Memories From Nepal

I wake up to a hundred little bug bites and my hair is a mess. The sun is piercing through the window, filling the room with light. The sky is clear after a storm. The lush trees are filled with a vibrant green and a breeze dances on their leaves. The pink bed canopy made me feel like a princess, even though it's to keep the mosquitoes out. It’s nice and cool in the early morning, but still too warm to wear a jacket. I go upstairs for breakfast and the smell of fresh mango and rice fills the room.

It looks like my Ma has cooked everything in her fridge with the help of my older cousin. We sit down to eat and fill up our plates tower high. The delicious goat curry and garlic naan call my name. The mango tastes like summer wrapped in orange skin.  I swat flies away from my food but they won’t leave me alone. A fan spins lazily above my head, but just fast enough to be refreshing. The city of Kathmandu is slowly starting to wake up and I hear motorcycles revving in the streets. My fingers are oily from eating with my hands and a warm breeze is brushing against my face.

 After breakfast, I help my Ma gather the laundry. The clothes are already soaking in buckets on the rooftop, full of water and the smell of soap. My Ma doesn’t explain with words how to wash the clothes – I can’t understand most of her Nepali – so she shows me instead. I only washed a few pieces, a T-shirt, and a pair of pants, but my arms are already tired. Water splashes everywhere, and my skirt clings to my legs, soaked at the edges. Chickens cluck somewhere on the rooftop, and a motorcycle buzzes in the distance. I look up and follow the sound of chickens to the rooftop garden, where the sun warms the drying clothes and the birds peck among the pots. 

I look at the chickens and I can tell they don’t have a thought behind their eyes. I feel bad for them, stuck in a cage all day, but they don’t know that they are living a sad life. I climb down from the rooftop, chickens clucking behind me, and I rejoin my family inside the house. Bright clothes, laughter echoing, and the scent of spices filling the air. My mom braids my hair and helps me get ready for a party. We go downstairs and pile into the car. The party is full of colour and light. I see family and friends everywhere that I met just the other day. 

All of my aunts and uncles ask if I remember them, and I say yes, even though some faces feel like very distant memories. Laughter and chatter fill the room. I don’t speak Nepali fluently, but their expressions, gestures, and tone fill in the gaps. Somehow, I’m able to understand the feelings behind their words. I look fondly back at the memories from Nepal, knowing Nepal is a part of me even though I might not be a part of Nepal. After years, I still haven’t learned the language, but I know that no matter how old I get, a part of me will always be in Nepal. 

L.A., USA Grade VIII