“A Snowy Evening and a Migrant’s Heart”

Laxmi Shrestha

“A Snowy Evening and a Migrant’s Heart”

(Memoir Diary)

Date: January 18, 2026

Location: New York, USA

Since this afternoon, snow has been falling continuously

fluttering softly, eager to kiss the earth,

descending with the gentle sighs of the wind.

Tree branches sway along with the breeze,

as if dancing in anticipation, welcoming the snowfall.

Snowflakes cling to the bars of my window,

sparkling like crystals beneath the streetlights.

Parked cars sit quietly, wrapped tightly in thick white blankets,

as if the snow has folded itself around them and settled in contentment.

On the sidewalks, people move back and forth,

bundled in heavy jackets and hats,

challenging New York’s 32-degree cold

in the constant race for food, shelter, and clothing.

It is already 9:52 p.m.

After dinner, I sit on the bench beside my window,

busy drinking in this intoxicating beauty of nature

with my eyes alone.

It’s not that I don’t want to step outside

and dance with the snow.

But loving snowfall can sometimes be costly to one’s health.

Earlier this afternoon, around 3 p.m.,

my husband, my son, and I went out shopping.

The snow brushed against us gently.

A few flakes fell straight from the sky into my mouth,

and I felt a strangely wonderful chill

sharp, refreshing, unforgettable.

My husband returned yesterday to this land of labor

after spending twenty-one days with family in our homeland.

Soon after flying out of Doha,

he caught a sudden cold.

Since then, the routine has been endless

hot water, steam inhalation, again and again.

The human body is truly fragile.

Even something as ordinary as a cold

can wear us down completely.

Only when a person leaves their own country

and arrives in a distant, unfamiliar land

do they truly understand what home means

how deeply love for one’s homeland and loved ones

can unsettle the heart.

In my dreams,

I am always back in Nepal,

back in my Sundarijal.

I migrated to America

packing my family’s future into four suitcases.

Time and circumstances have wrapped themselves around me so tightly

that now, even if I wish to return, I cannot.

My children’s ever-rising education expenses

and the mortgage on our home

cannot be paid while living in Nepal.

Those of us who leave our country

for the sake of our children’s future

cannot, in good conscience,

live freely for ourselves

without first securing theirs.

This is not only my story.

It is the shared story of countless Nepalis

living in America.

Many wealthy Nepalis live here anonymously,

while many others wander restlessly

in search of their own identity.

This afternoon, while scrolling through Facebook reels,

I came across a video made by five Indian young men,

around twenty to twenty-five years old,

featuring a song from the film “Border”

“Jo chithi aati hai woh poochhe jaati hai,

ghar kab aaoge…”

The song overwhelmed me with emotion.

Before I realized it,

tears were flowing down my face.

I remembered my mother.

During our phone calls, she would always ask,

“When will you come to see me?

If you can manage time from work,

bring the children and come soon.”

Perhaps remembering her words today

kept tearing my heart open

again and again.

That same reel carried a line:

“Every person that leaves their hometown to start a new life.”

Those words felt painfully true.

After all,

why would anyone leave their home, their family, their country

if not to begin a new life,

to search for new opportunities?

Tomorrow, my son Anuj will return to Wisconsin

after completing his one-month winter break from college.

Not only my child

the sons and daughters of millions of parents like me

continue to leave their homes and cities,

moving forward in search of a new beginning.

Sometimes I feel that human beings

cannot live without challenges.

Just as air and water are essential to survive,

challenges too are necessary

to move forward on the path of growth and progress.

“Laxmi, what are you doing?”

My husband’s voice suddenly startles me.

Haha…

I had promised to heat water for his steam inhalation,

but while watching the beauty of the snowfall,

I completely forgot.

I rush into the kitchen.

The water is already boiling

ready.

Oh dear!