a house of my own

I love October skies. And walks around this time are the best. I haven't been able to walk much lately because I've been sick again. But the attempt is to do two kilometres a day. It's not much, but at least it is something.

Another favourite thing to do is to look out of my window at the trees and the sky.

Last week, I went towards Chunikhel. The roads are calm and not at all polluted. And the villagers all know each other so they give me stares or curious looks, which is all fine. I don't much mind it. But it also makes me think if they think of as an intruder. Families like ours who bought their land and changed things for them. We make things expensive and life more challenging for the locals. We're all colonizers when we can be.

There are temples everywhere this side. 

How much we need temples for survival, the Nepali people. We build them everywhere we go. 

And while I'm not into rituals, I do like looking at temples. I find them pretty. And it makes me wonder what someone was thinking when they were building them. And by that I don't mean the people who planned the construction, but the ones who employed hands and head to build them.

Anyway.

It's a Monday today and the best thing to do in life is to sit at my desk, tapdancing on the keyboard.

Stray but important thought:

In the months ahead, I hope to set up my own room where I will write my essays from. That's going to be the focus of my life hereon.

Babu, come back home

 Babubagh has gone missing and I want him to be found. 

He ran away from the vet's. I hope he's there somewhere, waiting for us to come find him. 

Please be found. Please come home, Babubagh.

Time warp

I feel like the Kathmandu in my memory is now imaginary. It is rife with the feelings I have attached to it, most of which is love for you all I left behind when I moved here. But when I see pictures of Kathmandu on the news, it is a bit jarring as I'm reminded again of how much anxiety I experienced because of everything around me. The stray dogs and cows and their suffering. The stress to get to work on time and not be late. The pressure from different people around me to do things or to deliver this and that. This and that. Literally. And I often feel that I was trying to cram so much into my days in Kathmandu, that felt limited. There never seemed to be enough time for anything. But here, I seem to have so much time and no one to meet or to do anything for. My days are usually spread wide across space and time. Space-- which is wide open spaces and pretty skies and beautiful trees. Time-- which is just about punctuating my day with things to do. Much of it is work and that is taken care of. Work has always had its way of taking care of me. I'm allowing it to do that for me right now. I'm working and teaching. And that keeps my mind on its toes. I feel that if this year is taken care of, the next year will find some direction as well. You know how ironic this sounds... people often try to save time, wait to do things within so little time. Here, I don't think of saving time. I have enough time to just sit and stare at the sky, at strangers, do whatever might help me pass my days. Have you ever known this kind of luxury? Have you ever know this kind of a trapping of time? It's like a time warp.

Meet my neighbours

As I was getting off my bicycle in front of my house yesterday, I fell down with a loud thump. I was wearing a skirt and it got tangled on the seat. The sound of me landing on my bottom, brought my neighbours to my rescue. It was the mother and her two children.

Embarrassed, I collected myself, and said hello to them, bringing my hands together in a Sawadee. I was trying to laugh at myself, but my neighbour took worried.

"You must be Bea!" I said. "I met your husband Ae, the other day."
She said, "Yes. And where are you from?"
"From Nepal."
"My teacher is from Nepal," said the eight-year-old, standing in her tow. He explained to me that his teacher from Nepal teaches them environmental science.
"Then you have to tell your teacher you have a neighbour from Nepal!" I said. Then I asked him his name and he said, "Tea! My name is Tea."
"Wow!" I said, surprised at how the names in the family come together like a fragrant little nursery rhyme.
Still embarrassed from my fall, I dragged my bicycle inside the gate, as Tea helped me. I forgot to ask Tea's little sister her name, but I told her I have a nephew close to her age and Tea said, but I'm sure she's more naughty than him!
I smiled and then we all said see you later and went indoors.