I feel like I am on an emotional swing set. One moment, I feel shocked, confused, and scared. The next moment, I feel happy and alive, full of love and amazement for beautiful Nepal and its beautiful people. The following paragraphs have been written over the past week, and I think they show my mood swings very clearly.
Getting to Nepal was like being shot out of a cannon. After two weeks, I finally started to feel comfortable and at home in my traveling life when it all had to change again. Now, I'm starting to realize that this is what I signed up for: Once people and places start to become familiar, I will have to move on - I will be shot out of another cannon and end up in another foreign world. I spent two weeks visiting places and making strong friendships with some special people. Re-assembling yourself after being shot from a cannon is not an easy task, and the people who surround you and offer you love and support at that critical moment become friends who hold a very special place in your life. When I think about Kathmandu, I don't think about Swayumbunath or daal bhaat - I think about Mexican cousins who laugh uncontrollably when they get tired and Nepali teachers who pause awkwardly in the middle of class. It's a little bit sad and a little bit reassuring to realize the transience of it all. In the end, everything and everyone that I could depend on fades away, and I'm left naked, all by myself. I understand now that this trip is about revealing the hard truth about who I am when I have nothing familiar and no one to support me.
Now, here I am in Chitwan. No one told me where I was going or what was expected of me. They told me to get on a bus, and then they told me to get off. This is the Nepali way of dealing with tourists: Just herd us around because we wouldn't understand what we should be doing on our own anyway. I got off the bus and went to the school. They gave me a book and said "teach." So, I did. I don't understand the kids, and they don't understand me. Somehow, it works out alright. Mainly, everyone is happy that I am here and that they can look at me and gain their own type of "cultural experience." They say things that could be offensive, and they teach things that might not be quite right. Men stare and point at me, and women grab me and pull me into a new world that I don't understand. Everyone is loving and judging, and life is seamlessly bittersweet. I've learned how to smile through the confusion and hope for the best as I get pulled by strangers into their homes.
I'm really not exaggerating. Since the first day I got here, women have been taking me home and making me food. I'll be walking down the street, and someone will start talking to me with a few English words and a few Nepali ones. Then, they will say "My home is here. Come." They give me tea, coffee, popcorn, pickeled lemons, bean-looking things, chicken, rice, vegitables, and lots of things that I can't even guess the names of. There are so many lovely hospitable women in Nepal that I haven't had a single moment to myself. Even my "rest day," Saturday, was full of non-stop activity. 5 of the women from the school (Mina, Bimala, Niru, Denu, and Saku) took me on a picnic by a temple on a hill. When we got there, they dressed me up in a sari, put makeup on me, gave me a lot of jewelry, and finally added a veil, so that I would look like a bride. Even better, once I was all dressed up, they taught me Nepal's national anthem and added a tikka. I felt like a doll being dressed up and paraded around, but it was lots of fun.
Last night, I went to the temple with my host mother, Susila. I wish I could have captured the colorful piles of people, but my camera is broken. There were people of all ages dressed in bright colors sitting, dancing, singing, and drinking tea. An old man had a microphone, and many more old men had bells, drums, and tambourines. The man with the microphone seemed to be telling a story, and some younger men were acting it out. As if he were just continuing his sentence, the old man would slowly start singing, and all of the people would start laughing and dancing. As subtly as it started, the singing would stop, and the man would continue his story. Even though I was trying to be as invisible as possible, some of my students found me at the temple and brought attention to me. The other women became interested in my presence, and they pulled near middle of the group, where I sat under a huge spotlight. I'm getting very used to being stared at, so I just smiled happily and enjoyed the dancing.
At the school, I am known as "Aashaa-ma'am." The one thing that gives me a moment to feel like I belong in Nepal is when I am walking down the street and a kid yells from their roof-top "good morning, Aashaa-ma'am!" or comes to walk next to me in a proud "look-at-me-I'm-walking-next-to-the-teacher" way. Most of the time, I feel like the adults are afraid of me, but the kids have no trouble running up and asking me millions of questions. When a kid acts like I am important to them, I feel like the adults are a little less afraid of me. Isn't that silly? What would the world be without childish ignorance? I thank God that these kids don't understand how to discriminate.
Life in Nepal is painful and amazing. Most of the time, I don't know what to think. The gender segregation/inequality makes me want to leave this country and pretend that such a life doesn't exist. People's welcoming attitudes and happiness with their place in life makes me want to buy a house and settle down here forever. I think that I will be confused the entire time that I am here. The cultural differences make it fundamentally impossible for me to understand life here. The more I learn about the way people think and behave, the more confused I become. I'm seeing so many new things - half of these things horrify me, and half make me happy. However, no matter what I feel, I cannot share my true feelings with the local people. We don't understand eachother, and we never will. I really don't mean to sound negative - I think we are all learning a lot from sharing our cultural perspectives, but after all the sharing is done, we have to respect our differences and move on.
