As I write this, the unshed tears make my eyes sting. I'm missing my family in advance.
I cannot put into words the sheer excitement and wonder that take my breath away when I try to imagine my new life. I say try, because of course nothing will prepare me for the moment we get off the bus after a long and winding journey, and set foot for the first time in the dusty, crowded and noisy streets of Kathmandu. Looking around not as tourists, but as citizens. Walking through the throngs of people that first day, imagining which stall will become our favourite place to eat dhal bhat (traditional Nepali rice and lentil soup).
We arrive with no job, no home, no friends. So every interaction is jam packed with a thousand possibilities. I've never experienced anything like this, I've never been faced with so many opportunities opening up around me. Starting over new, a chance to reinvent myself, to push my bounderies, to embrace uncertainty. To study an Asian language, forcing my tongue into unpronounceable positions, smiling at saddhus as I skip between dozens of motorbikes, their owners pressing firmly and without pause on their high-pitched horns. Practicing yoga properly in a small alley studio before going home, picking up some spices whose name I don't know on the way back. I feel as though I'm stepping out of my life and into a brand new existance. One where electricity is not guaranteed.
