and night, and from winter to summer, about 10 10-degree difference. Perspective can look so different. At home, the warmth would be the selling point.

Eavesdropping is one of my strengths. So I was extra interested in the answer to the question that one volunteer was asking the other at the next table. “Being that we’ve been here for a year now, what do you miss most from the States?”

“Walking in Chicago and taking the public transport alone,” said the other. I remember those village days of always being with people and never being anonymous. Funny how when the scales are heavier on one side, we can want more of the thing that is on the other.

“It’s cold and windy today,” said the guide as we were boating to seemingly the middle of the ocean to Rainbow Reef to explore the coral and fish. It was 72 degrees. Another Fijian said that he visited Australia once and he didn’t like it. Because it was too cold.

Beside the Fijian village of Naselesele, there was a sign. “Densely populated area: drive slow.” It was a seaside town with more rooster sounds than engine noise, with one main road and maybe 150 inhabitants.

Perspective is how we see the outside from our own unique inside. And our insides are complex.

On this trip, we love the fancy part of the trip. With all you can eat breakfast buffets of mountains of papaya, coconut flavored cakes, cassava, taro, and fish curry. We get massages, lounge by the pool, enjoy great mattresses, drink too much in-room coffee, clean up in an outdoor yet private shower, have our own bungalow to come and go as we please, play in a friendly volleyball game organized by the activity’s director, and take a waterfall tour with a guide.

And then, the second part of the trip is a homestay. I love it just as much, but for different reasons. We take our shoes off and are welcomed into the family’s home, where they beckon us to dinner each night by playing some guitar with island melodies. Biu and Abraham rent out 3 rooms in their house, and the 7 of us guests share 1 bathroom where the toilet is essentially in the shower. We also all share one outlet in the living room with multiple power strips for charging our devices. We join these other travelers for dinner, where we learn that one of the couples has been digital nomads for 4 years and just do their remote work as they travel around the world.

We are taken out back where neighbors are harvesting leaves to make woven mats, and proceed to boil them in a big metal drum over a small fire. They use a machete to cut and peel some sugar cane for us to chew while they work. The curious 3-year-old girl peeks into our room while we nap, and the family dog follows us as we walk to the school to watch the elementary school kids playing rugby. Abraham shares that he can neither read nor write, so when he was working, his wife would write his reports for him. They shared with us about their Pentecostal religion, what it was like to start a homestay business, and how proud they are of their children. They learn English in school, so we could easily communicate with everyone except the pre-K kids.

The first part had choice and space. The second part had a connection and was personal. I embrace all of these as values.

From our nature and nurture, we hold different perspectives, values, and notice different things.

Just this morning, Mark commented that this is the smallest airport he has ever been in and hadn’t ever seen an airport gift shop that sells cartons of eggs before now. He can spot the unusual. Miles noticed all the tree stumps and exquisitely examined the quality of the cuts, calling on his experience with cutting down invasive trees in New Zealand. I tend to notice people. In this Matei airport, I point out how two women are perfectly in sync in their conversation, mirroring each other with unknowing precision.

Each of us is drawn to details that reflect who we are and where we’ve been. We all see differently, and together, we see more.