The bus is rocking violently, the driver rising to the challenge in a relentless struggle to traverse around damaged sections of road and other vehicles that barely fit past each other on the treacherous winding mountain road to Talamarang. After weeks of anticipation, I am now but minutes away from meeting the children I will be sharing my life with for over a year. I truly feel that Kathmandu is beautiful but like a revelation of truth, Nepal’s beauty only grows the more I am willing to see. We are now five hours drive from Kathmandu and the scenery is intoxicating. We have been traveling along a river set deep in the valley, frothing with the white rapids of the monsoon season. On either side of the river are mountains around 1500 feet above sea level. The mountains are teaming with tropical trees and fields of rice planted in man made steps that ascend the mountain like a bright green stairway to heaven.

The buildings are sparse aside from the occasional small town where every second structure is now a pile of stone. The bus trembles to a halt in the main town of Talamarang as we don our enormous backpacks and exit the bus. The locals stare with curiosity but there is warmth and welcome in their eyes. The town consists of around forty simple structures, some homes and others shops. Behind the buildings lies the school we will be working in, the students currently being educated in temporary bamboo and aluminium sheds.

Neel is waiting for us with several children from the home that have come to help us with our bags. They seem to be as excited as I am for our first encounter, their deep intelligent eyes probing mine for clues as to my character. We stare at each other openly, taking in each other’s energy before departing for the children’s home and volunteer house where we will be staying. I try to mask my disbelief at the paths we must ascend to get there, especially when even the youngest of the children climb with such ease. The children’s home and volunteer house rest at the peak of the mountain with only two ways of travelling there. A winding stone and dirt road far too treacherous for even a motorbike, or the incredibly steep stone steps of man made shortcuts that provide direct, almost vertical access up the mountain.

We take a combination of both routes, stopping frequently to catch my breath and marvel at the weight of my sweat soaked shirt while the children laugh with delight at the exaggerated faces of exhaustion I make. The children take turns in holding my hand or my partner’s hand and I am struck by their immediate openness and affection. Their eyes are so open, which is surprising considering that many of them have been through such incredible hardship. One would expect eyes a little guarded, yet they reach out with loving openness as if to say, ‘here I am. This is all of me. Who are you?’

After an hour of gruelling climbing, we arrive at the children’s home, taking in the awe-inspiring 360-degree view of mountain, valley and river. The river is far below me now and yet I can still hear the steady rush of its rapids, their constant pulse mirroring the surging of blood through my veins. I am truly alive. I can’t help but feel that it is here that my journey truly begins.

It is hard to believe that I have been in Talamarang for only one week. I do not feel like a stranger. I feel apart of the land, immersing myself in the culture and taking on the shared perspective of the locals. There is a profound sense of peace and appreciation here. Every moment is precious. On our second night in the home the children and ‘house mother’s’ celebrated Lord Krishna’s birthday, placing offerings of incense, grain and dyed rice around a picture of the Hindu God. There was no electricity at the time, the children huddled around the offering plate, aglow with the soft light of candles. The magic of this ceremony was inescapable, even for the foreigners that did not understand its meaning. As I bowed down to receive the blessing of a red Tilaka on my third eye, I couldn’t help but share the deep sense of reverence and elation clearly felt by all the children. Time seems to stand still here, every day but a single moment of childlike wonder and curiosity.

We rise at 5:30 am to clean our quarters before joining the kids and house mother’s for tea and breakfast. There are three house mother’s. Apsara is the boss and is more hands on with the children than the others, Kobita prepares the food and Sumitra tends to the buffalo and goat’s. All three share many other duties often with the help of the children and a joyful neighbour named Ramori who tends to the vegetable, herb and spice garden’s. The house mother’s are very playful and light of heart. Nothing that they do seems a burden, their heavy workload accomplished with easy smiles. There is always work to be done here but the work is always lightened with laughter. The children wash their own clothes by hand, clean their own dishes and help to prepare food. Every second day will call for ‘all hands on deck’ preparing grounds for planting seeds, harvesting crops or general maintenance. The children work as one without complaint, finding joy in the activity as if they were all being taken to the movies. The work ethic here is the first I have witnessed to resemble Khalil Gibran’s idea of what work should be. “Work is love made visible.”

