We walk
through busy streets meandering across the city. Small square doorless shops
line the roads. Merchants gaze out from their shops waiting for customers.
People walking alongside the road greet us with a friendly “Namaste,” I embrace
the divine in you. Respect and understanding feels so naturally genuine, it is
woven into the language.
Sometimes I
wonder, though, how it would feel to blend into my surroundings—to not stand
out like a foreigner.
Can a garment
of cloth really help build a bridge? What will it say to native eyes?
The kurta
shop has walls and walls of colored cloth. Choices upon choices. We sift
through a rainbow of excitement to find our new identity—it will be ready on
Thursday.
It is a normal
Friday morning in Nepal. I wonder what people are thinking as we walk down the puddled
streets adorned in our native clothes. More
eyes follow us than before—but I do not feel uncomfortable; I feel surrounded
by an innocent curiosity to understand what brought this clothing to our pale
skin. In this moment, I feel beautiful.
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