This is the cycle of my travels: just when start to feel alone and think that I made a mistake in coming here, I find some beautiful people who offer me friendship and support. Sometimes, I feel a huge distance between myself and the Nepali people. Then, when I'm in my bedroom about to cry myself to sleep, I get a call or a text from someone who cares. Just now, my Nepali friend Mina writes "I'm worried about you. Are you ok?" If I would say "no," she would probably be here any second. Why am I so lucky to find such caring people in these unlikely places? Similarly, Santos (the guy who I went with to get his tattoo) found out that I was planning on coming to Sauraha for the food festival. Instead of letting me take the bus, he came and picked me up, took me to his family's house, and came up with entertaining things for me to do while I was in town.
The biggest thing that I've been struggling with in Nepal is knowing when I can trust people. The day I arrived in Nepal, a man at the airport cheated me out of a lot of money. I just realized that I've been holding a grudge against all Nepali people because of that man. I haven't really trusted anyone since I got here, except for Santiago and Maria. Every time a Nepali person has given me something or started a conversation, I've been holding my breath and waiting for them to take my money or kidnap me or something. As I've been mentioning, ever since I got to the school, the women have been taking me into their homes, giving me gifts, and taking me on excursions. I've been so ridiculously stressed out because I've felt like I had to weigh every word I said to them and keep a careful eye out for the moment when they would turn on me. I thought the friendliness of these women was just too good to be true. I think that I'm being obnoxious and that I have to relax and try to trust people. My friendship with Mina is helping me do that. It's strange, but this is how I decided that I can trust her:
I had a bad day. I woke up at 4:30 am to review my notes, and then I headed over to a college to give some lectures to English literature classes about the poem "To His Coy Mistress." The principal of the school I am volunteering at also teaches at the college, and he asked me to teach about this poem. After some conversations with the principal over coffee after class, I realized that our personalities and views on life really clash. Waking up so early combined with trying to be pleasant through our conversation drained most of my energy before I even started the day. At 7:30 am, I returned home, had breakfast, and prepared the lessons for today's classes at the grade school. Though I usually love the "good morning, Aashaa-ma'am's" and the flowers and chocolates that the kids give me, this morning it was really hard gather enough energy to act happy and excited. To make things even more difficult, today I started wearing Nepali clothes. Everyone was telling me how beautiful I am and that I'd look Nepali if only I were a bit darker. All the compliments were really nice, however, one of the male teachers kept looking at me in an admiring way, and that made me sort of nervous. I had a really hard time avoiding eye contact and trying not to smile directly at him. The two things that I do understand about Nepali culture is that people like to gossip and that flirting (even if it's not on purpose) is not allowed. Maybe I'm over-reacting, but better safe than sorry. Finally, when classes started, they went horribly. The kids wouldn't listen to me, no one had done their homework, and they were all screaming. Everyone seemed to have their own agenda, and there was no way for me to figure out what was going on because I don't speak Nepali. After class, I told Mina about it, and I almost started crying. I went out for a quick walk to calm myself, and when I got back, all of the teachers were lined up and looking at me. Poor Aashaa-ma'am. But that's when I realized that I have a friend. Mina and I talked for a long time, just like we do every day. In addition to a little bit of "it's ok, kids are kids," she just said the same kinds of things that she always says. I really don't know what happened, but I suddenly realized that the reason that she's talking to me is because she likes talking to me - even when I'm in a bad mood. It's nothing more, and nothing less. I wish I could describe the relief I felt when I realized that I can trust her.
Anyway, now I'm in Sauraha, which is 20-ish minutes by motorcycle from where I live. Last night was a big food festival, and it ended with a dj playing mixed pop/techno music. The Nepali teens/college kids were more excited about dancing than anyone I've ever seen. We ate, we danced, and Santos got another tattoo. I'm starting to realize that hanging out with Santos is just asking to be put into really awkward situations. He thinks he's helping by telling people that I should be treated like a Nepali, but it just turns out to be really confused and awkward. I'd rather pay more for things and have people stare and poke at the strange American girl than argue forever about how much things should cost and whether I should be let into places.
Now, I'm about to head back to the school in Bharatpur, where I will be for the next two weeks. I probably will have internet next around February 28th, when I return to Kathmandu for the Shiva Ratri festival and for visiting the Mexicans at the Pharping monastery. Hopefully this long post holds you over until then. If not, you can call me on my cell phone through Skype or google talk. I hear that Skype costs like 35 cents per minute, and google talk is like 16 cents per minute, but I receive the calls for free. If you call from a real phone, then I think it charges both of us a lot of money and the phone will probably cut out pretty quick. You can try, though, if you want to test what happens. Anyway, my phone number is 977-981-346-7502, and I'd be happy to hear from you guys if you ever think of me.