We play with the kids every morning before they leave for school, sometimes helping them with homework they weren’t able to finish in the evening. While the children are at school we often work in the garden for a few hours or help out with general maintenance. I spent a few days as a ‘brickies labourer’ for three locals building an outdoor kitchen. There is no gas in the area and all meals in the village are prepared in outdoor kitchens over a fire. The walls were measured and squared with simple string lines, moving each corner around until both diagonal string lines were equal in length. The walls were built by shaping stone with a mini pick like tool and set with mud. I found the job much easier than I remember, as there was no great rush to gather stone and prepare mud, considering how time consuming it was for the builders to shape each stone by hand.

We have also travelled around the area meeting locals and visiting schools, particularly the school which we will be rebuilding. The students are currently being educated in aluminium sheds. There are large gaps in the roof for ventilation but they do not prevent the sheds from heating up to very uncomfortable temperatures and the students are frequently distracted by the noises that poor in from the other classrooms. It’s not difficult to see why permanent buildings for education have now been identified by local NGO’s as the number one priority. We had the pleasure of addressing most of the classes, introducing ourselves and sharing our intention to build new classrooms. The children were exceedingly polite, greeting us in song, singing, “welcome to our classroom Sir”. They all laughed uncontrollably when I spouted my latest Nepali catchphrase of “Sandai bhari, ramro cha,” every day is beautiful. I later found out why they were laughing so hard as my slight mistake in pronunciation changed the meaning to, “A tiny piece of land, beautiful.” We also met with all the teachers and have hired an engineer who is currently drafting plans for the new school. At times I have felt overwhelmed with the task ahead but I am quickly reassured by the competence and positivity of those around me. Particularly Neel. I feel very close to Neel already and have complete trust in his strategic mind, vision, and sophisticated people skills.

We always try to return home by the time the children finish school at 4:30pm. Apsara jokingly complains that I spend too much time playing with the children and not enough time doing homework, but I hate homework. My partner enjoys doing lots of homework with the kids so I feel a lot better about playing all the time. The house dog is called Puppy and seems very unhappy. Puppy was acquired to guard the property and is kept on a very short chain for most of the day. His frustration has started to make him quite aggressive and he has attacked several visitors over the last few months. The visitors happened to be visiting the medical clinic for mild ailments, having to also be treated for a dog bite. I have started taking Puppy for walks with the older children in the afternoons, using the time as an opportunity to connect with them without the younger children around. Puppy seems to be settling down already. After dinner the children get stuck into their homework until their bedtime at 8pm.

We have three friends that share our space in the volunteer house and the evenings are filled with stories, music and laughter. I couldn’t have hoped for a better crew to share this experience with. All three volunteers are from Ireland. Colm and Conor run a medical clinic at the volunteer house and Clare is the clinics physiotherapist. All three are easy going, compassionate souls with surprising creative talents. Clare is an incredible artist with a gift for poetry, Conor is the life of the party with an innate ability to create a social environment that transcends cultural differences through observations that are so funny I’m convinced he should be a stand up comic, and Colom seems to excel in any creative avenue he puts his energy into, with a natural gift for music, art and most recently writing children’s books.

My past has often been filled with doubt but this place and the people in it bring forth a certainty of purpose that I have never felt before. Soon we will be going back to Kathmandu to meet with Neel and the engineer to finalise drawings and send everything back to our team in Australia for advice and approval. There is no Internet in Talamarang so this trip will have to be made at least once a month.

I lie down on the pool table bed and conjure the faces of all the children in my minds eye. This has become part of my evening meditation, often leaving me more inspired and connected than meditation ever has. They are truly the most unique, loving, funny, intelligent and humble collection of souls, each with a level of compassion that has surely been cultivated by supporting each other like true brothers and sisters.

