They say spring is beautiful. Not in Kathmandu. I find Kathmandu Spring dry, dreary. The wait for rain is never ending.
And so the only thing that keeps me going in this season are the cherry blossoms that fling their arms open and welcome this city's crowd and pollution every year, when it's at the harshest. Even if there's no rain. No rain.
And there was no snow on Shivapuri this winter. Or the last. The longing. I felt it. Looking up at the hills every time it rained but didn't know. Barely rained this winter anyway.
It's been a strange, bitter-sweet season.
I feel like I'm changing. Becoming more stable inside myself. I find that I'm able to be calmer through storms. I also find that I want to respond to love, even though I'm so so afraid of what love will do to me. I'm afraid, because I've never really had love before. But this time, it feels different and so I am more patient.
But this season also brings me pain-- my cousin came home after 21 years, wearing a wig. She says she's okay, but she slipped the word "radiation" in one of our conversations and I've been very scared since. I hurt so bad to think of the loneliness she's been through that drove her here. This girl, who wanted to be my big sister, even when she was only five and I was four. She's always been so brave and to think of it, makes me weep.
For now, I shall hold her hand and listen to her. Like we did as kids.
P.S. The image above are not peach blossoms. They're periwinkle.
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