It was written on a well worn wooden desktop in a classroom in a small remote village in Uganda. It spoke of innocence and connection. The letters were roughly applied to the desk in pen and then reinforced almost carved into the surface by multiple passes. The one word, Love, spoke universal across time and continent. How many students in how many classrooms over how many years have done the same? It was if that single word was a chord sung by countless voices across space and time. In that moment I felt community. It was one of those magical moments when the light bulb goes on and you almost look around to see who threw the switch. Differences in culture, wealth, and education, I realized, are but masks obscuring the core of what actually matters- love. To love and to be loved, it is truly as simple as that.