I Loved Blank Slates -- Bhaktapur, Nepal

My Kiwi and I spent our final days in Bhaktapur writing in cafes, eating momos (no, autocorrect. I don't mean "moms". My Kiwi and I did not spend our final days in Bhaktapur "eating moms") and trying to be present enough to capture the moments with stories.  

 

It's a tough time for this lady to be present, 'cos this lady keeps thinking, "Despite everything, I've gone and fallen in love with Nepal. Notwithstanding the pollution, the honking, the hocking, the Eye of Sandesh and the dire lack of affordable chocolate and non-shitty wine. 

Nepal got me, damnit. Its exultant mountains, mystical temples, vivid colors, paneer curry, and its rather nice Kiwi. The ticket I printed off back in Sofia says I fly out of Kathmandu at 21:25 on the 25th, but zero percent of me is ready to board that plane. 
 

So. 

Regardless of how much I'd like to just stay here, to prolong this season of creativity and easy friendship, I'm flying to Malaysia. Where I have no friends at all. Where I'll have to start all over again. That thing I always seem to be doing.

This is when my life choices don't make sense to me. But I carry on anyway and do my best to contrive some sort of meaning out of these nonsensical decisions. As if superimposing meaning will somehow justify them. Validate all my absurdity. 
 

A meaning I could concoct from all this GLUM is... 

I used to feel grateful for brand new pages. Fresh starts. I used to long for those seductively blank slates on which I could write whatever story I chose and no one would know any better. 

I loved blank slates for a lot of reasons. They meant no one could hold me accountable for, or hold me prisoner to what was written on an old slate. It was liberating. Empowering. Exciting. 

But it was (and is) fucking lonely. 
 

The people I've met on this trip have helped me realize that I do not, in fact, always want or.... well, need a blank slate. 

'Cos the loneliness I feel leaving people like Matt isn't worth the emancipation empty pages bring me. 

  
But I still don't quite trust myself with a slate that isn't blank.

I want to trust myself. So I can settle into friendships without always absconding to another country. I'd like to be able to relax into communities. Communities full of people like Matea. Misho. Matt. 

But something's in the way. Something's blocking me. And until I figure out exactly what it is and why it's driving me and how to tell it to calm the hell down, I reckon I'll continue to float. 

During our first night in Bhaktapur, Matt decided (rather quickly) that he might like to live here.

I can't say I blame him.

It feels impossible to write an interesting story about days spent entirely behind camera lenses and in cafes, so I'll let the photos take over the storytelling. 

Mirror image

My Kiwi and I spent our last evening in Bhaktapur on the rooftops of two restaurants near Pottery Square. Drinking apple cider, people watching, eating momos (damn you, autocorrect) and staring into the sun as it steadily slipped away.

I hate that I can't hold onto moments. 

This is one I wish I could keep.