A letter to the Monkeye

This is a letter to my monkey brain or mental health journey, the names too many to list here.  I have called it Monkeye as I was 'inspired' by the Love Letters to Richard Dawkins (see link at the end of the letter).  Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist and has received a lot of hate mail over the years, mainly from fundamental Christian types.  In this clip he reads the letters as they are written (mistakes incl) and someone must have written monkeye instead of monkey and I thought perfect!  That's what I will call this 'thing'. Here goes:

Dear Monkeye,

I would like to write a letter of thanks to you.  Thanks for being part of my life.  Thank you for placing your hairy and sinister monkey paws against the soft down of my duck-like back and heaving me, beak first, down into the black hole!  For without your shove I wouldn't be where I am today.

The first thank you is for showing me how blessed I am with love and support.  Although it may seem sad to say, I didn't realise how much I was loved.  So now, thanks to Monkeye, I can continue on with my life in the knowledge that I am Duck-De-Resistance.  Well. maybe I am taking it a little too far. Over-egging the duck nest, trumpet blowing and duck on skis swishing downhill at rapid speed.  But I do feel it and I am humbled by this experience.

I am also pleased to make your acquaintance as our meeting has broadened my world view.  So many things have opened up for me.  I am a more open duck, spatch-cock if you like.  I am further receptive to new ideas and new ways of being.   I am lucky enough to attend a women's group, all struggling with issues.  Their honesty and openness has floored me.  The ability to laugh at yourself and, at times, with others has been a huge blessing.  I am constantly lolling in this group and am grateful to have had this experience.  I am just in awe of the, sometimes brutal, frankness of the group.  The no holds barred approach has my ducky eyes bulging at times!

Through it all I have leaned what is important in life.  Mental and physical health is so important I believe.  Getting a perspective on what matters.  Staring at life through the duck-barrel-beak and gaining direction.

Thank you Monkeye, as I am now free to be myself.  Dual duck, with or without a bone, but embracing all the options and going with the flow of the pond.  It's not an easy journey Monkeye, you made sure of that.  But now I can see the benefits of such a journeye :-).  Monkeye, my madness and my muse I thank you. Kia Kaha!

Regards,
Duck


                                                             Dawkins Monkeye

#monkeye #richarddawkins #monkeybrain #crazybrainletter

PTQD - Post Traumatic Quack Disorder

                                                                       
  

Post Traumatic Quack Disorder.  So, after my last post I thought I had 'arrived', destination duck in sight I could emit a quack of relief.  That wasn't too bad in the scheme of things.  Just under two weeks recovery and I am back on my webbed feet, shaking subsided, diamond duck!
I couldn't have been more wrong.  This first ducky dip was just the tip of the iceberg.  Little did I know that there were further depths to plunder, spaces so dark to fall in that the darkness itself took on an animated quality.  I thought I was done, complete, 'through the worst', yipee I am all better now.  Possibly it is a good thing not to know what's round the corner, not to know you will fall further and further again.  More than once I might add.  Phew, exhausting, scary and so so dark.

But, like a roller-coaster, you are not automatically finished after the first dip.  Oh no no no, there are many twists and turns to come and huge, gargantuan dips too.  Strap yourself in!

I've lost too many days to count in a haze of self-medicating, sleeping, self loathing then repeat.  I have startled more people than I dare to consider (cue self-loathing etc).  But still I have journeyed to the depths and beyond.  If I am honest, I have been in such pain at times that I have wanted to cut myself to release the pain.  A nice, big fleshy cut with fresh blood to transfer this pain into something physical.  I have let myself down.  I have let others down.  None of it has been good for anyone. I have so much love and support it is unbelievable.  But I must travel alone because it is my journey. Fuck I wish it were someone else journey.  Having said that I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy (if such a thing exists as I can't think of anyone to fit this category).  If I had to give one adjective to describe this journey/descent it would be SCARY.  Bloody scary and one of the scariest things I have ever contemplated.  Yet here I am fully immersed in it, feeling the weight of it and shuddering under its power.