Love you all!
Getting to Nepal was like being shot out of a cannon. After two weeks, I finally started to feel comfortable and at home in my traveling life when it all had to change again. Now, I'm starting to realize that this is what I signed up for: Once people and places start to become familiar, I will have to move on - I will be shot out of another cannon and end up in another foreign world. I spent two weeks visiting places and making strong friendships with some special people. Re-assembling yourself after being shot from a cannon is not an easy task, and the people who surround you and offer you love and support at that critical moment become friends who hold a very special place in your life. When I think about Kathmandu, I don't think about Swayumbunath or daal bhaat - I think about Mexican cousins who laugh uncontrollably when they get tired and Nepali teachers who pause awkwardly in the middle of class. It's a little bit sad and a little bit reassuring to realize the transience of it all. In the end, everything and everyone that I could depend on fades away, and I'm left naked, all by myself. I understand now that this trip is about revealing the hard truth about who I am when I have nothing familiar and no one to support me.
Now, here I am in Chitwan. No one told me where I was going or what was expected of me. They told me to get on a bus, and then they told me to get off. This is the Nepali way of dealing with tourists: Just herd us around because we wouldn't understand what we should be doing on our own anyway. I got off the bus and went to the school. They gave me a book and said "teach." So, I did. I don't understand the kids, and they don't understand me. Somehow, it works out alright. Mainly, everyone is happy that I am here and that they can look at me and gain their own type of "cultural experience." They say things that could be offensive, and they teach things that might not be quite right. Men stare and point at me, and women grab me and pull me into a new world that I don't understand. Everyone is loving and judging, and life is seamlessly bittersweet. I've learned how to smile through the confusion and hope for the best as I get pulled by strangers into their homes.
I'm really not exaggerating. Since the first day I got here, women have been taking me home and making me food. I'll be walking down the street, and someone will start talking to me with a few English words and a few Nepali ones. Then, they will say "My home is here. Come." They give me tea, coffee, popcorn, pickeled lemons, bean-looking things, chicken, rice, vegitables, and lots of things that I can't even guess the names of. There are so many lovely hospitable women in Nepal that I haven't had a single moment to myself. Even my "rest day," Saturday, was full of non-stop activity. 5 of the women from the school (Mina, Bimala, Niru, Denu, and Saku) took me on a picnic by a temple on a hill. When we got there, they dressed me up in a sari, put makeup on me, gave me a lot of jewelry, and finally added a veil, so that I would look like a bride. Even better, once I was all dressed up, they taught me Nepal's national anthem and added a tikka. I felt like a doll being dressed up and paraded around, but it was lots of fun.
Last night, I went to the temple with my host mother, Susila. I wish I could have captured the colorful piles of people, but my camera is broken. There were people of all ages dressed in bright colors sitting, dancing, singing, and drinking tea. An old man had a microphone, and many more old men had bells, drums, and tambourines. The man with the microphone seemed to be telling a story, and some younger men were acting it out. As if he were just continuing his sentence, the old man would slowly start singing, and all of the people would start laughing and dancing. As subtly as it started, the singing would stop, and the man would continue his story. Even though I was trying to be as invisible as possible, some of my students found me at the temple and brought attention to me. The other women became interested in my presence, and they pulled near middle of the group, where I sat under a huge spotlight. I'm getting very used to being stared at, so I just smiled happily and enjoyed the dancing.
At the school, I am known as "Aashaa-ma'am." The one thing that gives me a moment to feel like I belong in Nepal is when I am walking down the street and a kid yells from their roof-top "good morning, Aashaa-ma'am!" or comes to walk next to me in a proud "look-at-me-I'm-walking-next-to-the-teacher" way. Most of the time, I feel like the adults are afraid of me, but the kids have no trouble running up and asking me millions of questions. When a kid acts like I am important to them, I feel like the adults are a little less afraid of me. Isn't that silly? What would the world be without childish ignorance? I thank God that these kids don't understand how to discriminate.
Life in Nepal is painful and amazing. Most of the time, I don't know what to think. The gender segregation/inequality makes me want to leave this country and pretend that such a life doesn't exist. People's welcoming attitudes and happiness with their place in life makes me want to buy a house and settle down here forever. I think that I will be confused the entire time that I am here. The cultural differences make it fundamentally impossible for me to understand life here. The more I learn about the way people think and behave, the more confused I become. I'm seeing so many new things - half of these things horrify me, and half make me happy. However, no matter what I feel, I cannot share my true feelings with the local people. We don't understand eachother, and we never will. I really don't mean to sound negative - I think we are all learning a lot from sharing our cultural perspectives, but after all the sharing is done, we have to respect our differences and move on.
