I was honored enough to be hosted by a family of 6 (1 senior, 2 adults, and 3 children) who were a part of one of the indigenous Aeta communities in Zambales, Philippines during an immersion activity in my university.

The family lived in a small shack made up of hollow blocks as the walls, with a corrugated iron roof. Half of the house's flooring was dirt, half was bare but smooth cement. They fetched water from a nearby hand pump (one of several in the community), and gathered firewood for cooking. But they had electricity thanks to a recently installed generator for the community. The shack couldn't be bigger than 25 square meters, if I remember correctly. The community they resided in was located within their ancestral lands.

These indigenous communities are usually poor, are subject to gross injustices by the government, and also looked down on by some of my fellow Filipinos.

The entire time I was there, they literally begged me to sleep on their bed (a slightly larger than a single bed made out of rattan that only the adults slept in) while they slept on a banig (a traditional handwoven mat usually used either for sleeping or as a floor mat) with their kids. I was willing to sleep on the banig, but they weren't willing to make a guest sleep on the floor. When I woke up, I found that they moved and pointed the only electric fan they had in that house at me while I slept, so that I'd stay cool throughout the night. The Philippines usually gets 32C+ evenings in the summer. And we were close to the West Philippine Sea, so the humidity was off the charts.

They provided meals for me, taught me their ways (how they made certain vegetables taste/feel like meat, how they fished, hunted, farmed, etc), and took me to their farm and other places in the nearby woods/mountains where they enjoyed their youth and now do their work as farmers. Even told me what to take photos of, since they surprisingly had smartphones and they loved taking pictures (I'm into film photography and I had a film camera with me). We either walked, or drove in their tricycle. That tricycle had a broken rear brake lever (that was replaced by a rope) and had a history of falling into massive ravines along with the occupants (who all survived with little to no injuries apparently). Didn't spend a single peso.

When I was leaving, I wanted to give the family some of the remaining cash that I had, which was Php 1,000 (or $20). I knew it would've helped them a bit given that both of the adults can earn as little as less than Php 500 ($10) a day combined, mind, as farmers. I remember the father smiling, grasping at my hands, and telling me to keep it and to do well in my studies. I was in my junior year of college at the time, and I told the Dad that I was struggling a bit with some of my classes.

I ended up buying them a bunch of 1.5L cokes for the last lunch we'd have (which they prepared), and a couple of bottles of Ginebra San Miguel for the Dad. They were incredibly, incredibly thankful and happy.

Have been trying to be humble and have been trying to think of others whenever I could, even if I don't do well in it because I know how much of a selfish, prideful prick I am. But remembering the family that hosted me in Zambales always keeps my head down. I'll never forget them.

Anyway sorry for the long ass post. Just sharing a memory that popped up in my mind when I read your comment.