Ending

Something strange happens when an ending in imminent. All of the sudden moments, even the mundane, seem richer. Everything you do is layered with the realization that this will one day, very soon, be a memory. 

I’ve always said that everything beautiful is a little bit sad, because you know it’s going to end. A sunset inevitably sets, a rainbow eventually fades. But that sweet sadness has made me cherish my time and my relationships here in Nepal. I knew it was going to end, and here I am, with just four days left. 

In these final days, time has been flying by with lightening speed. Yet in the midst of the speed, time has seemed able to pause in moments of beauty or happiness, as if it were suspended in mid-air. It is in these moments that I am overwhelmed with gratitude for this chance to be here. Yes, SALT has been incredibly difficult and challenging at times, but it has also added so much goodness to my life. It has changed me, in more ways than I know how to express at this time. Leaving will be painful, but arriving home will come with it’s own adventures and goodness. 

To those I’m leaving; thank you for the impact you’ve made in my life. I feel you all in my heart and you will forever be in my memory as something very special. I will miss you dearly and I truly hope we meet again. 

To those I’m returning to; I have missed you all soooo much. Your love and support from afar has helped me through the good and the bad here in Nepal. I am so grateful for our relationship and I am so excited to be reunited with you all very soon! 

Three Meters

     

        They say Kathmandu moved three meters to the south during the 7.8 earthquake. I say, really? That’s it?! Over 8,000 people died, thousands more were injured or left homeless, and an entire country’s population was terrified, and we only moved three meters?! It seems like we moved miles, worlds even, between 11:55am on Saturday April 25th and 11:57.
After the earthquake, I found myself living in a world that was so different from the one I lived in before. For days, the ground beneath my feet shivered, raged, swayed, and boomed. Solid ground, which I had always considered reliable and trustworthy, betrayed me and became my greatest source of fear. Hour after hour, we were all bracing for the next aftershock, watching, waiting for things to get better... or worse.
Adrenaline, survival instincts, fear, exhaustion; all these were a constant presence in my chest, in my gut, in my mind. But despite these being some of the most terrifying days of my life, there was an inexplicable space for humor, friendship, and bonding. Some people refer to what took place during the trembling as “trauma bonding”.  Regardless of what you call it, this experience has entrenched this country and the relationships I’ve built here into a unique and permanent space in my heart.
It’s hard for me to summarize the experience of the earthquake in one short blog post.  My perspective of the experience keeps changing day by day. It was such a major part of my life, and it changed the way I think and see the world. I would have to write a novel to fully explain its impact and complexity. Saying that, continue to keep Nepal in your thoughts and prayers, for the earthquake is still a part of daily life, and forever in the hearts and minds of the people who experienced it. 

A Case for Walking

       Walking in Nepal is necessary. The most logical and convenient way to get around is on your own two feet. At first I found walking everywhere to be a slight inconvenience. It took up so much time, and my feet hurt. Quickly though,  I grew accustomed to the walking culture and it has become much more than a necessity to me.  

       I find in America, people zip from one thing to another. We can pack our schedules tight, because travel time is greatly cut by use of fast cars and nice roads. Because of this, we jump from activity to activity at 60mph, with hardly any time in between. I now think, that this habit could be hurting our mental and emotional health. 

       On average, I walk about an hour a day, be that going to work, running errands, what have you. There is so much space between my activities, of which I can spend in thought, or listening to music. What I cherish most about this time, is the space it gives me to process. Within the half-an-hour it takes me to get to point A to point B, I can reflect on what I just experienced, notice new things around me, appreciate the beauty of the mountains in the distance, prepare for where I am heading, or just walk in the peacefulness of wordless thoughts. 

     I often arrive at my destination refreshed, a bit warm and physically tired perhaps, but feeling mentally and emotionally renewed. There is a saying in the Himalayas, that even if your body feels fine to keep climbing, one must stop for the soul to catch up. I find that in Nepal, I am moving at my soul's pace. I now understand how necessary it is to slow down, and to give yourself time for the day you're living to sink in. 