So, if I am honest, while writing this I went and poured a beer.  I am not sure why but can probably guess it was the uncomfortable nature of the topic and the associated feelings it unearthed.  As I sat writing this, with tears sliding down my face, the shame and self-loathing started to claw its way into my psyche. What I did next is something I haven't done til this day.  Half way through said beer I wandered up to the people I am staying with and disclosed my indiscretion.  The relief was immense but still the guilt, shame and self-loathing lingered on.  It was a bold move and I was received with love and support. The compassion and warmth I was shown further served to affirm my actions.

As I sit writing I can hear the waves of the sea lapping on the shore.  I can clearly see it too from the doors out to the veranda.  I am in one of the most peaceful and picturesque settings I can imagine but still the craziness goes on inside my brain.  It is not enough to quell the voice in my head but I am learning and relenting to the charm and magic of the place.  Of course I beat myself up.  'Why are you doing this when you are here in this amazing, most tranquil of place?'  I really can't fully answer that. But what I have learned is that the interior monologue in your head can sometimes bear no relevance to physical setting.
I have been encouraged to focus on the positive, the fact that it is the first time I have essentially stopped mid-destructive behaviour and quacked out a little 'help' .  I got it and I have been so well supported I realise how lucky I am.  If I had no one it would be easy to slip and slide through the cracks down the black hole of self-ruin.  I can see how it happens and I really am grateful I have the support I do.  My heart goes out to those who are alone, who do not know such foundations.  It reminds me of an image I had when my nephew was born, two years ago.  My brother's child.  All of our family converged at the hospital (two sisters, Mother, myself, sister in laws parents).  I had a strong visual sense of a pod of dolphins circling and surrounding the situation with a tender protectiveness. This picture has stayed with me since.  The dolphins now being family and close friends.  Not a porpoise in sight :-)

Later on, after feeling a bit sheepish, I learned to gain strength and power from my action rather than descending into self-criticism.  I simultaneously feel a lot stronger and more calm.  I am far more self-aware of my behaviour, the triggers and the consequences.  Every step is a stride closer to recovery and each day I grow more robust.  This is not to say I won't slip down the hole again.  I am certainly employing all the help I can garner in this journey to restoration.  I have a wonderful, eccentric, Chilean psychotherapist to help me along.  In sessions I am confronted with difficult questions and a call to face the chilling reality.  Luckily we laugh and swear a wee bit so that lightens things up.  I am going to try some support groups.  I dance, I box, I run, I fall and I am laughing again. It is a journey from which I hope to emerge a better version of myself.  One with more wisdom and understanding, tolerance and lightness.  I will leave you with an article I read in the Guardian recently that really resonated with me.  See what you think.  Kia Kaha x



                                                           Why I don't use heroin


#mentalhealth #selfmedication

A little bit quackers!

Just a warning before you read this blog post.  The content may not be comfortable for some people.

                                                                     

                                             
                                                       I was drifting, crying
                                                       I was looking for an island
                                                       I was slipping under
                                                       I'll pull the devil down with me one way or another
                                                       I'm out of my mind,  think you can wait?


               

These lyrics, by the fantastic group The National, basically sum up my life over the last wee while.  You may wonder why I would share this kind of thing.  I want to support the promotion of mental health awareness.  Where to start?

Looking back over my life I realise I have always experienced and endured an element of mental health issues.   From minor anxiety to mild depression.  Sporadically throughout my life I would find myself standing at the precipice of a black hole.  Most of my life I have been able to claw myself away from the hole and wobble back to 'normality' largely unnoticed.  I would dust down my feathers, practice my quack until the shake in tone subsided and waddle back to my life as an ordinary thing.  I was so scared of slipping into that hole, down into the pit of 'not-quite-right'.  If I could haul myself away from the hole I'd be alright, nothing wrong with me, I'm just like everyone else!  Phew, what a relief,  I am not the black duck of the pond.

