Last night, M and I accidentally found ourselves participants at a quiz night surrounded by a bunch of weird white people.

How did this come to be, you ask? Well, a bit hungry and kinda too lazy to cook (cooking everyday is for real life adults and I am still years away from that), we stopped by a small establishment for a bite.

“Are you here for quiz night?”
We replied in the negative.
“Well it’ll start in about 20 minutes if you want to stay!”
We weighed our options and settled on ‘well why not’.
(Monday nights rarely have much to offer anyways.)

Nearing 8 (or was it 7?) the establishment was quite empty although a scattering of chairs indicated others were expected. And soon enough, others arrived.

A large but somewhat childish woman in a dress with poofy hair reminiscent of a forgettable character from Alice in Wonderland. A big haired bright lipstick-ed elderly lady who could be inspiration for Helena Bonham Carter’s future self. Men with scraggly hair who looked like they walked out of a dizzying Jazz trio. Men with ponytails. Other people of varying shapes, sizes, styles, and demeanor. And a smattering of accents.

All of them welllllll over the age of 50.
(Except for an outlier Chinese guy.)

M and I threw glances at each other and made comments no one else could hear. We played the game. Jotting down the answers we knew. Coming up with excellent guesses for ones we didn’t know. We didn’t win, but that wasn’t the point of the evening.

On the way home we talked about the oddities we just met. Most white people hanging out in Nepal fall into easy categories: tourists (backpackers and hippies alike), business personnel, development workers.

But these individuals, these people who would be just as odd in Nepal as they would be anywhere else in the world, we concluded they belong to a group of previous hippies now living a new aged dream at a seasoned point in their life. As to what they do in Nepal, and how they arrived, I doubt we’ll ever know.

Next quiz night, we won’t be going back.

with time to waste we lie in bed allowing sleep to come and go as it pleases. we lose ourselves to the song of guitar strings and your voice lulling through on-the-spot lyrics. somehow, the days blend and we’ve vanished into hazes of conversation and then some other things.

i said i thought about writing something for/about/inspired by you, but i don’t think you’d see the meaning in it, so i want you to know, i’m actually noting this down for me.

it might have been a waste of time, but there was much worth remembering.

those small moments. they could be lost. in in-betweens.

When groups of men would travel from Tibet to Nepal, they would do so carrying salt  to bring back for trade and income. I imagine the journey lasted for weeks, and I imagine they faced many hardships. Of the difficulties that come with trekking across mountains and challenging terrain, there is the simple fact that one would be carrying salt on ones back. I imagine these loads would be as much or more than the weight of the man carrying the load.

And here’s where I heard an interesting story. According to a man I know whose family lineage connects back to these salt traders, when the salt on one man’s back became so heavy of a burden his legs would shake and he could barely take another step, the other men would add to his load.


A man on the verge of collapse would be cared for by having the weight on his back increased. With more than he could bear, he would be forced to carry forth for a little while longer. And then, when it was as much as he could handle, the extra load would be taken off…and the original load would remain, but it would feel lighter. And the man could carry on with the same weight, but with more ease.

In ways I cannot put into words, this story, this truth, this reality, the simplicity of it speaks to me.

 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
Matthew 5:13




perhaps in jest, N asked me to work for him. he then made a strange comment,

“i’ll pay you in happiness”

i smiled at the offer and didn’t think much of it, until much later. what a proposition to make. to assure you could guarantee someone’s happiness, and that to, you could turn it into a form of payment.

what a risk. what a stance. what danger, and what vats of perhaps stupidity.

i may not be “happy” where i am, but i sure as hell am challenged daily and from where i stand, the passion, the dedication, the service, and the love–that all is payment plenty.



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