       

The Strength and Silence of Women

http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/nepali-woman-carrying-basket-royalty-free-image/117145013

       It’s time for me to talk about my women. I am quite convinced that the women of Nepal are some of the toughest human beings on the planet. Not only are they constantly working, by doing all the cooking, cleaning, farming, and child-rearing, they also carry the weight of the entire family’s spiritual purity. This makes them incredibly strong. I see their thick hands, their calloused feet, their resilience in their eyes, and my God, it seems like they could move mountains. I am in absolute awe of these women. And that is why I am so distressed that these superwomen of humanity are too often made to endure subhuman, sometimes inhumane, treatment... in silence. 

      It is with these women, whose minds have been fractured by silence and trauma, that I work every day. I almost want to avoid learning their stories because I just cannot bear to think that behind those friendly smiles, sweet “namastes,” and hospitable natures, are stories of abuse, rape, torture, homelessness, and hunger. I am always shocked when I see pictures or videos of the state of some of these women when KOSHISH rescued them. It is almost impossible for me to believe that the same woman who was just laughing with me, warming me up with her shawl was, just a few months ago wounded, dirty, and psychotic, wandering the streets where she was often abused. 

       But KOSHISH is an amazing place, in that as much heartbreak as I feel, I feel twice as much inspiration and hope. As well as seeing amazing recoveries of clients at the Transit Home, I also get to work in the office with a group of powerful women and passionate men, who are making great strides in establishing mental health and women’s rights as prominent issues in Nepal. I feel incredibly honored, in the very brief time that I am here, to be a part of this organization, and play however small a part in this growing movement towards healing and justice.

Himalaya Gazing

For when you gaze long into the Himalayas...

The Himalayas gaze also into you.

Dreamless

       For over a month now, I have not remembered a single dream. At most, I may have a vague hunch about the topic presented subconsciously while I slept, but that’s it. Perhaps, to you, this might not sound strange, but for me, dreams are just as much a part of my reality as, well, reality is. They are how I process and make sense of the world. I thought dreams would guide me through this experience, just like the brought me here. But lately, they just seem to slip through my finger-tips, and it leaves me feeling a little lost. 

       Just now, I lit a candle to help me ponder why, this month in particular, I can’t remember my dreams. I have a little clay bowl next to my candle, in which I put my used match sticks in. Well, the pyro in me couldn’t resist setting a lit match into the pile of tiny sticks to make my own miniature camp fire. I was very excited about this, until it I realized it was getting a little too big for comfort. It was getting slightly out of control, making sparks and cracking noises, so in a mild panic I quickly blew it out. As the flames disappeared and smoke arose from the ashes, so did insight about my dream quandary. I’ve had too many matches going at once.

       Since starting work, I have enthusiastically said yes to every opportunity to help. I am currently a Researcher, Fundraiser, English Teacher, Event Planner, Social Activist, Nurse, Social Anthropologist, Fly on the Wall, Proposal Writer, Student, Consultant, Baby Sitter, and of course, Activities Coordinator. On top of all that, I am walking the tight rope of slightly confusing, sometimes lonely, cross cultural living. While I absolutely love my work and my colleagues, everything is escalating so quickly and I am starting to feel a bit tired. No longer have I been able to reflect on a single candle flame, instead, I am too focused on how to keep my pile of burning matches under control. My subconscious brain can’t get through to me under such pressure and distraction. 

       So I think what my subconscious needs, is for me to shorten my “to do” list, and especially shorten my stress-inducing “should do” list. I need to blow out a few matches in order be rejuvenated by the fire, instead of stressed out by it. This advent season, I want to wake up in the morning with enough clarity and ease, to let whatever the Divine and my subconscious came up with over night, to sink in and guide me through my days once again.

