30 June, 2011
Eve of my 51st birthday. I am tucked into my hard but comfortable bed under a lavender mosquito net in Nepal. I have views of the mountains from my corner room. The frogs in the fields around the house are making a high-pitched whirring sound that comforts me. I am here with Brendan who is having yet another attack of the Nepali disease. He hasn’t eaten all day and can hardly stand, but he did go to work this morning, which impressed me. It’s good for him to be here, psychologically if not physically.
I am utterly exhausted by the business of taking care of people who don’t know or won’t learn how to take care of themselves. I am also weary from the strain of getting along across cultural and linguistic barriers.
Sughanda and Rupa and Tej are much more generous=hearted than I am. I see a person who tries to scam other people in to taking care of him or her. They see the same kind of person, but remain committed to helping and sacrificing. Modernization has not yet fractured family ties, which are feudal and kin-based here. I’m conscious of my hypocrisy. I see how I make judgments about others and their attitudes and behaviors without really understanding what I’m condemning.
Falling asleep.
Missing love.
The Left Hand of Feminism 