I am a giant! I am a hulking mass of muscle. I duck to get in through some doorways… and where I walk, I am the tallest of the tall. Some homes I am forced to watch my head so I do not cut it on the edge of the tin roof (honestly).

The truth is I am only 5-9. But I am in a country where the maximum height for things is 5-7 (I think). The chairs, the cars, the toilets, showers, tables… all have been made for someone smaller than I. The Jeepneys force me to bend over, and sometimes I crawl… because my legs are too long to comfortably move around inside one of the famous Philippine taxis. How did this happen? In America, I am barely above average for my height.

I can feel it in my knees when I sit at a chair made for someone slightly smaller. I feel it in my back when I walk in a door and duck to avoid the tin roof.

In the Philippines I am a mighty tower. This is all so very strange because in high school I was one of the shortest kids in my graduating class (boy or girl) at 5′-6″.

I do not feel taller or more powerful as I walk down the streets of the Philippines. But it is definitely different at 5-9 to be a giant.

Now I know how NBA basketball players feel in America… because nearly everything here feels made for someone smaller than I.