Calling Nepal

When I came home, when I stepped foot off of the last airplane, I had three sets of loving arms to embrace, and a beautiful bouquet of roses from my boyfriend, John. I've enjoyed meal after meal of the things I craved for 9 months - salads and the crispness of raw vegetables, frozen yogurt, baked salmon, greek yogurt topped with granola, sushi, water straight from the tap. I've taken numerous hot showers - none of which I have taken for granted. I've felt carpet under my feet and the luxury of indoor heating. I've hiked along Port Townsend beaches and cherished the long-overdue conversations between good friends.

But every few nights I pick up the phone, abandon whatever I'm doing and leave the room, to "call Nepal." It usually takes a few attempts and some finger-crossing to get the call to go through. But it's worth it every time. From the other end I'll hear Sachina's cheerful laughter and my Bauju's accent as she answers the phone with a familiar "Hallo?"

Our voices mingle in happy conversation as I ask the usual Nepali questions: "Are you healthy?" "Have you had tea?" "Have you eaten?" "Has Bai (the baby) gotten any bigger yet?"

She'll answer, and luckily it's been only good news. My town was fortunately mostly unharmed in the earthquake. Though it's been an emotional burden for all, our house and school suffered only minimal damage and everyone I knew in the community is said to be alive and well. I feel very fortunate for this, though I wish I could have been there to hold their hands through the process and the fear of the event.

Now that the worst has past my family is enjoying the growth of the new baby and using the extended holidays to spend more time together. My Bauju often asks how I enjoy being with my American family and if I've been playing cards with John like I used to play with her every night. She often puts Sachina's sweet voice up to the phone, despite the fact that I can't understand her five-year-old Nepali over the phone. Bauju tells me every time that they miss me and to "come quickly." I always say I will.

It feels good to be home. As wonderful, inspiring, and joyful as the experience was, it was also exhausting, frustrating, and challenging. And for that, it was time to come home - to see family, to put exercise back into my lifestyle, and to mentally process everything.

But I do plan to go back "quickly." Whenever that time may come.

When I think back to it, when the pictures pull me back to that place, I miss the singing. I miss the smiles of the students when they came together in unison for a song. I miss the eyes looking up at me and the intense excitement and hope in their faces when we started a guessing game. I miss the tea and eating rice with my hands. I miss watching dots connect in a student's mind when they filled out the activity books I'd created. I miss playing cards with Bauju and holding Bai in the mornings. I miss his cooing laughs and Sachina's giggles.

I placed this quote on my cap at graduation exactly one year ago.

But I suspect it's one I'll be using all of my life.

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

- A. A. Milne

Goodbye, Nepal. Until I come again.