I see Sumin’s face, his bright cheeky smile and his sensitive brown eyes. Sumin is the youngest of the group around 5 years old. He loves affectionate cuddles and is always the first to ask me to throw him in the air. He also loves standing on my feet and surrendering his legs and arms to the wild dance moves and ensue. I love Sumin’s contagious giggle, openness and healing affection. Sumin is always bursting with joy and I can’t imagine ever feeling melancholy in his presence. His sister Sumina is nine years old and a lot harder to win over.

I see Sumina’s face. Her smile is like a shooting star, ever so fleeting, yet lights up the sky. Her eyes are dark and brooding, deep in contemplation. It took a few days for her wariness to subside before opening up and connecting. She loves Frisbee but only when there are no other kids playing. She asks to be thrown in the air but always holds my arms preventing her from being completely airborne. Sumina has a way of almost challenging you to win her affection and despite being aware of this, I am trapped in a game of hard to get, tripping over myself to make her smile. I love Sumina’s smile.

I see Sushil’s face. His beautiful little face is covered with scars, somehow obtained in just 11 short years. His eyes are filled with joy and pain. The most loving and vulnerable eyes I have ever seen. They show me all that he is with an unparalleled honesty. He is fiercely affectionate, constantly seeking physical contact, climbing me like a tree, hugging me until my ribs hurt, gently head butting me and holding my hand. I love Sushil’s hugs. Despite his age, Sushil is the most fearless and independent child in the house, often running away to explore the country-side and revel in his wild uncontainable nature, finding food and shelter with locals and sometimes sleeping in trees. Sushil has a little brother similar in looks but not quite as wild.

I see Saroj’s face. His beautiful eyes have been spared from pain. They are still innocent and sparkle with wonder. Saroj loves holding my hand and I love handing his. He is just as fearless as his brother, performing crazy stunts on fields of rice high in the mountain. I have seen him throw his tiny nine-year-old body off a ledge, falling at least seven feet before breaking the fall with a skilful roll and laughing hysterically.

I see Sarita’s face, her enigmatic, intelligent golden eyes ablaze with the fire of creativity. I love Sarita’s eyes. She is very strong willed for an eleven year old, with an endearing rebellious streak. She is definitely a natural born leader with the potential to inspire change. She has a great sense of humour and despite the language barrier we are always able to share jokes in a charade like physical comedy. Her older brother shares her sense of humour.

I see Kiran’s face. His large brown eyes are gentle and loving, yet exude confidence and certainly. He is very cool, always dressed like a rock star with the natural musical talent to back up the image. Kiran can play any musical instrument he lays his hands on, quite a feat for a boy of thirteen. He sings beautifully and plays the Nepali bongo, tin flute and ukulele. I love the way Kiran interacts with others. His kid and gentle nature has a way of calming everyone around him.

I see Arjun’s face, his sensitive sceptical eyes constantly searching for answers. Despite being only eleven years old, he doesn’t fight for attention, opting to hang back and allow an interaction to unfold naturally. I was immediately drawn to his quiet confidence and independence. On our first day in the home, Arjun overheard my partner calling me ninja, so now like most of the children, Arjun calls me ‘ninja sir’. We play a game the boys created and now call ninja. Both hands are held out in a fighting position, each person taking turns trying to slap the other hands. When your hand has been swiped it goes behind your back, losing the game once both hands have been hit. I love being in Arjun’s company. It feels as though both our minds stop searching when we are together.

I see Sanjay’s face, his intense powerful eyes always masking his sensitivity, exuding strength and total independence. It’s hard to believe he is only eleven years old. Like all the children here, he is very mature. Sanjay recently showed my partner how to wash our clothes by hand, but his demonstration did not end with just one piece of clothing and he insisted on helping with the entire load, working with the intensity of an adult. Like Sushil, Sanjay is fearless and very tough but I know he enjoys our hugs as much as I do. A tough exterior is almost always a reaction to profound sensitivity. Sanjay is always the first to practice the secret handshakes I have taught all the boys and I’m constantly telling him to be gentle, as he has bruised my hands and surely his own after many brutal fist bumps. I love Sanjay’s fierce intensity.

