Loneliness in Nepal

For this blog I’d like to talk about the uncomfortable topic of loneliness. I’m about to bare a lot of myself, so please read with openness. J All of what I say are my thoughts/feelings at this time, and that I don’t feel this way ALL the time, but lately I feel lonelier more days than not due to restricted travel (landslides and political protests).  Also, I in no way want Nepalis to change their culture!!!

My idea of solitude. 

It seems being social creatures, we hate to feel lonely and don’t enjoy watching others look/feel lonely. Loneliness in PC can come in many forms, I imagine, depending on the person. In PC, you come across many people whose partial reason for joining was the solitude. That's what I envisioned when I used to think about PC. That there would be much time for solitude, just what this introvert needs in the fast forward motion of American culture. In Nepal, I don’t believe the word solitude actually exists. Wait. It does. I just looked it up. It’s ‘ekanta’ in Nepali, and it mean loneliness as well. An example of how Nepali and English language can differ slightly. In Merriam Webster, solitude means the state of being alone. Loneliness, on the other hand, is an isolation type feeling, which explains how one can feel lonely (negative connotation) and one seeks solitude (positive connotation). In my opinion, it’s impossible to find solitude in Nepal to think, escape, or recharge all the things required for me to feel healthy, normal, good, at peace, content, fulfilled, stable, sane…etcetera etcetera. Unfortunately, I feel lonely most of time in Nepal. This surprised me because I’m surrounded by people all the time. I yearn for solitude, but only loneliness is felt.


So I’ve begun exploring this concept of loneliness in Nepal for some time now, even before the earthquake. I ask myself, how can I be surrounded my So many people who are interested in me, yet feel so lonely so isolated at times? They are so interested that literally every person I meet on the road or foot path will talk to me about nothing really. Just like in the U.S. when we ask people how they are not even expecting an answer, just a form of acknowledgment. In Nepal, people usually ask upon meeting ‘where are you going?’ or ‘where have you come from?’ Seems like an innocent question, as I’m typing it now, but (because I’ve usually already been asked by 20 other people before passing this unknowing individual) my initial reaction is (in my mind of course) why are you asking me, why should I tell you, and, more importantly, why do I feel obligated to tell you??  It feels so invasive, and I want to say so badly at times ‘it’s none of your business!’ Some days, I’m sad to admit, I don’t answer (meanwhile the Dionne Warwick ‘Walk on By’ song is playing in my head), and they give the hand gesture that means what, where, or why?? You twist your hand towards yourself and up, the end result is sort of an ‘L’ shape. I know I have a streak of rebellion in me, but it hasn’t really surfaced since high school. I feel like such a child when I act like this. I go back and forth with myself asking, ‘Katie, why are you being like this?’ so mean, so unfriendly, it’s not like you. Then I’m like, Oh yea, because it happens every-single-day-of-your-life when you are a PCV. There is no (KEY WORD) escape. No escape from people looking into your window to see what the ‘American’ does in his/her free time. Which nowadays is me sitting in my sports bra and shorts in front of a tiny fan – an embarrassing moment for both me and the person peeping inside. No escape from people staring, shouting, honking their horn when I’m the only one running. Side note – I’ve began to assume that some people have never seen an individual exercising (i.e. running) because I’ve counted five times when I was stopped by an individual on a motorcycle and asked in broken English, ‘what happened? Do you need help? I can give you ride?’ to which I just run faster, and they finally leave me alone.

The stares aren’t so bad for me. I can easily tune them out. I actually don’t mind people who I might not have met or talked to yet looking at me because I understand how unusually interesting I must be in their eyes. Despite trying to ‘fit’ in, I’m a super tall (in Nepal), dark haired, yet white skinned female that wears a mix of the latest village fashion and scrubby looking western clothing. I carry a bag that isn’t the usual Winnie- the- Pooh bag, but at least a simple cloth bag, and I carry an umbrella now. I not only open it if it’s raining, but also when it’s blazingly hot. I actually like this and wish it were a ‘thing’ back in the US. What I’m trying to explain is that I’m trying my hardest not to attract unwanted attention and blend as best as I can – a verifiably difficult task. The stares ware on me though when I’m at home, a place that’s supposed to be comfortable and relaxing. The thing is that a host family’s home isn’t my home at all, but since I’ve lived in Nepal for almost a year now, I Need to feel comfortable, like I belong somewhere. Knowing where you belong is so vital, and right now I don’t have a great sense of where I belong. I try and act like I would if I were in my home in the U.S, but his has been a great struggle, since moving back to Nepal after the earthquake. I live in a new house, so the new family is a little unsure of me, and it has been a struggle to find my place in this new house. I want to be treated and act like an adult, such as, cooking for myself, washing my own clothes, etc. But I constantly feel like I’m being watched, like they don’t totally believe I can actually do these tasks on my own. For example, people come over to watch me eat (my family still does every night) as if I eat any differently than anyone else. Well I eat a little differently than they do, but not that much. They comment on the size of bites, how little I eat, and how my stomach will hurt if I eat anything other than plain food. NOT true at all, I LOVE spicy food. Malaii piro manparchaa!!! I like spicy! I say that a lot.

