D

When D asked me why Nepal is obsessed with developing, I realised that I was obsessed with it myself. I don’t think I gave him a good answer but I connected it with our neo-colonial roots. Development for us has always self-development.

I told him that it’s because of Lennon, not Lenin, that I had the determination to change the environment around me. I had once told V that the difference between any animal and human is 0 and 1: animals cannot change the environment but humans can. Since we could, it always felt like it was our responsibility to change the environment. Of course, it was the first time ever that I was being interviewed and I told all sorts of shit. Maybe I was exaggerating. I became a politician for once.

D is smart. I wish to become like some day. D gave up on development and studied ethnomusicology because there’s just too much shit to deal with trying to help. “It left me devastated,” he said. Why wouldn’t you get frustrated when you’re working for non-profit organisations working for profits. Screwed up, innit.

You’ll have to meet D to understand D. He’s got cholesterol problems so he doesn’t drink beer; maybe just pot, or acid. He’s a brother I’d like to have. He knows stuff but it’s too bad that he won’t be around. Fucking neo-colonisation: they take away the best people. I understand liberalism and individualism–its been the way of life for long, doing what’s best for you and reaping the reward. It somehow keeps the system functional and it breaks those at the bottom.

I’ll remember your analysis D, and I’m looking forward to reading your Ph.D. We need more people like you who tell real stories and analyse it. Doctors aren’t just supposed to make individuals better but the world better, too. That, you’ll do; that is if people pay attention. At least you’ve got the attention of one.

if i weren’t shy

I’ll start with a story of what happens in my every exam. The person next to me tells me to show him what he’s written, and I do, but they never understand what I’ve written. They squint their eyes, stretch their neck and get closer to my paper. Still, they don’t understand a thing. This introverted person has handwriting so small that you’ll need glasses that you don’t actually need. “I can’t change my handwriting. That’s my personality trait,” I tell people. I try to tell them that it’s a science called graphology. I swear to them that I’m not making an excuse but I don’t know if they believe it. Even the invigilator says, “Kati syano!”

Growing up shy, I always hid the vulnerable side of me from people. I never told them about my obsession with video games; thought that was too nerdy and not too mainstream. I didn’t skateboard out on the streets because I thought people would look at me and think I’m some sort of punk. I wrote and I wrote but I never let anyone read them. Now I regret not compiling what I’d written more than a decade ago. Would have been useful to understand my state of mind. Above all, I never could express my love for another person: be it mom and dad, a brother, sister or a friend, or a pretty girl because of her poetry.  I still can’t.

Shyness holds me down like gravity. Sometimes I defy it, get high and usurp my esteem, but it doesn’t last. This reserve nature of mine held be back for too long to ever get out of this, but sometimes I try to get out and tell the world to “fuck off, you and your judgemental thoughts.” If it weren’t for this shy nature of mine, I’d be an artist of some kind, doing things that don’t make sense to the world but brushes through the heart of those who understand or try to comprehend. I think of all the lost times when I stopped writing poems (not that I was good at it). I never completed a song and I never sang. I never celebrated my tiny achievements because that’s grabbing attention. Nothing was wrong with the world; it’s just something inside me. This tug of war–a clash of internal personalities–still keeps me struggling.

Sometimes I see posers, good for nothing creeps, and think I’m better than me. When you’ve bottled your thoughts inside for long, your ego gets the worse of you. At times I think how much I’ve lost my youth and maybe it was the right for me to get out, get a show running and make a fool of myself. Isn’t that the way you learn? But I always hid behind the curtains or sat among the crowd, usually appreciated the people in silence than jovially shout out loud. Sometimes I wonder if I even have an animal instinct. I rarely let myself lose. I know I am fun, some know.

The best days of my life are yet to come, I know. The songs of glory, for now, are on hold. Love will come flowing again. Maybe someday I’ll forget all the embarrassment and learn to dance and paint. You’re only miserable if you hold yourself down and many others for the things you want to achieve. This bottle needs no cork. Champagne must flow and I need to celebrate.