WHERE DREAMS TAKE FLIGHT.

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A girl named Shanti.

5 years on and she still remembers… but I forgot…

She called out “Sam”, during the closing ceremony of the last official trip with SIM EduAbroad in December 2014. I looked over at her and smiled. I was frantically opening drawers of compartments in my head, but I couldn’t put a name to her face. It was then that she spoke in the best English that she could possibly muster, “I’m Shanti. You teach Class 5.”

I hit rock bottom.

I felt so ashamed. I couldn’t face her. I turned around and walked off. Tears streamed down my face as I quietly reproached myself for forgetting. How could I? How could she?

Even though I’ve always harboured hopes of the kids remembering our time together, I didn’t think any of them would. At least not after 5 years of absence. The last I saw and heard of her was on trip 2, when I taught Class 5. Year after year, I’ve crossed paths with some Class 5 kids while trekking to Shree Tuathali. But never with Shanti.

After all this time, I had to talk to her. So I composed myself, walked up to her and embraced her. “Thanks for remembering me, Shanti.” She smiled shyly, and handed me two photographs of herself. I guess she didn’t want me to forget again.

I asked her if she was in secondary school and she shook her head. I tried to ask her why but our language barrier was far too great to continue a decent conversation. Silence ensued. But we still had our arms around each other. Then she asked if we (Nora, Mr Neo and I) could go over to her house after the closing ceremony.

And we did, with one of the teachers – Mr Bham.

Her house was just behind Shree Tuathali. There, her father and siblings very warmly welcomed us into their humble abode. Shanti was searching high and low for proper utensils to make us a traditional Nepalese tea – that uses salt instead of sugar. While she was busy brewing our welcome drink, we asked the father about Shanti not attending school with the help of Mr Bham’s translation. We then learnt that Shanti’s mother had passed away and her father was also sick. So her elder sister went to the city to work, and she stayed at home to help out with household chores.

As she walked us out, I hugged her and told her that I’ll see her again next year.

We left with heavy hearts. Shanti is just one of the many students who had to drop out of school to support the family.

>> 2015

This December, our group headed back to Nepal, and decided to make a visit to one of the more “popular” secondary school nearby – Shree Chunadevi – where most students go to after their primary education in Shree Tuathali.

And there she was… in class 9. She was a year behind but it didn’t matter. She was back in school. This time, the ending was sweeter. This time, I left with a photo of us in my heart. Shanti had the heart to study, and this sheer determination will bring her anywhere.

So when asked if our presence made a difference? I think it did. Even if it’s in a small way like this.

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When I left, my heart remained with you.

Leaving the ones you love and care so much for, to me, is harder than being left behind. The thought of not knowing if they will be all right, leaves a trail of queasiness. And the underlying issue here is not being able to let go, and wanting to have control over everything. The feeling of helplessness is the bane of all “control freaks”. And that was how I felt last night, watching my frail-looking grandma all curled up and shivering. I can’t fathom how one can bear to witness the suffering of a loved one. All I could do was to stand by her side and rubbed her arms, in hopes of giving her some comfort and warmth. I never took my eyes off her, afraid that once I looked away, I would lose her in that instant.

This feeling was all too familiar. Because it was exactly how I felt every time I had to leave the kids, leave Nepal. Because once I step out, I can only start to imagine that they’ll be okay, and look forward to the next time I’ll be seeing them again.

Till then...

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2013 was a year of change – left my first job, landed on my second, missed my yearly Nepal affair. And I'm sure this is true for the kids as well, just that I wasn't able to be part of it.

I made myself a promise that I'll go back at least once a year, unfortunately, due to circumstances, I couldn't keep it. But that doesn't stop time from ticking and people from changing. Next year, when I do go to Nepal, I'm sure I'll be facing more apparent changes.

There'll be kids who I won't be seeing as they'll be moving on to secondary schools, and kids who have grown bigger that I won't be able to give piggyback rides to.

The funny thing is, change is the only constant in life, and yet, I still can't quite accept and get used to.

So, what's going to be different in 2014? Guess we'll just have to live it to know it and cherish it.

Carpe Diem.

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Love knows no boundaries, be it language, culture or age. This is a story of an old lady pouring out her grievances to a foreign stranger.

It all started when I noticed Subash crying because his already injured arm was hurt by his friend while playing. Naturally, I went up to him but had no words of comfort. Instead, I offered my presence and a hand on his back. Not long after, his grandmother appeared from the far corner of the hills and queried him. I had no clue what the exchange of words between them were, but Subash started crying again. This time, my arm found his shoulder. And the attention of his grandmother was suddenly directed to me.

She was rattling on what only seemed like sounds to me. I could not make out what she was saying but I could only conjure up her frustrations and emotions by her body language and tone of voice. So, I responded by nodding and smiling whenever appropriate.

It then dawned upon me that despite the language barrier, cultural difference and generation gap, we had a common understanding of love. Actions do speak louder than words. Here, no words were communicated, at least on my end, but the message was so clear, it was almost audible – all we need is love.

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Photos courtesy of Kenneth Lee.

People come and go, so we can learn to love and let go; and hold on to the memories.

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It takes a step, to make that leap of faith. And you've got to give it to these kids in Shree Tauthali Primary School, Nagarkot – because they take a leap of faith, every single day.

And it's only when we've got so little that we stand to gain so much more.