I see Rekha’s face. Her deep twinkling eyes take up her entire face, revealing wisdom and maturity far beyond her eight years. Her cheeky smile and intense stare seems to pierce through to the very core of my being. Everything she does is performed with the highest degree of care and grace, even the most mundane of activities executed with the poise of a soul that seeks perfection in every moment. Rekha is extremely independent for a girl of her age, often carrying out her home duties and completing her homework by herself with an unparalleled sense of responsibility and discipline. I love watching her dance, her huge personality and diva like attitude barely contained by her tiny frame. Her movements are so precise committing to every move with the confidence and certainly of a sophisticated woman trapped in an eight year old body.

I see Ganga’s face. Her playful eyes always bring out the child in me as we poke our tongues out at each other in jest. She is very funny. Her carefree nature and unique sense of humour transcends the language barrier and could lighten even the darkest of moods. She is thirteen and moves with the slight awkwardness of a teenager, not quite a girl and not yet a woman. When she dances she always adds her own unique movements to the choreographed traditional Nepali dances. She always laughs at me but I never feel ridiculed. I love Ganga’s playfulness. I think we both share the desire to turn life into our own personal comedy. Her twin sister is also incredibly light of heart.

I see Jamuna’s face. Her loving, compassionate eyes fill me with the warmth of the sun. Jamuna has a great sense of humour often laughing with me for no apparent reason but for the simple expression of joy. Jamuna is deeply caring with a strong nurturing instinct for only thirteen, showering everyone around her with love. I always feel calmer in Jamuna’s presence. I love Jamuna’s smile. It is truly one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. A smile that seems to communicate with greater clarity than mere words ever could. Words are like signs that point in the direction of truth but a heartfelt smile is truth.

I see Sanchi’s face, her inquisitive, intelligent eyes filled with questions unanswered. She is thirteen years old. My first impression of Sanchi was that she was a little shy and reserved but it is her outlandish, almost eccentric personality that keeps her on the outskirts of the group. I find Sanchi utterly fascinating. She is one of the most difficult of the children to read, with a poker face that could confound even Doyle Brunson. She often commands the attention of the volunteers with a playful poke to the back, smiling proudly in her ability to be free from the norms of conventional interaction. She is extremely intelligent and her curious nature gives the impression that she is constantly questioning and evaluating everything around her. It is always those of us with such pronounced individuality and solitary perspective that are forced to question everything. I love Sanchi’s unique sense of humour and look forward to the day we become close friends, so we can stand on the outskirts together.

I see Bikram’s face, his gentle, sensitive eyes filled with the longing of a boy yet to be able to express the love in his heart. He seems to have already worked out that not all people can love as he does, restricting his interactions to match others receptivity. He seems to feel very deeply and is often lost in contemplation. I love Bikram’s depth. He loves to play and joke around, always joining in when the others play, but there is a serious side to Bikram quite notable for a boy of twelve years old. He loves practicing our special handshake and I know he would secretly love to be thrown in the air like the younger children but he says he is too old for that.

I see Binita’s face. Her sweet, dreamy eyes are calm and serene, but her bold, lively smile always inspires joy and playfulness. Binita always maintains a cool, collected exterior but her energetic, loving kindness always shines through, especially when she is interacting with the younger children. Binita is a gifted musician for only fourteen years old, often playing the traditional Nepali drum like a seasoned professional while the other girls dance. Like all the children Binita loves to laugh, finding it particularly amusing when I try to sing along to Nepali songs, emulating the high pitched squeals of the female vocals. I love Binita’s laugh.