Until recently, I came undone! I came royally and magnificently undone.  My feathers were falling out leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.  My eyes glazed over and I started to shake ever so slightly.  The incident that triggered this meltdown was a car accident.  A very minor car accident.  No one was hurt.  I was the only car involved.  I was on my way to work at the pond when it happened.  A bystander helped me change my spare tyre and Bob was my Uncle.  Off I quacked to work, bruised, in shock and stunned.  Then I did what I have done all my life.  I got on with my day, said I had experienced a flat tyre that's all.  In fact I laughed, joked and whooped it up a storm.  No one knew what had happened and I was determined to get through the day.  I did get through the day by the skin of my beak.

Later when I arrived home alone (Big Duck and Duckling were away) the shock hit me and I was promptly sick.  Still I had told no one.  I went away with a friend the next day and proceeded to try and drink the pain away.  I attempted to smoke the pain away.  I even tried to take a swim in glacial waters to numb the pain.  And guess what?  It was still there, sitting like an unwelcome guest at my front door step.  Laying in wait for me to return.  My attempt at anesthetising myself was so alarming to my friend that my cover was blown!  I was found out, duck on a rotisserie, revealed by my behaviour.  What happened next?

.
I decided it was time to get off this roller-coaster and seek help.  To put an end to trying to numb myself with things that take away the pain.  Because they only work temporarily and then the pain returns with a vengeance.  I went to the Doctor, told her everything and got myself some help.  It wasn't easy.  In fact it was (and still remains to be) one of the hardest things I have done.  It was like standing in a room featherless with nowhere to shelter and nothing to shield you.   Raw, uncovered  duck in a dilemma.  I got some medication and an appointment with mental health services.  My whole family and a large amount of my friends have witnessed my downfall.  It's extremely confronting.  It is a journey and I'm mostly relieved that my 'secret' is out.  It's been a hell of a expedition though and continues to be.  But I am a million times better now than I was at the start.  It is not a journey I wish to repeat for a long time.

I am the same duck I was before, working and going about my life.  I haven't changed but I have sought help that's the only difference.  These issues strike many people, including a lot of people that work in mental health themselves.  Your doctor, teacher, CEO, housewife/husband, musician, your next door neighbour could all be struggling with issues like this.  There is no demographic for mental health problems, they reach across the spectrum of society.  Let's start a dialogue about it, 'normalise' it for people.  So those suffering in silence can feel confident to get help.  It is not a weakness to seek help but rather the oppposite.  It is a brave and bold move and we need to encourage people to take small steps toward it.
I will leave you with the song 'Think you can wait' quoted above by the National.

                                                    Think you can wait

Kia Kaha!

#anxiety #depression #quackers #duck

Guilty Pleasures

  'A guilty pleasure is something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music,  that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard.'

               'Something that you love to do, but you just cannot admit that you do it'

                                                                 

Yep, you guessed it. The concept that is getting on my bill lately and making me sigh 'fuck a duck' repeatedly is this notion of guilty pleasures. The whole idea insinuates that something we enjoy should be a thing of embarrassment. Something to be ashamed of, apologetic about and generally kept hidden under the algae-laden recesses of the pond.

Duck that for a joke! The Duck will never, ever be on trial for the stuff she likes. Get stuffed ye who would think otherwise. I love what I love sans guilt and without answering to anyone. Well that is at least the way I feel about it anyway and try to actively practice. Why should we feel guilty? By subscribing to this sentiment we need to consider what are we saying about  those who vigorously enjoy it guilt free? We are judging them, reading them the duck bill of rights and condemning their pleasure as shameful. The shame should be on us if we indulge in this concept. We are little more than castigating and belittling people for things they enjoy whilst satiating our same pleasure in secret. For example the Duck doesn't like the music of James CBlunt, nothing against the guy (in fact I quite like what I have seen of him as a person) but his music doesn't really lull my lily pad or ruffle my feathers. My webbed feet don't start tapping to the sounds 'O' Blunt. In fact, on hearing it, I want to take a very BLUNT instrument to the source...you get the picture. However, if I did like his music I would stand strongly and firmly by my conviction and source of joy.

