Guam is a small island territory, 3,950 miles away from the nearest American state, 5,806 miles away from my office in San Francisco, and the place I call home. I was born and raised on Guam knowing that food was expensive and that if there were supposed to be six variations of one product, we’d only have two of them on the shelves, always marked up 31% or more. I never understood why romaine lettuce was $10 for a bag of three heads or why “real milk” from California was $9 a gallon. I knew fuel for the giant ships that brought them into the port was probably expensive, but I never considered what it took to get that food onto the ships in the first place. 

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