Fuzzy Purple Crocodile

    
       It has been just over two months since I arrived in Nepal. I laugh at how far I’ve come since my first few days and I am proud of my small accomplishments. I am no longer afraid to cross the street, I’ve taken all forms of transportation successfully, I know a bit of Nepali, I've made friends with my Nepali community, I feel comfortable in my house and neighborhood, I can eat a ridiculous amount of rice without feeling pain, and I have even gained some good weight and strength! And just as I was starting to become proud of the fact that I’d never caught a stomach bug.... WHAM! A microscopic, god-forsaken bug of pure evil knocked me down to what felt like square one. 

       I experienced hours of violent vomiting and diarrhea. My kidneys screamed in pain for water. Sweating, chills, and moaning. Eventually, I could no longer get out of bed without blacking out and just hurled over the side into a bucket. My host family was obviously very concerned and fixed me up some Oral Rehydration Solution (ORS). I was SO thirsty, but as soon as I swallowed anything, it immediately brought on another bout of vomiting. I felt like Dumbledore in the sixth book, when he had to drink the cursed solution out of the basin of Voldermort’s cave in order to reach the horcrux. I knew I had to drink, because I was getting badly dehydrated, but the vomiting after the fact was horrible.

      I felt do defeated. Here I was in rapid decline, and there was nothing I could do to stop it! Not even my stubbornness could will me to get better.  I was a delirious, semi-hallucinating, barely conscious blob of misery. My brain was so whacked that I no longer understood any Nepali being spoken to me. And I could forget trying to speak any Nepali other than the word “waak waak” (which means vomit).  

       Eventually, after semi-hallucinating a fuzzy purple crocodile standing next to my closest, we decided that I needed to go to the hospital. That was easier said than done. I would walk about five steps before my vision would go black, and my body felt like it was covered in hot nettles. Nausea would hit me like a truck and I’d crumble. The journey from my bed to the ER is all a blur now. I recall a taxi, Pooja holding me, multiple doctors slapping and bending my wrists to get an IV in, and then sweet sweet relief. 

       It felt so great to have some energy back, and most of all, to have gone an hour or two without feeling like my insides were crawling out of me (although my back still hurt pretty badly). I’m not sure how many hours I was in the ER but eventually I felt up to going back home to rest. But after attempting to walk about thirty feet I was hunched over on a chair once again with horrible vertigo and nausea. My legs trembled as I tried to walk to the taxi. Well, the doctor assisting my departure didn’t like how this was going and suggested I stay the night to recover and get my strength back. And that’s how I got admitted. 

       I stayed two nights in the hospital. I was diagnosed with parasites, a bacterial infection, and dehydration. Now this hospital, while adequate, was definitely not up to the standards of cleanliness and safe practice that I learned in nursing school. But I was so weak and exhausted that whenever I woke up to a nurse hooking something up to my IV, I just rolled back to sleep assuming whatever it was was good for me. Luckily, I had Luke and Leah (my MCC reps) watching out for me, and my parents were informed of every medication going into me, even from across the world (God bless technology). 

       I felt so far from home and missed my family, but I was never alone in the hospital. Either my reps, Gita or Asha (other MCC Nepali staff) or a member of my host family were always by my side. They rubbed my back, handed me puke buckets, brought me food and drink, and were always praying for me in their respective religions. Luke and Leah, bless them, took turns sleeping on the tiny bench next to my bed over night. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my community here in Nepal. I was completely helpless and vulnerable but completely taken care of. 

       So now I am back in my Nepali home regaining those small accomplishments I had made earlier. Yes, I lost all of the weight I had gained, but today I could finish all my dinner! Just three days ago my legs quaked and heart pounded trying to climb the stairs to my room, but today I walked to a coffee shop successfully! A week ago, moaning was my only language, but today Kopila, our maid, and I accomplished a conversation in Nepali about the plan for the day. 

       It is my prayer that I may see the regression of my health and mental abilities not as defeat, but as an opportunity to feel the victory of the little accomplishments once again.