I speak only one.
And I have found that despite the fact that I have been speaking this language for 23 years, and am currently teaching this language to many students, I cannot find words to describe life here. There aren't any. Perhaps English wasn't built for it.
Life here is beautiful.
I know that I'm living in what could be the most strikingly beautiful place on earth. An absurdly unique city of very ancient and very modern co-existing in a tense balance surrounded by the most majestic snow dusted mountains one could ever dream of. Every single moment the very rocks cry out the wonder of the Creator.
Life here is tragic.
How many dusty, matted haired, children does one have to see sleeping on the streets to be heart broken? How many crippled, glassy-eyed old men and women does one have to pass to feel acutely the ache of humanity? How many times must one be a witness to students and friends bowing before a painted statue before the weight of their chains becomes too much to bear?
Life here is exciting.
Every time:
- A steaming cup of butter tea is placed before me
- I venture into a shop to attempt to find something familiar
- I find myself stuck on a bike in an intersection between a bus and a pedicab
- I am greeted by a total strangers heavily accented "hello"
- I stop to watch the parade of nomad pilgrims doing laps around the Potala
Life here is breath-taking.
Whether you are catching your breath because you just walked up three flights of stairs or because you saw the sunrise one more morning over the mountains makes no difference. In this place one is just as likely to lose ones breath from the altitude as from the sheer realization of the raw perplexity of it all. This city is ridiculous. This city is real.
So I am astounded. And after living here for six weeks I have come to the conclusion that words, my words, just cannot speak.