I want to cast aside labels and and stamp wholeheartedly on boxes that bid to enclose us!  Unlike a box of birds (to be cheerful and happy) a boxed Duck, well... it sends a mortal shiver down my spine!
Surely what makes us special and unique are our differences not our ability to fit a mould?  This quacks very much of social norms whereby our behaviour, dress, music taste etc is dictated by pledging our allegiance to a particular group. People then behave like sheep, veiling their true feeling to fit into some preconceived perception of what they should or should not like.    I love it when stereotypes are mashed up and turned on their beak.  When we cannot contain someone in the parameters of a box.  The truck driver with penchant for opera, the Granny with a weed habit, the heavy metal Duck!  I love the uniqueness of others and particularly people that shock and jolt you out of any judgy attempt to box and stamp!

To illustrate my example I recently took my car in to get a new tyre.  The Tyre Man phoned to say the duckmobile was ready to collect.  He asked me over the phone 'what is track 9 on the CD playing?' The CD was a homemade compilation and I tried to think but couldn't give him an answer.  Upon returning to the land of rubber ducks  I hopped into the car eagerly anticipating this track 9 business. Well bowl me over with a tyre.  The Duck was pleasantly surprised.   What I am trying to say was that here was this burly kiwi mechanic Tyre Man liking this unusual indie band. Tyre Man then took note of the band on his notepad. Love it!  The track is 'Baby' by Warpaint, linked below:

                                       
                                                             Baby-Warpaint


There may be a myriad of reasons behind why we like a certain thing. A happy memory, a time in your life. Maybe you feel alive or your object of joy transports you somewhere else.  We should never have to justify it or call it guilty!  No skulking around in the shadows of the reeds surreptitiously surrendering to our sinful pleasure.  Put it out there, I dare you!  Get all your guilty ducks in a row and give the Toby tall to those who may scoff! Choke on that you goosey goober, you big bloody chicken!


Guilt can serve as a useful tool to bring us back to our own moral compass. But guilt about pleasures is just a wasting of ducking time if you ask me!

#guiltypleasures #notguilty

Duck hunting with a capital C!

                                                                           

                                                                             

Recently I was attacked by a dog. Yes indeed you heard it right here, a dog took to the Duck.  I was trying to protect my son, who has long had a fear of dogs, by Duck-plucking him out of a tricky corner.  The dog leapt up, pawed baby Duck out of my motherly grip then threw me to the ground with its fangs firmly clenched in my duck-like arm.  Long story made medium....baby Duck was freaking out.  Mutha Ducka had to remain calm so as to not fucking further incite fear into one already up to his ears in panic. There is a history and reason for his fear which involves being rumbled (in a most amorous way) by a very tall dog when he was just a two year old duckling.  In one fell swoop I realise that any past attempts to banish a fear of dogs in baby Duck are now redundant!  Gone burger, into the ether, vanished, wasted.  All those hours spent coaxing and cajoling him toward the dog have now gone up in canine-infused smoke!  Doggone.  Prior to this monumental pawing incident I used to get annoyed with dog owners who, when their dog was unleashed, would proclaim 'he won't hurt you'  'she's really a gentle dog' and suchlike upon seeing baby duck wide berthing.   The brazen way they would 'assume' our story would get my goat big time!  Now, however, I anticipate my goat will be of mountainous proportions.  An Everest goat, wild and untamed.  Gargantuan goatarama.

I get so fucked off with dog owners being so defensive.  I am sure your dog is harmless, I haven't even opened my beak and quacked.  Yes your dog is off its lead, yes baby Duck is scared.  But stop!  Don't try to presume you know our story.  It fucked me off in the past and it's going to piss me right off in the future to encounter this kind of response.  There may be a myriad of reasons why someone is wary of a dog.  I would much rather you said something along the lines of  'I am so sorry I have my dog off its lead, I know fucking damn well it's supposed to be restrained  I can see the duckling is distressed by this.  I hope we didn't further consolidate a fear in the young feathered one'.  SAID NO dog owner EVER!!!!!  I am currently working on a response for subsequent encounters.

