Living in Every Moment, Thankful for Every One

Its been a year. I can't believe that she has been gone a year already. I feel like yesterday I was riding and Lisa was right there with me, teaching in her perfect quiet ways, both while riding and on the ground. I miss her so much.

I've learned that it is okay to cry, to be sad, to reflect back on those memories. It makes me sad but also all the more appreciative of having her in my life. I owe Lisa so much - for giving me the courage of coming on this trip and really embracing every moment, especially in the last 3 1/2 months. I think of her quote often about loving every day here in Ladakh because I can see clearly what she means. It is hard for me not to embrace every moment here, to be so grateful that I am on this trip. I hope desperately that I will be able to continue that when I get home.

I remember that night so clearly in my head, completely blinded by doing anything but looking through the hundreds of photos I had taken of her in previous days. I could barely see the screen through my tears at some points, reliving moment after moment with her. I was in such a shock that she gone and I think that in many ways I still am.

Earlier this year (maybe fall, maybe summer?) I saw a white truck pull in and without thinking for a moment I thought "oh Lisa is back! I should go say hi." But by the time I had walked into the barn I was back in reality, crushed again by the everlasting shock of her absence. It hurt me even more to see Danilo in the aisle, staring at the truck, a smile on his face. It took a second before I saw the….sadness, shock, realization of reality cross his face as well. I know that I am not the only one still struggling and that comforts me. I have a barn family that is strong, we are family so we have our ups and downs but we all are there to support each other. And for that, I am infinitely grateful.

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Family....

I have found that family, not just the biological sort, is more important then anything else. I am so lucky to have so many people to fall back on - either at the barn, school, Maine, and now the VIS group. It makes it a little easier that I can call anyone of those people and know that they will be there no matter what. And it makes me feel good to know that when something happens I will be there for them, no matter what.

I will always remember the day my mom fell, the shock that I felt yet again and the intense worry. Taking a shower that night, hoping to cleanse myself of the day's horrors, I found myself collapsed on the ground, hysterically crying. That was the first time I felt alone, only a little alone but still alone. i knew that as soon as I left the shower I could text friends for comfort but in that moment my fear and confusion was all I could focus on. I couldn't grasp the immensity of the fall and I don't know that I will ever understand all the "what ifs" or how the ultimate outcome was so incredibly lucky.

Eventually I pulled myself off the shower floor and put myself together just enough to run up to my room. Lying in bed, my iPod attempting to lull me to sleep, I fell back into hysterics, seeing just clearly enough to grasp my phone. Unnerved by my mom's halo and its boxy contraption that didn't condone hugs I texted my friends my worries, my frantic thoughts. I will always remembers Rachael's text back to me, "Think about how good that hug will feel when she can finally hug you again." I repeated that again and again in the coming months, as I hoped desperately that it would come off before I left for India.

And let me tell you, that hug in January, almost 31/2 months later felt AMAZING! It was still a little bulky with the neck collar but it was the hug that I had been waiting for. And now, I cannot wait to hug her again in the airport, with NO collar on!

I am so thankful for all the networks that I have to fall back on. I will be forever grateful for all of my family's friends that helped in the days after my mom's fall. For all my parents' friends who drove us around, cooked us dinner, constantly called or emailed to checked in or even sent flowers. My friends - the best in the world - comforted me, always ready for hug, looking for the next update. There attempts at distracting me, taking me out dinner or a soccer game, might not have worked but I am so thankful that they were there.

And so for these reasons I cannot wait to go home - to hug my mom again, see friends, talk to my family in the same room (not over Skype). But in so many ways I feel like I have family here - my home stay families in Ursi or Shey or the SECMOLpas who are some of my new best friends. I am learning that family is not biological but also located across the world. I might not be able to lean on my Ladakhi family when I am at home but I know that when I come back to Ladakh (which I will) I will always be greeted with open arms.