After a race in NM with LCRC friends.

Food, oh delicious, scrumptious American food and coffee! (sorry, symptom of being in village for nearly a month solid – declarations of my love for American food and coffee) One of the things I miss the most when I think of the U.S. is my morning routine. I used to wake up slowly (pressing the snooze at least three times), walk groggily into the kitchen, make coffee (with hazelnut creamer), and sip it slowly in complete silence. It was such a treasured moment in the day that I always looked forward too, and that now, I miss with every fiber of my being. Some mornings here, when I’m woken up by neighbors chatting outside my window, I transport myself back in time to a morning just like this. This seems to be a good coping strategy, and I find myself doing that often when I’m faced with troubling, lonely, out of place, and sometimes out of control feelings. Another favorite memory I have of the U.S. is waking up early on a Saturday or Sunday morning to do a long run with my MI friends from the one and only Playmakers Team (a.k.a. Playmakers’ Classy Ladies) or LCRC (a club I ran with in NM), finish feeling completely and satisfyingly accomplished, and head directly to breakfast to eat our faces off with the typical breakfast favs: eggs, waffles, syrup, honey, biscuits, butter, jam, sausage, bacon and coffee.  Oh sweet glorious coffee, how I love thee. You name it, we ate it. Even now, after conjuring up favored memories, I feel way better than I did when I started writing this. And I’m seriously salivating!

Playmakers' Classy Ladies..Dirty unicorn for life!

Some times all I have to do is think of a place or a time in space when all was quiet. Like an early, snowy MI morning when everyone is cozied up in their beds and similarly outside all is quiet underneath a blanket of snow. These are the friends and memories that get you through the bad days, and here in Nepal, with limited language (like shoot the shit with your friend’s type of language) and cultural similarities, and no travel allowances to catch up with other PCVs, life can feel, well just lonely.

MI snowy morning 

Now, please don’t get me wrong. I have wonderful days and moments here in Nepal. I try to show that on social media as often as possible, but this is part of the gig, and I want to show all sides. I’m living a life that some only dream about. But that’s that thing about dreams, it’s been my dream to be in PC since I was in high school, which was a while ago now, and I romanticized so much of what this experience would be like. Reality is always different than your dreams. Dreams rarely include the inevitable bad days, the struggles, and uncomfortable situations. PC is all about embracing uncomfortable. Giving uncomfortable a big, fat, bear hug and never letting go. Being OK with, “Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will” – Paper Towns. This is a great book that I just finished reading and will quote again in a minute. In Nepal, I’m not a tourist. I don’t have the liberty to move and go as I please. This is a job, but it’s also my life, and sometimes it feels like I’m sacrificing so much, maybe too much of myself. My job and life right now is to live in an unfamiliar place among unfamiliar people, and the goal, I quote, is to (1) help the people of interested countries meet their needs for trained men and women, (2) help promote a better understanding of the American people on the part of Nepali people, and (3) help promote a better understanding of the Nepali people on the part of the American people. It’s so difficult to do this day in and day out. Some days I feel like Nepalis aren’t interested in developing their communities. Some days I can’t understand Nepali culture, and I know they can’t understand me (a representation of American culture) as well. They don’t understand why I eat when I’m hungry instead of eating in anticipation of hunger. Or why I feel healthy when I run. Or why I sit a certain way because it’s a position that’s comfortable for me. Or want to style my hair with bangs. It’s these little differences that build up, and ultimately, I’m left feeling alone, but not recharged as if being in solitude.

For me, there is no contentment in feeling this different.  In essence, for me, communication or no communication with people doesn’t equate loneliness, but the knowledge that me (the core of me) is different can equate loneliness. To feel different can be so isolating. To not see an individual (a best friend, a lover, a family member) who reflects an image that is recognizable or familiar can be so lonely. How long does one have to live in such foreignness before it becomes recognizable or comfortable (I'm talking about on a daily basis)? I suppose the answer is different for everyone. I think a good friend told be, around 4 to 6 years, double or triple the time-frame of a PCV's service.

So this brings me to my final quote and the conclusion of this blog. “But thinking about the grass and all the different ways you can see it made me think about all the ways I’d seen and mis-seen Margo.” To apply this to my life now means that sometimes I’m in the right space to see people for who they are or Nepali culture for what it is, I don’t have expectations. And even if they change or morph, it can be pleasantly surprising. But predictability helps reinforce what I know to be true. The word predictable gets a bad rap, but it does help me feel connected or grounded. In Nepal, I’m trying to see each person I meet from various angles to understand them (not always successfully of course), and I know when my time in PC is over I’ll think of times when I refused to see people or mis-saw them. Maybe I’ll regret those times or maybe not. I’m comforted to know that a few people here are trying to see the real me, the layered me, even when that exacerbates my feelings of being different. In the end, I accept that most will just find me weird in an interesting and fascinating way. The loneliness will subside I'm sure, only to resurface again and again, but it's the bad lonely days that make the good ones really really good.