The Ruler and the Mouse

A storm is brewing, change is afoot. Returning from holiday left nothing to be desired. I woke with an exuberant amount of confidence compared to the week prior. This feeling dissipated quite quickly during breakfast as Tashi unknowingly chose to pick a harmless fight with me over what I eat. He would not let go of the fact that I chose to eat the same food day after day. He stated that it was unhealthy (as I am well aware), and I should ask if I want something different even though, yes, there is a language barrier, but I can ask the kids! Or him! And that I should be eating green vegetables or fruits or something (those of which do not exist in the refrigerator we live with). Now, of course, Tashi was right. I was eating the same thing over and over because, for whatever reason, the women who treated me to my breakfast and dinner have ceased to wait for me to eat with the other kids, so I am on my own with my rice, egg, and potato. I hadn't really thought about that factor, I was just pleased to be fed. I did not want to come off like a burden, but more so, I am not sure what else I want to eat. I enjoy this food; my body craved it during my week of isolation. I was not sure what to say.

Since Bijata was continuing her trekking journey, I had to compromise my rides to and from SDSS since none of the employees seemed to trust me walking. I had Tashi take me, deciding to completely forget his opinions of my food intake. Now, I have difficulties believing in good days, or at least in the continuation of them. However, today I came in feeling I was a part of some kind of change, some kind of piece of the puzzle. I was greeted by the cleaning lady, whom I merely smiled at for a month straight, and I waved at the deaf mechanic who was staring at me. His face lit up; it was heartwarming, inspiring even. As I entered the SDSS, I was greeted by Sophia wordlessly asking for a hug, so I gave her one. It felt motherly somehow, and quite inviting. I felt honored to have become so connected to a person I personally chose to be connected to instead of someone I was set up with. And she chose to hug me. Me. I took it personally, yet thanked her awkwardly.

Both Susmita and Anisha (my only female "students"), as well as Seeta (our teacher) and her son (my French prodigy), had all gone home. It was exciting for the girls, the idea that they'd moved on away from their casts and crutches, surgeries and therapy, to go be with their family once again, if not a touch heartbreaking. Anisha thought so anyway, with her second or third attempt at truly saying goodbye to all of her friends in the Jhilko Project ending with me choosing to hug her. She smiled at the suggestion of that, and as I let go, I came to realize I should have held on longer. How many hugs do I know she's received in her life? Then she left, and I am beginning to miss her, to miss her sister. They made teaching memorable and somewhat helpful, honestly. She was my star student; unfortunately, the day needed to move on.

As the employees and I sat and waited for the beginning of devotions (those of which I feel uncomfortable partaking in, but even more uncomfortable not attending due to the future comments and questions posed about it), I was told by Goma that I looked just like a Nepali. Regardless of the skin color, I possessed similar features. I was not sure how to feel about such a comment. Nepalis, as I have recently learned, are beautiful creatures, but my inherent biases had taken over my mind just a bit and messed with my impressionable young, female mind. I have always wished to be seen as beautiful—English beautiful; sharp jawline, small nose, the works—having been the center of a comment stating I did not possess what I long for messed with my already thin insecurities. Now, were I stated Nepali because of my personality, how content I would be, what excitement that would put in me. But I wasn't, and to that, I grieve the initial comment.

After devotions, Sophia, as per usual, gave a prayer of her own, begging for pain relief and a clear mind, as well as whatever else the person or people chose to pray about. Now, as previously stated, I am uncomfortable in young crowds singing and praying in a language I cannot understand to a God I personally choose not to devote myself to and a religion I choose not to partake in. I have never felt judged in this group, since they cannot choose whether or not I am praying during their time of prayer or what I am thinking during their sermons. Surrounded by merely Sophia and Laxmi, however, I felt the need to lie. I did not feel comfortable updating them on my current religious stance nor beliefs. So I sat there as she and Laxmi prayed for her mother, her knees, and her stomach. After they finished, she looked at me, saying "dear..." and I did tell her I prayed. I was untruthful. I admit it. She pushed for me to say "Amen" and I was debating telling her the necessary truth of the matter. I could not tell if that was my guilt talking or my needy avoidance of ridding myself of this religion. I said it anyway, merely to have her avert her eyes from my soul. We moved on. I questioned a lot.

The day prior, I'd created two different posters—one on emotions, a review from a previous lesson I taught, and another on the "parts of a house"—so a lot of real "work" wasn't necessary today. Rajuna was off at a conference for disabled people from around the world held in Kathmandu, so Laxmi and I were running the project with coloring and tracing and "English teaching," which really consisted of the kids copying paragraphs from their books into their notebooks. Our mysterious burn boy was a part of our makeshift class and in desperate need of tracing numbers and letters. Very slowly, his rubbery hand was flexing again, and this young boy had forgotten the basic necessity that is holding a pencil and writing. So he traced, and I sat with him, realizing I wanted to be with kids his age all along, teaching and playing with young kids like him or Suhanna and her little friend. Perhaps that was a strong reason for my unhappiness the past few weeks; I was uncertain. He was then given a connect-the-dots dinosaur, which he did skillfully with a ruler and one hand, and later chose he wanted to color it. So he held the ruler against the edge of the dinosaur once more and tried to color against it. However, the ruler moved at each stroke of the pencil since he was unable to hold it down with one hand, so I chose to be his other hand, his ruler's stability. He was grateful. He'd color his portion, I'd let go of the ruler, he'd move it to where he thought it should be, I made a slight adjustment, and we continued, repeating the process. Later, once our Spider-Man themed dinosaur was colored, he was to build a house with makeshift Lincoln Logs. As he struggled, I chose to stack as many logs as I could before they fell in many different directions. He found this exciting and, stealing my logs, made his own tower and watched as it fell consistently, almost predictably, and jumped around, laughing as high-pitched as a child could laugh and doing it all over again. I tried to help, taking some of his logs, but his reaction was pulling them back confidently, saying "no, no, no, no, no...." So I merely watched.

