The End of the Beginning

“When all is said and done, will you have said more than you have done?"

Sitting on the rooftop of our guest house I was prompted with this quote. Thoughts of school and sports flooded my mind as I tried to determine how this expression pertained to me. But the answer wasn’t in my head. It was sitting at the table. It was me, being here in Nepal; with the past two weeks being the perfect example. Every action I take is with the intent of doing more: pouring passion into my teaching today for a better tomorrow. I step into the classroom each day unaware of whether I will impact any students; but certain I might. This ignorance is constantly inspiring me. Perfectly aware that my skills don’t begin to encompass that of a trained teacher, it is my aim to present each subject in a way that may inspire a single student. Perhaps that interest will cultivate into a passion and shape years to come.

Day after day we have been teaching: eight classes for 40 minutes that are always subject to change. One of those days, rather than teaching social studies I was instructed to teach a life skills lesson on opportunity. In that chapter, there was a story and it went like this:

“One day a father of a rich family took his young son on a trip to the country to show him how poor people can be. They spent one day and one night in the farm of a very poor family. When they got back, the father asked his son, ‘How was the trip?’

‘Very good, Dad!’ the son replied.

‘Did you see how poor people can be?’ the father asked.

‘Yeah!’ said the son.

‘And what did you learn?’ asked the father again.

The son answered, ‘I saw that we have a dog at home and they have four dogs. We have a little swimming pool in our garden they have a huge river where they can swim. We have imported lamps in the garden; they have the stars. We eat junk food bought from the market; they eat fresh food from their own garden.’

When the little boy said this, the father was speechless.

The boy added, ‘Thanks Dad, for showing me how poor we really are.’”

This story took me aback. It was ironic; here I was an American teaching Nepali children to be grateful for the simple things. A lesson they live daily and I experience hardly enough. Sure enough, sitting in that class I was the student. Prompted to draw a picture of what they were grateful for hand drawn images of families, happiness, and community appeared. Not a single image depicted in their drawings could be bought; showing a far greater maturity than my thirteen year old self. After their completion, the pictures decorated a once barren wall. When my eyes wander throughout the class, more often than not they drift to those words and drawings plastered on the back wall. I am reminded of why I am here: for the simple things filled with an ever-lasting love.

A few days later I was hit with another surprise. 

On June 21^st in the middle of my optional, yes optional, math class Suraj, the music teacher, stepped in. Unsure of what to do; I stepped away from the white board where Suraj has scrawled “World Music Day;” instantaneously the kids broke into song. Sitting in the back of the class, amidst the students with my back pressed against their drawings hanging on the wall, my heart was filled and a smile broke out across my face. Each student was wholeheartedly singing; even the boys sacrificed their pride as the class united in song.

Unity: that was the message of our home visit. In a bedroom in the house of my student Bini sat Blake, Krissy, and I squeezed together on the edge of the bed. Adjacent to us sat Bini, Roshni, and Laxmi sitting on the floor. In a stark room holding little more than the necessities, with protruding wires and several precious photographs adorning the wall, we were being fed an ample amount of tea, egg, and cookies with light conversations floating throughout. As our discussion came to a close I asked Roshni, Bini’s cousin and our makeshift translator, if we were what she imagined as Americans. Her answer: priceless. Without serious thought she answered that despite our physical differences we all have the same blood which keeps us rooted to each other.  Reminded of our home visit to Ghita’s in Morocco last year, I left wishing for more people to have this frame of vision and seek similarities rather than divisions.

I feel more grateful than anything else. I am now in Cambodia after our last day at LISHA School. Despite it being full of heart wrenching goodbyes I feel resolved. I went there with a purpose and I set out every day to accomplish it. As I stepped into the classroom for the final time I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, this was it; but each day had been better than the last. I was determined for our final day to supersede them all. Rather than focusing on new material, I spent the last day revisiting old content. It was gratifying to see my class be able to answer questions on a topic taught on the first day. This ratified what I was doing, since if nothing else, they understood my teaching. My concern coming into this trip was that I would act as a burden to their education, since a language barrier can cause a lack of comprehension. A difficulty I dealt with daily in Morocco. However, there our purpose was to teach English and lessen that barrier, whereas here we were teaching a little bit of everything. However, that day of review proved otherwise and the fear has now passed.

As the school day came to a close my heart continued to warm as I passed out gifts to the kids and tiny arms wrapped around my body. Tears began to prick my eyes as two of my students Suzal and Kirsh did a rendition of “See You Again” by Charlie Puth until one broke down into tears. But it wasn’t until everyone in my class had left and I was sitting in Class 10 listening to their music that my eyes began to water. The kids to whom I dedicated every waking breath were gone. They were on their same walk home, but as their backs turned to me there was an actualization that we were going our separate ways unsure of if our paths would cross again.

A class full of students is now a room full of my friends. Thank you to everyone at LISHA School and Milla’s Guest House for making Nepal feel like home.

               

The World Awaits

Sitting on a plane and staring out the small, oval window I feel remarkably distant from the world. As the plane descends, towns emerge from the beneath the clouds. As I and 475 other passengers are rushing towards the ground the towns become closer and more detailed, filling with cars, light posts, and people. And as one last bounce of turbulence hits the plane it touches down and I reenter reality. My gaze drifts from the window to the passengers eager for what awaits them outside of the plane. All of us in that plane were about to enter that seemingly small and far away town. And for me, that town represented this trip- incredibly distant. Leading up to this trip, my head wasn’t focused on it. It was the destination and I was focused on a coexisting journey. A journey filled with a year full of lasts- one last soccer season, my senior prom, graduation, orientation at my future college, and spending one last year with my best friends who have been the center of my life for the past 12 years. And somehow this trip managed to pass me by and all of the sudden it was here. But as I walked into the classroom on my first day it felt as though I was walking down the same old beaten path: knowing the nooks and crannies, where not to step and which ways lead to sure success. It felt like I was coming home.

This trip has now raptured my complete focus. I am addicted to the feeling of being so far away from everyone I know and in a foreign country filled with lush mountains, ornate buildings, and beautiful people- that sensation of exploring the unknown.

My frame of mind during the first day was constantly altering. I had no expectations and was naive as to what would happen next. Nerves wracked through my veins on the walk to school as I stumbled my way through Bhaktapur ducking under poles supporting damaged buildings and avoiding bricks littering the edges of the street from the earthquake that hit Nepal in 2015. After winding our way through the streets we approached the school and the sheer delight that filled my heart as I saw the kids grinning and eagerly waving their hands replaced my nerves; I was ready for what was to come.  

We are two days in and I am already beginning to fall in love with Nepal and the students I am teaching at LISHA School. Each student possesses distinct personalities and talents; it’s a joy to begin to know them since each face tells a story. With each new discovery I feel more connected towards my students inspiring the passion I put into my teaching. Gagan’s curiosity, Krish’s sarcasm, Suzal’s artistic talent, and Neesha’s sly smile are my fuel; fuel for my teaching and excitement for the rest of my summer.

But right now as I am sitting on the roof top of our guest house in Dattatraya square in the heart of the Kathmandu Valley surrounded by mountain ranges I am not focusing on the next six weeks, the past six months, or even tomorrow. I am focused on today and the lessons and experiences that came with it. The high energy of my class creates a stark contrast to the decimated buildings surrounding the school. These students are the epitome happiness. In the midst of the destruction my students and the Nepali people are full of light. I am elated for this light to continue to fill me as I continue to learn from my students and experience the Nepali culture.