"Life is a process of letting go."

Day 1,460:

On June 26th, 2012 at 7:00 a.m., I started what I thought to be a two week trip that would transform me - but resulted in a 1,460 day trip that would carry me across the world, lead me to people of endless compassion, and ultimately awaken the epiphany of self realization.

Every last second swells with bittersweet fulfillment as I count down my final hours with CGA. Seeing as this is the final blog of a four year journey, I’m trying to find the long-awaited, savory words that have escaped me for years. Those words that would not only bring tears to your eyes, but would inspire passion and strike courage into your hearts. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are no words, no further points, and no last revelations that I haven’t already expressed. These four years have seen my highest and lowest points. I’ve already been redundant in saying how these trips have broadened my perspective and shaped me in numerous ways. However, for my last chance to relay what has been sewn into my very being by these experiences, I want to share my last revelations on a broader view.

No matter which country, in what condition, or what exactly my mission was, I’ve noticed the same, seemingly obvious yet overlooked trend. Every human, stretching from the mountains of Nepal to the beaches of Nicaragua and beyond, is united in our shared humanity. Whether we be from metal slums or from townhouses, every human on this earth wants happiness. We all want to be given compassion, and avoid pain. Every human wants to smile and laugh, and to be treated in a deserving way of what they are. human. Four years has given me time to learn to look past what is immediately seen, and to appreciate that we all have a beating heart under human skin.

What I always struggle with upon return to America reaches deeper than cultural shock. After weeks of serving and feeling useful, my simple American life leaves me with a hollow feeling, without fulfillment, without purpose. Until now, I often felt like I was living in my own shadow, and that life back home could not compare to my travels abroad. I was scared that my life had no powerful meaning. Through all this distress and doubt, I have finally understood that, if we choose it to be, life is never without purpose. I have walked foreign lands and have always observed fulfilling lives where it seems impossible. I can see now that a purposeful life doesn’t need to dominate the global stage, or move entire mountains. A life with meaning simply requires contentment and passion. It requires choosing not to exist, but to be truly alive. To aspire after dreams, no matter how small, and to take on each day with gratitude. I sincerely believe that a life with purpose can only be built on days filled with content.

Children’s Global Alliance has awakened me to a beautiful global community where we are able to harmonize as one, and that is filled with aspiration and purpose on every level. These experiences have brought me to the groundbreaking conclusion that I am a human with a purpose, and that purpose is up to me to decide.

"The reward of a job well done is to have done it."

My eyes streamed as I squinted through clouds of dirt and dust. My back and knuckles voiced their complaint as I carried piles of bricks to the ledge of the house, and wooden floorboards groaned beneath my feet. Despite the ache and somewhat lack of vision, I maintained my part in the assembly line: tossing useless bricks over the side of the house and into the empty streets below.

Because Deeya Shree is not open on Saturdays, we took our free time as an excellent opportunity to put some much needed physical labor into cleaning the collapsed houses that were spilling into the streets of a neighborhood in Bhaktapur. For hours we tore apart wood framing, stacked whole bricks, tossed the rest, and eventually managed to level two floors of a three story house (ceiling to ceiling.) The debris from our work swelled in the alley below, and clouds of dust settled in a grainy coat over my skin.

As I toiled, I couldn't help but visualize this situation as my own. With each brick I mangled from the walls, I imagined taking my home, the haven and sacred temple of my life, down. Brick by brick. I imagined ripping down the plaster and wood that sheltered me as I grew up, and holding years of those sacred memories in one hand. Then with a single motion tossing them into the heaps of rubble below, watching them shatter among the others. Brick by heart-wrenching brick.

Day 4/5

Returning after the school's one day break, Nicole and I taught in Class Three. There is no exaggeration when I say that patience truly is a magnificent virtue. At such a young age, and with such high levels of energy, Class Three pushed me to near limits. I marveled at the class's frustrating discrepancy of advanced understanding coupled with low tolerance for listening. Knowing that the students all understood what I was saying, but chose not to listen... Needless to say I have a great new found respect for my teachers. But this is not to say our day was a failure. While teaching did prove as a struggle, Nicole and I managed to reach the kids through certain lessons and activities. By the end of the day, Class Three had begun the process of viewing us as more than temporary volunteers, and valuing what we had to offer.

On Monday I made the shift from Chaotic Class three to tranquil Four. Throughout all our lessons the students, though with some incentives and reminders, worked avidly. Whether it be drawing a terrestrial animal or learning the ins and outs of microcomputer functions.

By lunchtime, the Class Four students had taken complete enthrallment in my blue eyes. Namrata, one of my tiny, incredibly cute students asked, "Why are your eyes so blue if mine are so black?"

