Dreamy Waters
By Samridhdi Shrestha
Bhadrapur, Nepal. The house Samridhdi’s father grew up in. (2016)
With little feet and light footsteps, they whispered into the garden as if by mistake. Too hesitant to belong there and too bored to deserve to be there, they stepped onto the grounds at once ignoring the heavy airs that pressed onto their skin. The water in the air itself was a reminder of the enchantment that the place still held. Their tongue was lost and it is to be found out of sheer determination to prove a contradiction was true, to prove who was at fault and who loved who. Their eyes were the kind that flowed and liquidly reflected everything that you knew to be true, showing what you wanted to see while letting pass ripples of secret confusion and the betrayal of wonder. Wonder is betrayal because this should be familiar and sacred. Wonder is betrayal because this should be like sitting through droning conversations about times long gone and the ghosts of people who are still here, but it is not. It is like sipping cool water while there is water in the air, feeling water press onto your skin while it slips down your throat claiming you and ensuring you never forget what you belong to.
Now they spend Saturdays in loneliness. Loneliness is a state, just like Texas. Where the sun shines through eyelids and leaves searching, burning, light images. Where the wind brushes, strokes, and presses against skin that's never felt anything like its persuasive casualness before. But unlike anyplace else on earth, in loneliness, the sun doesn’t shine on anyone else. Instead, it glows and you, solitarily, feel centuries of burden and reckless, ruthless burning. The wind waves and brings words waving, no one around to hear it or protect you from the brunt force of ancient language. It speaks and triggers tongue clicks, the words remaining in your mind like the sweet, salty, spicy burn of chili and imli. All the flavors of love.
Cold exhaustion was balancing on the tension between them. An island of pale light among sweeping shadows, they sat turned outwards as if looking at their creation would be too overwhelming. It was already difficult enough to listen to the loud monotony that kept up the facade of business and brisk decision. Adulthood was sudden and quick, like a sturdy blade that severed veins, arteries, and cords of muscle. It pressed on their hearts knowing that there was no hope of dislodging it and jealous of the grip that childhood had. Childhood had not disappeared when adulthood arrived, rather, it had only stepped into the sideline. When traffic was slow and easy, childhood jumped back into the foreground for just a moment reminding them both of a time when decisions were easy and comfort did not require sacrifice.
Samridhdi Shrestha is a Nepali American writer that participated in SAYHU’s 4th annual Summer Institute. She studies creative writing and Asian American studies (in addition to neuroscience and human rights and social justice). Her main inspirations for writing fiction about Asian Americans are Ocean Vuong, Arundathi Roy, and Toni Morrison. She states in her own words, “I want to create bodies of work that can bring what we feel to the forefront of everyone’s minds so that they can understand us and so we can understand ourselves. When you read my work, please breathe deeply and allow your mind to go wherever it wants to: uncover and know yourself.”