After the childlike wonder faded, the kids were given an hour before lunch to be with their own affairs, so we as teachers had the same freedom. I shared lovely interactions between Laxmi and Sophia, with Laxmi asking questions and Sophia translating them for me. I was asked a couple of times when I was leaving, so I gave a rough estimate and was told, "Don't forget me, eh?" I promised I never would and countered the question. 

That afternoon, we had one or two kids rejoin us, and I was asked to teach them the computer. I know nothing about computers and had no idea, really, what they wanted from me. So I introduced them to Duolingo. It seemed an easy enough concept for the kids to grasp; however, some easier questions were messed up on the original and retry questions, and I realized that since they didn't understand a lot of what I was saying, they chose to ignore me altogether. I felt quite angered by this, perhaps due to human nature, perhaps due to the manners I was taught in Canada, but all to say, I chose not to cut in anymore unless they asked. So instead, I joined Laxmi in Sophia's makeshift and spontaneous game of Pictionary, where she drew quite abstract drawings on thin pieces of toilet paper and asked what it was. I think I got three out of seven correct. I then had to work on my connections in order to return to the DRC and found myself with many different people each day, today it being my female friend in finance whom I had to direct.

I shocked Tashi by returning earlier than usual, so I sat outside with him and the building's landowner, about whom I learned a little. Her husband was in America for the time being, and she chose to come of her own accord to move bricks out of the way and help fix the outside wall, which had collapsed in last week's torrential downpour. Tashi then spoke to me about various tourist attractions I must visit, with Pokhara being a main topic of conversation, somewhat rubbing salt in the wound of my inability to go originally. He then asked me a repetitive question of the day: when I was going home. So I relayed the same information as previously, and I was once again made to promise not to forget them. I did so. About an hour later, a man entered the premises and cut the three boys' hair, all receiving the same haircut, which was the same as my brother's.

I was later called for dinner where Santa followed me. I seem to have offended him by going up to my room hours sooner than I originally had. Unfortunately, it was my only means of non-verbal boundaries I could come up with. So, after trying my hardest to dance around his demands, I finally told him I would stay for an hour with him. He was giddy. I sat outside and he followed suit soon after, asking if I wanted to go into the study shed. I asked why, somewhat mocking him and his questions. He said to watch movies, so I told him no. He consistently asks me if I want to watch the TV with them and I choose to say no. Perhaps since I feel I am already on technology too much on my own time, perhaps since I created this persona of me being a reader girl and not a media/movie type person. I was unsure, but stubborn. Unfortunately, he was too. He begged, using please as though it was persuading. Finally, after a few seconds of blissful silence, he asked if I would at least sit in the shed with him. I said fine, and followed him in. There, he chose to turn on the TV and insist I watch it and get upset if I chose not to, or told him no since I originally told him I did not want to. Now, this post was written at least a week later, and I am blatantly ignoring him now. I am quite upset with him. He cannot con me, he cannot believe me stupid. You may believe I am reading too much into this and, perhaps I am, but I've come to terms with the fact that I can read a room and the people in it, I have a strong belief he's letting on more than he may want to. I have a feeling the male-dominated society I have placed myself in has finally corrupted his impressionable seventeen-year-old male mind and he cannot fathom why a woman his age will not do what he wants or what he says, since most Nepali women are forced into the position where they must comply with the male's asks. So I left the shed after relaying how I felt about the situation and he, once again, followed. We sat outside the shed and tried to talk. I believed we were doing an excellent job of conversing, yet he "suggested" I take out my phone to Google Translate. I believe a lot of tonight was him being a teenager and his technological addiction getting the better of him, and him wanting to share that. However, that is no excuse for not taking no for an answer. We played with that for two sentences, and I gave up, since he really couldn't communicate back to me. Then a mouse passed the doorway and, with it, carried so many problems. I mentioned "oh look, a mouse" and he looked at me funny so I said "musā [moo-sa]," the Nepali term, with full confidence and his eyebrows shot up. There is no way to properly explain his reaction, but he reacts like this a lot. It is so cartoonish and so uniquely his.

"Musā," he repeated.

"Musā." I returned, thinking it humorous.

It stayed silent for a second or two, us pondering how to continue the conversation again, and he said "say musā again."

This made me uncomfortable, so I told him no. He once again countered with "why," and I couldn't exactly tell him the truth because I was unsure why my body was on alert from this demand. I thought about another woman, a stranger, one who would be perfectly open to just saying "musā" again and smiling and laughing with him. I wondered why I wasn't that woman, why I was so stubborn. I gained confidence from that thought, but it was too late to double back on my word. What if he felt he won in that regard? Finally, it had been an hour, but I didn't want to seem desperate, so I waited in the silence he provided until he looked at the clock and asked if I was going to bed. I played it off cool (which isn't cool, it is truly just awkward), and I left, grateful the clock didn't choose to stop. I don't do much up in my room, but I feel more comfortable with myself than anyone else I need to surround myself with. These days, I have become more introverted than my original ambivert personality, and it scares me to a certain degree. With my newly sane mind, I am slowly wondering if I really should stay here, if I really am a burden, if these homesickness and helpless feelings are too much to handle. Pay no mind to my spiraling, yet I implore you, after reading this, to ponder your friends and your boundaries. How far do you really go, and how much of a friend can a stranger truly be?