 Don't get me wrong, I do like dogs, possibly in the past would even have ventured to say that I love dogs.  I grew up with the most gorgeous golden Labrador called Sandy who I loved unconditionally and never, ever feared.  My brother had a very lively black Labrador later down the track who was almost one of the family.  Even baby Duck, when less than 1 years old, would reach out to Nero and stroke him.  This was pre-rumble days.

I was in Auckland recently visiting a friend with the very topically applicable nickname 'Scooby Doo'.  The Dog and the Duck.  We walked along the waterfront discussing dog fears.  I was mindful of my reaction to the many dogs we passed, both the four legged and two legged variety :-).  What illuminated itself to me in the brief brush with these dogs was that, around half of them, elicited a strong visual of teeth.  Someone unscathed would see a dog but I saw teeth!  Gnashing big fangs with drool dripping down and the upper lip (is that what it's called on a dog?) resting on the top of the gums so there's no mistaking the incisors!

Yep, just what I need is another fear to add to my already exhaustive list!  I'm hoping I will return to the former Duck someday, friend of the dog.  Bygone duck doggone.

I also became aware of a subtle change this dog-on-duck drama brought about.  For a significant time after the canine invasion I was aware of a kind of flatness of feeling.  The Duck was not motivated in the slightest toward anything.  A form of flat lining really.  Post traumatic duck disorder.  Almost as if all your energy has been expended on just getting through the ordeal that suddenly you find you have nothing left to feel.  Neither up nor down just flat.  The emotional equivalent of sitting on the fence!  Neither pond half full nor empty.  You get the picture.  Fuck a duck!
Almost as if to make up for my (short-lived) flatness came dreams so vivid and lucid at night that I struggled to separate them from the reality of the day.  It was as if the bite of the dog unleashed some historical toxins and in doing so freed unresolved issues to play out in my dreams.  So by day I was Duck without a bone and by night a Duck with the most monumental bone of contention for some misdemeanor of days gone by.
So in some ways I am grateful for the episode with the dog.  In its wake it released a lot of negative things from the past and made me a little less fearless (of other things).  When the plane I was travelling to Auckland on experienced some turbulence I didn't have my dog bog standard response of minor panic and clutching/tightening of seat belt.  Nor sirree, the Duck felt free from fear and unease surrendering to the notion that some things are out of our control.  We don't know what's coming next and from where it cometh.  I certainly didn't wake up on that doggone day with any notion or suggestion of what was to happen.  Such is life.  We don't know what may lie around that corner. By my way of thinking it is just as well.

Just as every dog has its day...so shall every Duck!

#dogattack #motherlove #dogowners
                                                                               
                                                                         

Dislocated Duck

Lately I have been all at sea!  As you can imagine, the sea is no place for a duck.  A duck belongs in a pond not in the tremendous ocean with severe swells.  I cannot explain the cause of this dislocation but I can attempt to describe the effects
It is akin to the sensation of having freshly arrived in a foreign country a little green around the gills. A foreign country where you don’t quack the language and you don’t know a single feathered soul.  You have no firm plans or any accommodation, pond or otherwise, arranged and to top it all off no one knows you are there! There is a kind of an adrenaline laced edginess to this scenario, a buzzing tinge of excitement and a large measure of adventure. Maybe you experience a physiological manifestation too in the form of a rapid heart rate and just a bead of sweat forming on the forehead and palms. Feathers aglow with the perspiration of trepidation.  Perhaps this is a protective measure to keep you on your webbed feet, to alert you that you are out of your comfort zone and therefore must be more vigilant.  But if you are travelling then you know the edgy vibe will soon give way to a form of heightened excitement and anticipation.  An eagerness to explore, absorb and immerse yourself in this new country and its culture.