I began reflecting on community and support because it is such a part of life here. In America we have so much to learn about bigger communities and networks - more then my friends and family friends but about the community of E.G. or R.I. or even all of America. We can accomplish so much when united - I have seen it happen most in times of sadness or tragedy but why can't we apply it to "good" events too? Why can't we support each other and help the environment, education, or other countries? There is no reason why we can't.

Eye Opening

I walk into the hall which is already crowded with four hundred students dressed in red and blue uniforms. My eyes are slow to adjust to the darkness, making the large room feel immense. I don't recognize the sticks right away. I settle into my seat, whisper "Jullay" to the young boys in front of me and pull out my camera, ready to begin my first fieldwork.

Part of the VIS experience is to complete an independent study, or exhibition project, which includes a research paper, field work and a presentation. I have chosen to study education in Ladakhi, comparing the government schools to SECMOL, the school I have been staying at for the past three months. There are so many variables involved in education here, ranging from language to teaching methods to displine to self confidence. My first fieldwork is at Lamdong, a private school hosting almost 2,000 students. Today some of the older students are debating the pros and cons of science in Hindi, one of the four languages they are taught.

My eyes are drawn to the stage, where ten students sit, poised with confidence. Above hangs a banner declaring "World Health: Hindi Debate." I listen intently, not able to understand anything, but impressed by the ability of these students to think quickly on their feet. Occasionally Detchen, a science teacher/friend, whispers in my ear, roughly translating the discussion.

Suddenly my attention is pulled away from the stage and down to my feet, at the young boy leaning on my backpack. A man in blue is walking towards him and the boy is covering his face, leaning over and trying to hide. I am unsure of what just happened, maybe that he had been talking to his friend but I was too absorbed to notice. Now the boy is crying "No! No! No! Don't take me, take him!" as he points to his friend. Clearly he knew what was going to happen, while I sit in shock.

The man comes up and gave him several swift kicks before grabbing his arm, pulling the boy down the aisle even though he is still sitting. Reaching the front of the rows the disciplinarian points to a seat, dictating that the boy must go there. The boy does not move quickly enough so the older man slaps him across the face several times before practically throwing him into the spot.

Caroline and I are in shock, completely taken off guard. Suddenly the poised students on the stage are not interesting enough to hold my attention and my eyes sweep the room. Once, twice, three, times I see similar events. I can't even catch every time as they occurr across the room. It varies depending on the disciplinarian - sometimes the student is dragged down the aisle, other times hit with the wooden sticks, sometimes just slapped by a hand or maybe their ear is twisted until the student is almost screaming.

You can see a short video on my Facebook page at:

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1830836503720&comments&set=t.1624605998&type=1

Reflection from Stay in Ursi

It is really true that life hits you when you least expect it. I should have expected something unexpected soon - the last year and half has proven to me that life never stops and always hit hardest in the random moments of time. While watching the big India versus Pakistan cricket game the school teacher in Ursi told me that my amalay (mother - Ladakhi host mom), the one who constantly smiles and cares for my noon (little brother) in a way that reminds me so much of home, lost her older brother in a car accident. At fourish that afternoon. On a road we trekked on the day before. Less then seven kilometers away. And she hadn't been told yet.

My brain does not need to even think before it recalls what the shock of such a sudden event feels like. It is not hard to remember the exact moments, the pinpoints in my life, were my view totally changed. That sunny spring morning that was suppose to be another peaceful friday on spring break before a phone call shattered the day with unavoidable news. Or reaching the front of the school and seeing our black truck, doors wide open and my dad sprinting towards me. And, over December break, during the car ride to New Year's eve dinner, the text from a friend that made me ache in sympathy.

I know I cannot run away from any of these memories, that they will be etched in my brain forever. I only wish I could somehow protect all those I love and meet, like my amalay, who so innocently prepared dinner and placed her children in bed. But i know that it is humanly impossible and unfair to shield my loved ones from harm's way.

Love from Ladakh,

Taylor

LONGGG Update

I'm stuck again, unable to decide what words can possibly summarize my past few weeks. And yes, it was an incredibly awesome few weeks.

