testicles and fear...

Ah yes, rooster testicles, my latest culinary experience in the village. I know you probably won't be finding the item on a menu any time soon, but let me just advise you to steer clear of that dish in general anyway because it was the texture that was more than extremely lacking, and therefore no matter which method you may find it prepared with, it will still retain a kind of "yes, those are testicles" feeling against your teeth, and therefore I could never endorse the dish in any way and in fact, suggest it should be avoided at all costs.
(Before I forget, I also want to write a big fat thank you to those who recently donated, I am proud to say that the children in the village are no longer without soccer balls and badminten birdies. We are also still raising money to fix the school in the neighboring village, which should begin sometime before the end of this month depending on funds, so much of the recent money has gone into the pot for that future project as well.)

That said, let me move on to write about my feelings, since after a long while I am finally in Kathmandu long enough to truly reflect on these past few months. This is a seriously needed relief since I could feel my mind starting to curdle like old milk without the stimulation of another cynical westerner who, if not my equal intellectually, at least sarcastically, would have kept me much more lucid than I have been in these past few weeks being surrounded by people who after all this time still giggle at me when I walk past them. I suppose I am also a little desperate to talk about how far away I feel these days, even for me, someone who is used to being far away. At least I thought that I was used to it. I suppose as long as I am an incredible distance from everything and everyone dear to me, I'll never completely get used to it. Perhaps, I'm also feeling uncertain lately due to some poignant e-mails I just received that have coolly pointed out that this is the most outlandish/ irresponsible thing I've ever done. I suppose the full realization that I'm practically committing to life as a hobo, living in a wild and beautiful, poverty stricken hell hole full of madness and depravity, is beginning to culminate into a steadily growing snow ball of doubts. I mean, for christ's sake, I'm trying to learn a language that only 4% of the population of a third world country can understand; no wonder I'm insecure about my life.
Perhaps the weirdness of it all has just magnified because I am beginning to actually live inside the poverty of this situation rather than merely trying to understand and assess it. At times I can go on these emotional benders; sudden explosions of panic triggered by a mountain of dread. I have slowly begun to realize that TRUE village life, in all its filth and toil, it's real and inescapable desperation; though interesting when temporary, is terrifying if permanent. Then again, I suppose the prospect of destitution is always terrifying, especially to those whose door it's beating down.
I have slowly become more than just comfortable and emotionally connected to the people of Gurje. I have now become physically closer to them since I have taken up permanent residence in the village. These people, who are struggling silently and desperately just to stay alive, have become my neighbors, their children my students and now I am becoming more and more responsible for trying to aid their community through works considerably outside the child-education sector. Women's literacy, agriculture, infrastructure projects, my Nepali partner and I are accumulating more and more responsibilities by the day and I have been simultaneously running out of my own personal savings and slowly sinking into the mire of shit and misery that plagues my recent neighbors.
On the plus side, some of the best art is created while wallowing in a thick cloud of poverty and despair. And having more than just tasted the poverty end of this situation, I've finally realized that I have no choice but to direct much more of my energies to the attainment of fame and fortune through my talents as an artist. I mean, most meaningful art; poetry, music, painting, the ones that really affect us are all born of some anguish or another. Why not the pressure of rehabilitating a village while living exposed to the elements and without funds?
Though I am constantly plagued by uncertainty, I do gain a lot of satisfaction out of the things I have accomplished and god knows I've had some staggeringly bizarre experiences. With all of the work I've done to help orphaned and destitute children in these exceedingly weird conditions, at least I will have plenty of outlandish, self-righteous stories to drape over the stinking carcass that was my future career, (whatever that would have been…)
In the meantime however, if you know anyone, who for any reason wants to employ an arty village hermit from half way across the world, please let me know.