Personal Ramblings

the perks of memory loss

Fibromyalgia is a package deal that comes with many accessorial conditions. Memory loss is one of them. But between my many gadgets and my family, I manage to remember most things. (This year my brother reminded me that it was my birthday)

However there are some things for which even Remember the Milk is no good. So, rather than get bummed out over memory loss, I focus on its perks.

  • I can watch a movie for the fifth time and it’ll still be a new movie.
  • I can have a second piece of cake at the end of the day without the guilt of the first piece I had in the morning.
  • When I get angry or am hurt, I know for a fact that in a few days I won’t remember the incident at all.
  • Walking around the house looking for something I don’t remember gives me a lot of exercise.
  • I’m easier to live with now that I don’t spit out “I told you so” every chance I get.


Life in Nepal, Reading Life Between the Lines

dung and stars

Before moving to Nepal, I did my research. Lonely Planet, the Internet, and an uncle who had lived here. But my information sources obviously did not prepare me enough. As I stepped out of the airplane, the smell hit me, almost knocking me over—the warm, pungent  combination of diesel fumes, animal dung, and human sweat.

The hour-long drive from the airport was decorated with sights to match the smells. Animals and humans defecating side by side. Ancient buses grinding against one another, puffing black fumes. From somewhere deep inside my sterile soul came a silent scream “Take me back to air-conditioned homes and litter-free streets!”

With every new day, I grew increasingly sensitive to every dung heap and diesel cloud. My daily walks were carefully orchestrated—wear shoes at all times, ensure pant legs end above the ankles, use handkerchief to cover nose, and most importantly, don’t take eyes off the road. ALWAYS LOOK DOWN.

The inevitable happened one dark night. I stepped into a fresh, warm pile. In anger, I waved my arms into the black night and yelled out my every suppressed thought. And as I vented, the brilliant beauty hit me: Nepal’s coal black sky–far away and untouched by the pollution of its soil–showered me with the most beautiful stars I had ever seen—translucent, shimmering gems of perfect beauty. A canopy of gems, fit only for nobility, yet it shone on everyone alike.

Standing in a puddle of dung, I was lost in exquisite beauty. All that time, while engrossed in combating the smells of Nepal, I missed out on the beauty. All that time I was looking down instead of looking up.

Standing in a puddle of dung, I realized that life is kind of like dung and stars. There’s the good and the not so good. I can either spend my time looking out for the smelly stuff in life or I can revel in its beauty

Life is what we make of it. A heap of dung. Or a thing of beauty.