This is the cycle of my travels: just when start to feel alone and think that I made a mistake in coming here, I find some beautiful people who offer me friendship and support. Sometimes, I feel a huge distance between myself and the Nepali people. Then, when I'm in my bedroom about to cry myself to sleep, I get a call or a text from someone who cares. Just now, my Nepali friend Mina writes "I'm worried about you. Are you ok?" If I would say "no," she would probably be here any second. Why am I so lucky to find such caring people in these unlikely places? Similarly, Santos (the guy who I went with to get his tattoo) found out that I was planning on coming to Sauraha for the food festival. Instead of letting me take the bus, he came and picked me up, took me to his family's house, and came up with entertaining things for me to do while I was in town.
The biggest thing that I've been struggling with in Nepal is knowing when I can trust people. The day I arrived in Nepal, a man at the airport cheated me out of a lot of money. I just realized that I've been holding a grudge against all Nepali people because of that man. I haven't really trusted anyone since I got here, except for Santiago and Maria. Every time a Nepali person has given me something or started a conversation, I've been holding my breath and waiting for them to take my money or kidnap me or something. As I've been mentioning, ever since I got to the school, the women have been taking me into their homes, giving me gifts, and taking me on excursions. I've been so ridiculously stressed out because I've felt like I had to weigh every word I said to them and keep a careful eye out for the moment when they would turn on me. I thought the friendliness of these women was just too good to be true. I think that I'm being obnoxious and that I have to relax and try to trust people. My friendship with Mina is helping me do that. It's strange, but this is how I decided that I can trust her:
I had a bad day. I woke up at 4:30 am to review my notes, and then I headed over to a college to give some lectures to English literature classes about the poem "To His Coy Mistress." The principal of the school I am volunteering at also teaches at the college, and he asked me to teach about this poem. After some conversations with the principal over coffee after class, I realized that our personalities and views on life really clash. Waking up so early combined with trying to be pleasant through our conversation drained most of my energy before I even started the day. At 7:30 am, I returned home, had breakfast, and prepared the lessons for today's classes at the grade school. Though I usually love the "good morning, Aashaa-ma'am's" and the flowers and chocolates that the kids give me, this morning it was really hard gather enough energy to act happy and excited. To make things even more difficult, today I started wearing Nepali clothes. Everyone was telling me how beautiful I am and that I'd look Nepali if only I were a bit darker. All the compliments were really nice, however, one of the male teachers kept looking at me in an admiring way, and that made me sort of nervous. I had a really hard time avoiding eye contact and trying not to smile directly at him. The two things that I do understand about Nepali culture is that people like to gossip and that flirting (even if it's not on purpose) is not allowed. Maybe I'm over-reacting, but better safe than sorry. Finally, when classes started, they went horribly. The kids wouldn't listen to me, no one had done their homework, and they were all screaming. Everyone seemed to have their own agenda, and there was no way for me to figure out what was going on because I don't speak Nepali. After class, I told Mina about it, and I almost started crying. I went out for a quick walk to calm myself, and when I got back, all of the teachers were lined up and looking at me. Poor Aashaa-ma'am. But that's when I realized that I have a friend. Mina and I talked for a long time, just like we do every day. In addition to a little bit of "it's ok, kids are kids," she just said the same kinds of things that she always says. I really don't know what happened, but I suddenly realized that the reason that she's talking to me is because she likes talking to me - even when I'm in a bad mood. It's nothing more, and nothing less. I wish I could describe the relief I felt when I realized that I can trust her.
Anyway, now I'm in Sauraha, which is 20-ish minutes by motorcycle from where I live. Last night was a big food festival, and it ended with a dj playing mixed pop/techno music. The Nepali teens/college kids were more excited about dancing than anyone I've ever seen. We ate, we danced, and Santos got another tattoo. I'm starting to realize that hanging out with Santos is just asking to be put into really awkward situations. He thinks he's helping by telling people that I should be treated like a Nepali, but it just turns out to be really confused and awkward. I'd rather pay more for things and have people stare and poke at the strange American girl than argue forever about how much things should cost and whether I should be let into places.
Now, I'm about to head back to the school in Bharatpur, where I will be for the next two weeks. I probably will have internet next around February 28th, when I return to Kathmandu for the Shiva Ratri festival and for visiting the Mexicans at the Pharping monastery. Hopefully this long post holds you over until then. If not, you can call me on my cell phone through Skype or google talk. I hear that Skype costs like 35 cents per minute, and google talk is like 16 cents per minute, but I receive the calls for free. If you call from a real phone, then I think it charges both of us a lot of money and the phone will probably cut out pretty quick. You can try, though, if you want to test what happens. Anyway, my phone number is 977-981-346-7502, and I'd be happy to hear from you guys if you ever think of me.
Love you all!
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