Bare Cupboards. Bags. Memories.

Something about packing--about putting pieces of my life into an ordinary box, a bag--makes me contemplative, reflective, melancholy. The physicality, the logic of placing things inside other things, closing them, letting them go, sending them away...seems cold.

I deeply feel the emptiness of the walls, the lightness of the drawers as I open and close them, the bareness of the cupboards that still smell of turmeric...the signs that say we are leaving. I am not good at leaving.

And what about the things we won't pack into bags, wrapped carefully in dish towels and old newspapers? What about the nameless, numberless things we will leave behind? What we'll take in memory only--packed away, crowded with all the other bits and pieces we've collected with time?

I know this--this feeling coming around the bend: the fear that my memories will fade, the colors less bright, the language garbled, the sights and sounds and smells taking on the blurred edges of old dreams. But how else could I bear to keep them all?

And What We Won't Miss...

"Bandhs" or strikes. Black exhaust smoke blowing in our faces. Insane horns. Being mildly confused most of the time. Transience. Concrete houses. No voice mail or answering machines. No central heating. Disorganization. Motorcycles on sidewalks. Dust everywhere. The smash and chaos of crowded public transport. The next door neighbor's blasting puja music at dawn. Stray dogs. Nearly getting run over by SUVs on tiny streets. Faulty systems. Power cuts. The impossible visa process. Putrid toilets with no toilet paper and/or soap. Water shortages. Iodizing produce. Belly troubles. Black snot. Flooded streets. Being misunderstood, and vice versa. Un-fitted sheets. Trash. No trash cans. Being cut in front of in lines. Street vendors in Thamel. Bad ice cream. Bad sidewalks. PMRs. The smell of the Bagmati River. Maybe the worst cellphone network in the world. Nasty street-side meat shops. Smog. Unnecessary bureaucracy. No Daylight Savings Time. Early morning hocking and spitting sounds. Being the foreigner.