I see Sima’s face. Her sensitive searching eyes sometimes glazed over with emotion. Sima seems the most restless of the group, which isn’t surprising considering that she has only been living in the home for a few months. She has a beautiful, delicate energy and like all delicate things in this world she must bare the weight of her fragility. A weight that has already shaped her life experience of only fourteen years, leaving her in touch with her emotions with an inner strength that can only grow. She is a great dancer and clearly loves to be in the spotlight, dancing with an abundance of joy and excitement. There is only honesty in Sima. When she is sad, she is sad but when she is happy she laughs with wild abandonment. I love Sima’s honesty.

I see Prasun’s Face, his brilliant, analytical eyes placing all that they see within a framework of clear understanding. Prasun seems wise beyond his 15 years with a keen, inquiring mind. Prasun is the local electrician, able to wire anything up to the solar power system that he set up at the home by himself. He has had many jobs since the age of five and is definitely not afraid of hard work. I love his kind and caring nature, always guiding and mentoring the other children. I wish I could speak fluent Nepalese so we could share the contents of our active minds but instead we content ourselves with Frisbee and playing with the younger children. Although Prasun can be playful, he is definitely the most mature along with Sanju.

I see Sanju’s face. Her dark, powerful and compassionate eyes read between the lines with undeniable intuition. My very first interaction with Sanju was intense. After discovering that my partner and I would be at the home for a year, she asked me if I would still stay should there be another earthquake in the region, to which I replied, “of course I will stay.” I’m still not sure whether she was more surprised at my response or whether I was more surprised at her surprise, but I do know that this intelligent young girl was able to deduce who she is sharing her space with by asking just one simple question. Sanju is incredibly thoughtful and caring, with the nurturing instinct of a loving mother. At seventeen years of age, Sanju does not shy from the responsibility of being the eldest, spending lots of time with the children, teaching the girls to dance and helping the house mothers with daily duties, all while studying through the densest part of her secondary education. I love the way Sanju interacts with the rest of the group. She is also an incredible dancer. I did not think her humble nature would allow her to dance for us, but she morphed into her Ziggy Stardust like alter ego and dazzled us with her graceful movements in a beautiful solo dance. As soon as the music stopped though, the humble Sanju returned and ran off giggling.

I see Krishna’s face. His pure loving eyes are always smiling, finding joy in all they see. Krishna has somehow maintained a purity and innocence quite rare for a boy of thirteen and even more unusual for a boy that has experienced such hardship. He loves to play with the younger children and does so on their level with childlike wonder and glee. I love Krishna’s gentle, cheerful demeanour and can’t help but move into alignment with the constant elation that pours from his heart on a daily basis. Krishna is highly energetic but there is no agitation in his energy. He is somehow actively serene.

Despite being as open as I am, it is still surprising to me that I could feel such closeness to these children so quickly. I am truly honoured to be a part of their lives even if only for a moment in time. I don’t feel that it is appropriate to disclose personal information about their lives but it will suffice to say that they are all living in Talamarang children’s home in response to neglect, abuse, homelessness or in lighter cases, because the home is their best option. Some of the children here have experienced tragedies so extreme that the idea of any human being going through what they have gone through is still abstract in my mind. Incomprehensible. But they are truly at home here. They support each other as true brothers and sisters should. Their collective love and compassion for each other has surely been paramount in their healing, just as the house mother’s love, nurturing guidance and structure has helped restore faith and purpose in their lives.

My mother lives by the mantra of “everything is perfect and as it should be”. At first glance the mantra can take on an optimistic, aspirational or even naïve quality when we look upon the horrors of the world. Closer inspection reveals the mantra to be the only idea worth holding in our hearts. The past cannot be changed. We are here and we are now. Holding on to all the injustices of the world would serve only in strengthening the fear that they have come from. I believe in perfection when I look into the eyes of those children and witness their divine capacity for love, bright and defiant in a dark and uncertain world. The pain and suffering in their lives will remain buried in time while the love that they are has always been and will always be, forever in eternity. Everything is truly perfect and as it should be.

-James