 What happens when you experience this without being in a foreign country?  When you are in a small town or city in the country you live in, the country you were born and grew up in?  When you are with people you have known for many years, some of whom you call family?  What happens then? What do you do when this, otherwise, foreign feeling hits you like a freight train in the midst of faces you know like the back of your webbed hand and a setting you are well and truly accustomed to? In the case of the duck you feel a soaring sense of unease, a kind of sickening notion of doom and a vice like grip to your very core! It has seemingly come out of nowhere, blindsided you leaving you barely able to quack. The dislocated Duck is in the height of discomfort and panic.  Not being able to understand the origin of this fucking awful feeling yet wanting it banished forthwith!  Urgently, promptly, abruptly to evaporate leaving no trace.  Yet there is a trace, a formation of saliva gathering in your duck bill, a brisking heart rate and that ever mounting sense of panic.

                                                                 

This sense of dislocation suggests to me that we are ultimately alone in this life.  We have episodes of connection with others and lifetime lasting relationships with a few people.  It  reminds me of a line from the, ever so slightly, cheesy song ' I know him so well'  'No-one in your life is with you constantly, No-one is completely on your side'  Accepting that this is true, that at times in your life you will feel completely alone means you don't need to feel so scared.  Recognising this sensation, going with it rather than resisting it and riding the wave out can be a useful strategy.  Of course I will be the first to admit this is easier said than done.  When you can't see the wood for the trees, the pond for the lily pads just putting one webbed foot in front of the other and moving forward is enough. Sometimes you find yourself out to sea feeling utterly forsaken, the depth of feeling threatening to engulf you with every surge.  You’re in foreign waters where you crave familiar waters.  At times surrounded by people you are beyond accustomed to yet you still feel incredibly alone.  In fact being with people you know and still feeling like this only serves to intensify the perception.  Maybe this is the way of life at times to be all at sea.  Don’t fight it just go with it, tuck your wings in, keep your beak down and wait for the moment to pass.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and all that....

But for the Duck remains the realisation that alas as we are born alone so we must die!

Is there a silver lining in all this?  Yes,I think there is although it’s hard to see anything but black murky waters while you’re in it.  You know you’re alive that is for sure.  You may also appreciate a return to calm, safe and welcoming waters.  The relief may be palpable.  In my experience there is a kind of residue and lingering feeling after something like this.  An of archive of experience that is neatly tucked in 'the back of my mind for now'.  It resides there among all those other unpleasant episodes, tingeing the here and now ever so slightly.  It can inspire you to cast aside fear and throw yourself beak long into life.  Make your quack heard!

When I was writing this a little boat that was given to me years ago came to mind.  The boat pictured below.  It rings as true to me now as it did when I was given it.  'There is no set path, just follow your heart'.  Be liberated by these experiences, dust off your wings and fly free.


                                                                           

'Neither resent the doldrums, or savour too long the elation'

#dislocation #alone #crazymind

Nepal

I am reflecting on the horrific disaster that has occurred in Nepal.  The horror is unimaginable yet I can visualise it as best as someone who is not there can.  I can picture my old place of work reduced to rubble, one of two archaic desktop computers smashed to pieces.   I can see in my mind’s eye my favourite momo khaaja (dumpling snack) place flattened, the lovely owners struggling to make sense of what’s happened to their livelihood, their home.  I know Durbar Square well, I can see it now on the news and in the film going through my head on loop.  I can see the busy Kantipath road overflowing with panicked people, the sound of horns (of the few vehicles still running) beeping desperately. Dogs barking and circling getting nowhere.    The chaos, the disorder, the turmoil. The fear and the grief etched upon the faces of thousands of people.  The sheer shock of it all.

                                                       

This is because I have lived there.  I have lived there, worked there, made friends there, got sick there, laughed and cried and got told I had black teeth there! I loved and was loved there, got angry and frustrated there, clowned around and raised my voice there.  I love Nepal.  I love the people, the food and the simplicity of many things in a country where the conditions can be very challenging. The way most people just get on with the minutiae of their lives with such a positive attitude.   Most Nepali folk don’t engage in navel gazing.  That is a western ‘indulgence’.  I recall being told by a Nepali colleague that I think too much, two minutes a day is all you need.  This was a woman who got up at 5am to prepare daal bhatt for a family of 21, came to work and then did the same in the evening.  Day in day out, no weekends off, no public holidays.  Always smiling, laughing and telling me to stop thinking.  Right now I am worrying about things that may never happen.  Such a waste of head space. I can hear her voice telling me to stop thinking and her cheeky face laughing as she knows she's caught me out-again!

