“We get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that… And yet it all seems limitless.”
The Sheltering Sky. Paul Bowles.
-I am taking holidays for India.
Holidays from India. That was my answer, especially since, though I never knew it until I went to Asia, I have a Nepali look. It’s funny how you can have so many looks without knowing. Maybe it’s because I was Nepali in another life and therefore, when I got there, I felt at home. It’s funny how you can have so many homes without knowing.
That was Nepal for me: my home. And now it is not there anymore.
I look at the pictures over and over again. My pictures. And the pictures of what remained of all those Durbar squares in which I spent hours, sitting on the steps of all those temples. In Kathmandu. In Patan. In Bakthapur. I was there, but I’m not there anymore. And not even that temple (with those steps on which I sat down to see also shooting pigeons fly over a sky that seems static, but it also changes) is there anymore. Although it was there for years.
If from all those temples, which existed long, long, long before I came to Nepal, long, long before I was even born, nothing remains, nothing more than a dust that stings the eyes, how could you stay too? Not even I stay in one place more than a week.
And you think you are fine with it. You convince yourself that you’ve learned to say goodbye. You are aware that you won’t come back. You are aware that, when you say goodbye, it can truly be the last time. And, as the landscape begins to fade in the distance and his figure begins to blur through the tears (if there are any) you think you’ve learned to say goodbye. You think that, since the journey implies movement, you have accepted the finality that says nothing remains and you get the illusion that not even Earth revolving around the sun tickles you anymore.
But still, you don’t really know the risk you run when you’re leaving pieces of your soul around the world, pieces that actually die, until one day, all you have left are pictures as the only evidence that it ever happened, because now everything is so different that you find hard to believe that it even existed. Maybe that’s why many people, when they return from a trip, say: “It seemed like a dream.”
I dreamed of you, Nepal. And I dreamed of you too.
And now, what is left, after everything has been destroyed? Only dust that stings the eyes and makes me cry. Nostalgia, that’s how they call it.PLEASE NOTE: English is not my mother tongue! These ones are rough translations from
the original Spanish version Sobre el caballito.Sorry about the mistakes! 😉
Do you like the rocking horse? Then, down here you have 3 ways to support it to keep rocking. I'll thank you forever for 1 (or even better for the 3 of them):
1. Follow the rocking horse on or on
2. If you feel extra-super-nice today and you have at least an extra dollar this month:
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3. Or maybe you would like as well to...
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