Our first day of the trip was a long car ride to town called Lamuru. So many amazing little events added up that I think it easily makes my top five favorite days in India. Lamuru is a semi large village (in Ladakhi standards) with a famous monastery. I was able to explore in that perfect time of the afternoon when the sun is still strong and lights up everything in its path in this beautiful glow. Exploring the monastery with this light was breathtaking, every corner revealing another beautiful niche.

Finally I met up with Simone and we decided to hike up a small hill where a gimp sat decorated with prayer flags. Our path was small, carved into the hill. Suddenly some goats and sheep appeared up above, heading straight at us. We were both excited, hoping to get close enough to pet them. However, soon more and more appeared until at least two hundred were staring down at us. We were in a deadlock. Simone and I were afraid to move through them in fear of the narrow ledge. They were afraid to move because they didn't trust us. Both sides sized each other up before the animals decided it was safe enough to crowd around us. Beneath the evening sun we stood still, laughing at our predicament as sheep and goats poured around us, some even scampering up the side of the mountain to avoid us. It. was. awesome.

At the top of the hill we were rewarded with a beautiful sunset, a breeze keeping the hundreds of prayer flags flapping. This is why I love India. I feel so completely free and open to each and every moment here. I have grown accustomed to never knowing what will happen in the next hour, day or week. I think I am almost dreading that when I get home - falling back into the same monotonous routine. I am afraid to leave behind this lifestyle where I live completely (well, almost completely) in the moment. Sure I have school here and I am certainly in that end-of-quarter crunch mode, but I still feel so free! Anytime I need a break, I walk to the kitchen for tea. Mountains, who have sort of become my friends, loom over the Indus. I just need one glance to look at their huge peaks to remember "I am in fricken India" and a smile spreads over my face, the stress of the latest school project disappearing. Granted, it is harder to escape from school projects since the classroom is right below my bedroom, but…..its different.

We spent the week in Urtsi, a small village on the outskirts of the Zanskar range. Rigzin, a community member and former SECMOL student, is determined to make Urtsi into a "model village" through increased cultural preservation and self sustainability. When the floods in August hit, leaving a trail of devastation, houses and fields were damaged and the community center was also demolished. VIS worked throughout the fall to raise money to help Ladakhis, and Urtsi was chosen to receive some of the donations. Rigzin also specializes in passive solar energy building methods, allowing the village to become an even further model in its efforts to rebuild the community center while make it energy efficient.

Ironically, the village is also facing water shortages despite the recent floods. A potential solution to the increasingly alarming problem is an artificial glacier. Invented by Chewang Norphel, they use simple materials to divert spring water and let it freeze over the winter. During the spring and summer it slowly melts, releasing water when villagers need it most for crops. Urtsi has a potential location and the spring water to create an artificial glacier, but they don't have the money.

Surrounded by such inspiring work, it is hard not to feel energized in such a close tight community. Every night, when my Amalay feed my nono, nomo and myself, I couldn't help but wonder about their future. Most villagers have lived in the village their entire life - a shortage of water has the potential to alter the village's location for future generations. I was not alone in my concern for my new family - Moya soon confessed her growing urge to help. Unwilling to sit by and doing nothing, we sat down on a cliff of mud, brought by the floods, overlooking the village. In the late afternoon, the sun warming our backs, WorldYato was created.

Yato is the Ladakhi word that means both friend and help, a perfect summary for our intentions. It also is an acronym, standing for "Youth All Together as One." Although there is not much we can do while in Ladakh, with our limited abilities to access the internet, we are planning multiple fundraisers for the future. John Mingle, a past VIS teacher and coordinator between Ursipas and VISpas. predicts that the glacier will cost approximately $8,000. Ideally, Rigzin, the mastermind behind the plan (again), would like to start a preliminary process by mid-August. So…although nothing is set up yet for fundraising, I want to share about this village and its need for outside help.