My thoughts too go to my friend Jina and her family.  I worked with Jina in the District Education Office in Bahktapur.  Jina was my regulator, guide and friend.  When I would plan meetings and no one would turn up she would sense my rising frustration and rally the troops.  In her bossy little way she was able to illustrate to me that A) Time works differently in Nepal, not better, not worse but differently. B) On the whole anger is a waste of energy.  I was grateful to her that she could read my mood.  I wasn't grateful, after returning from a 10 day trek, to be told by Jina that I had gotten fat! Moto!  Moto Duck.  The Duck went trekking and came back fat were almost her exact words, give or take the duck part.  Yeah thanks mate!  But this searing honesty is such a refreshing characteristic that many Nepalese possess.  No need to ask 'does my bum look big in this?' rest assured you will soon be told.  

I remember once being in the work jeep.  We were on our way from Bhaktapur to Kathmandu.  In the back was Beer Singh Dhami, another colleague and the Duck.  I was luxuriating in the comfort of travelling like this as opposed to being on the Bhaktatpur Express bus (my usual mode of transport).  Then we stopped and picked up someone else, getting a tad tight in the back.  Then we stopped again and again and again.  Pilling the people in like reverse jenga.  At one stage I was blamed for the squashiness in the back but by now I had learned to teflon coat and let it fly off in an instant and if the need arose deflect it right back.  Deflection would include replies such as 'have you got a mirror in your house?'

                                                           Jina and her family 2006

The Nepali people I encountered were warm, generous, funny and, with that trademark honesty, very unique and special.  I am at a loss as to what I can do.   I am strikingly aware that as I sit  now I do so with the luxury of a roof over my head, clean running water and plenty of food, even plenty of choices.  I can sit at my laptop writing this and contemplate whether I will have a glass of syrah or cab sav tonight!  I am a million miles away from these people, this pandemonium that has been thrust upon them.  I guess in some way I always was.  It was my choice to be there, to live on $5 a day.  It was always my choice. I experienced the extravagance that having choices provides.  Another privilege of the West.  Below is a replica peacock window I was given from the District Education office when I left Nepal. The peacock window is a Newar window unique to Bhaktapur and sometimes known as the 'Mona Lisa' of Nepal.

Peacock Window replica

Inscription on the back of the window

I am also made acutely aware of the fact that this tragedy strikes so deeply in me because I have been there,  lived there and made it my home for over a year.  I am not entirely comfortable with this though.  Why do I need some personal connection to a place to be able to have this reaction?  Are we, as human beings, that selfish?  Just because I know the place a little and have lived and worked and been told I had black teeth there does it validate it any more for me? 

I spoke to a friend just now about this concept and I am hoping it is self preservation.  If you had a 'personal' response to all the bad news in the world you would never want to get out of bed again.  It would be almost impossible to live if you had a deep level of empathy for all the terrible stuff that happens in the world.  I am also keenly aware that I have, in some small way contradicted my last blog post talking about bias in the news etc.  There is an element of internal incongruity for me.  I will have to deal with that.  I am lucky, I still have choice.  My worries are trivial, petty and most of all frivolous in comparison.                                                        

                                                       

I feel so incredibly sad for  Nepal and the Nepalese people.  So much of their livelihood depends on the tourist trade.  They have been knocked back to square one and they were only at square three.  The recovery alone is unfathomable!  This is a set back of gargantuan proportions.  I hope that on this long, arduous  road to recovery, that the people maintain their true spirit.  The warmth and kindness will remain.  I long for this recovery to be as speedy and as efficient as possible.  I long to wrap Nepal in a blanket of love and hold her hand in support and comfort.  

Namaste

#nepalearthquake #vso #livinginnepal #lovenepal