"Because I'm magic!" I said, several children now poking at my eyes. They all stood back and laughed, and Namrata grabbed my hand, "If you are magic, you can make me tall?" I now show her magic every day by lifting her high into the air and spinning her around as she giggles, "Look how tall I am!"

Day 6/7

Tuesday, just like Sunday, had to be earned through tiring work, and pushed me to the limits. Nicole and I taught in Class Six (the oldest,) which consisted of four shy boys. Though it provided the same amount, if not more, of a challenge as Three, my struggle was rooted in their boredom. Granted, a lesson about the power and role of the Municipal in Nepal may not inspire the most enthusiasm, but we were still grappling for ideas. However, we refused to shut down, and never stopped.

Our class came through the most when Keshab spoke about morals. He was discussing hard work, preparation, and serving others when he pointed to us, "There are three hundred and eighteen million people in America," he told the four boys, "so why are there only two in your classroom?"

Today, we visited a sister school located in the outskirts of the city, nestled in foothills and towering forests. As we pulled into the open courtyard of the small, steamy school, it was the perfect stereotypical image of Nepal. The chipped, colorfully painted buildings residing comfortably among rolling green farms, cows waddling down the road, and domineering mountains bathed in vivid green.

Because we could only stay until lunch, we had the opportunity to play a version of duck duck goose with nearly all the students of the school. We formed a circle in the courtyard, and despite the blistering heat and my poor decision to wear a skirt today, we ran redundantly, trying to tag each other. The game lasted only a short while until before we split up once more to teach in the classrooms. Nicole and I went to class six, and immediately sparked excitement when we passed out colorful maps of the world to each table. Though we only taught two classes, the students remained lively, and were eager to drink in whatever we had to pour out.

Before piling back in the van to return to Deeya Shree, the students walked around with pens, asking us to sign our names on their hands. As I crossed the courtyard a young girl, not old enough to understand English, ran in circles giggling as I tickled her sides. We were flashed countless smiles as the wheels churned over dirt and we waved our goodbyes.

To switch up the usual schedule, I taught with AJ in Class Five. We came in time for two classes, and did not hesitate to teach long equations and the process of germination. I continued my tradition of magic with Namrata after school.

For the third time this trip, we traveled further back into Bhaktapur to Puniram's house, the beaming man who transports us around the city. With thunder storms hugging the dark sky, we began the process of uprooting bricks, collecting the whole ones, and disposing the broken. As we stacked and threw, my visualization of this as my own home was put into perspective as children brought down the house they've been living in for years.

Everyday I pass houses with crumbling bricks and walls slumping into their neighbors'. It wasn't until I stood in the mist of broken bricks and old furniture that used to recline in someone's home, that I truly realized the immensity of Nepal's situation, and how valuable our presence and work here is. Even if it is only brick by brick.

"The reward of a job well done is to have done it." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"If they think, they are right."

It could be the beauty of step patties spilling over lush hillsides, or the jagged, green mountains spanning as far as I can see through the low clouds, dust, and smog. But something in the wild streets of cracked, half collapsed brick buildings has completely captured me in the past forty-eight hours. Something that roots my soul and draws me in to this magnificent valley of spiritual sanctuaries and heart-stopping emotions.
But beyond the niches of elaborate goddess carvings and ancient doorways coated in burning sage, there are the people of Nepal. I've grown accustomed to the bewildered stares and looks of amusement that have followed me through previous countries, so it came as a pleasant shock when I was greeted with eyes filled with relief. People all throughout the city have stopped in their tracks to greet, and even thank us as we pass, bowing and whispering, "Namaste." As we were walking to the guest house on the first day, an elderly woman recited the usual greeting, then took my hand and genuinely thanked me.
It's impossible to not feel the powerful aura of unity and hope radiating from the people. In a time of crisis, power and pride for their country becomes the first resort. Instead of residing in fear, the entire population has fortified themselves and set to work rebuilding their land of beauty. From my balcony I can see waves of broken buildings, rising dust, and small tents housing multiple families. They may lose material possessions, but you are never without hope in this country.

Day 2:

Today was our first day teaching at the school, and it was beyond any expectation. Before arriving, we were briefed and inspired by the school's principal, Keshab. A magnificent man, and even better teacher, he shared his ground-breaking view on education in Nepal, and how he strives to provide his students with anything and everything they need to succeed. During his presentation, he explained that no student can be a bad one, and that there is never a wrong answer because, "If they think, they are right."
After our introduction, we took off down the rolling streets to the school, located on a hillside just beyond the slums. As if the heat and exhaustion from travel weren't enough, I was gripped with stage fright. I couldn't shake the fear of presenting myself as a laughingstock, and failing to provide the life changing experience every student deserves. But there was an energy emitting from the fifth grade classroom that drove me, and within seconds I became a passionate teacher.
Nicole and I were assigned to the fifth grade class, where we would at first observe lessons and then hopefully lead some of our own, while Kevin and AJ taught in the fourth grade class. Every student was bursting with energy the second we stepped in, and immediately welcomed us. To begin observing and taking notes, I sat on a bench nearest to the board, right in front of a young boy named Brijal. He was not hesitant to give me is name and ask mine in return, and his eagerness for the day to start was obvious.
Keshab instructed the class in an English grammar lesson, as Nicole and I took notes. Much sooner than I expected (and I'm not complaining), we were placed in front of twenty-eight eager eyes, and began our lessons. We built off of the textbooks the students had, and used them as references as we proceeded throughout the day teaching various subjects such as English, U.S. History, and astronomy. Despite their never ending, and extremely tiring, energy, the kids were apt and engrossed in every second. Whether it be new information or something they've rehearsed a thousand times over, they never missed a beat.
The school day, though tiring, flashed by in what felt like a heartbeat. As students poured into the fields back toward home, our Nepal team piled into the van to visit the house of a local man, Pouizam.
Before the earthquake, Pouizam possessed 3,500 chickens, and based his income on the selling of their eggs. There are only 500 left. The shake devastated not only his chicken farms, but leveled his home. He and his family now reside in a very small tent with three other families, where they sleep on thin mats and store what food they have in their old, collapsed homes.
Seeing this immense detriment, and how it has hindered the joy of a usually very altruistic man, we have begun making plans to help rebuild even the smallest aspects of his life.

The vast beauty and aura of Nepal, is unlike any other I have ever experienced. There is no language in which I can tangibly express the raw emotion this nation evokes. It is the most beautiful, sad mix of complex culture and ravished city. But despite the destruction, I have never felt any sense of fear or danger. In no way do I doubt these peoples' capabilities, and their passionate ability to rebuild everything they have ever known. I aspire in my entirety to be one more brick in the second rising of this awe-striking city.

Guatemala - The Sister of Nepal

         It only took one hour to drastically change my perspective about what I'm going to experience this coming summer.

         The movie Living on One Dollar tells the story of two friends in college who commit themselves and two members of a camera crew to living in the rural village of Pena Blanca in Guatemala for fifty six days, with a fluctuating income of one dollar a day. The documentary was created to shine light on the extreme conditions millions of people gruel through every day. To open our eyes to the intense need that is dwarfed and obscured by our plentiful and fulfilling lives that we so often overlook and take for granted. I have had first hand experience in witnessing this kind of struggle all over the world, but I still remain struck by one prominent feature - the acceptance of a predestined reality.

          Twelve year old Chino lives below the poverty line in Pena Blanca, Guatemala. To sustain his family, Chino's father, Anthony, holds a consistent job cleaning. However Anthony cannot provide for everyone on his own, and therefore needs Chino to work everyday farming on their small plot of land. The low income, divided among many people, along side the constant work, makes it impossible for Chino to attend school. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, the twelve year old boy who works every day simply said, "I will be a farmer." This one response took me aback, and sent me reeling. At the young age of twelve, when most boys are playing sports, attending school, and dreaming of being a football player or a doctor, Chino had already accepted his fate as a low-income farmer. The situation he grew up in had already chosen the rest of his life for him, and opportunity was a rare sight.

         If asked if I could live under these conditions, I could easily answer (though with some embarrassment) that there was no way. Families who had lived in such poverty for generations, and had grown up not knowing any other way, continued to struggle not only financially but emotionally each day. As Anthony said, they were, "not just struggling to make our lives better. We are struggling to survive." I know that if these staggering troubles and continuous pains are enough to break and daunt the formidable spirits of the people who have grown up with them, that I stand no chance.

         A part of living in poverty that makes it such a struggle, besides all the clear financial and nutritional troubles, is the education. Education, in my opinion, would be the most difficult part of poverty. Not only because there would be such a prominent lack of it, but because I would know that there are opportunities open, but only for those who attend something I could not. It would be heartbreaking to have hopes and dreams of a better future lying just on the other side of one boundary, but simply being unable to overcome it because of circumstance. A young woman, Rosa, in the documentary had to give up on her dream of becoming a nurse, because her family could not afford school.

         It goes without saying that I live a plentiful life with great ease, and take my advantage in life for granted all too often. Especially when compared to the Guatemalans. Though they have so little, they find the greatest happiness in giving all they can to others. They live in a community so tightly bound that survival is a group effort, and each family gives everything only to receive nothing. Each second is a prize and an opportunity for the Guatemalans, and that is something I have always tried to pursue.

         As said before, my perspective going into Nepal has shifted drastically. My hunger to serve and pour myself into the lives of anyone and everyone there has only grown, and time cannot move fast enough.