The inexpressibles

Cowbells from the wary herd making their way down the dusty street outside my window sound like windchimes to me. Each erratic note interrupting another to create a melody that testifies to the slow movement of the beasts.

A group of girl students and I crouch around a filthy tea house table in the growing dim of the room sipping sweet tea and talking about what a good husband would be like. They've asked me the question before, and remember every word of my answer: He must love J, he must be tall... but the first is most important.

I announce the final class of the year and hold my breath in anticipation for the chorus of joy... only to be met with silence. The students stare and one girl mutters: it's sad.

I crack the door to the school's English exchange to which I have been invited as a guest speaker only to peer into the faces of my own students, who have to listen to me twice a week for four hours, and who have chosen to use their free time to come listen to me some more.

Around a slightly less disgusting tea house table a student who is not one of mine asks about my family. One of my own students shyly interrupts and says, "I can introduce Ms. Kelly's family to you..." and proceedes to describe to the whole table everything I have ever said in class about my family. She gets every detail correct minus their names.

At the end of class a boy wordlessly approaches and hands me a paper, at my questioning glance he informs me that it is a drawing for me. It is a pencil sketch of obvious time and effort of the Potala Palace with two birds flying overhead, one bearing a banner with my name in English and Tibetan.

In the hallway I am followed by two more students. I slow my stride for them to catch up and they stumble over each other to beseech, "do not forget us".

A girl student dashes from her place in the hot dog stand line to catch up to me and press for some free time. She wants to introduce me to her family and to show me around her house before I leave. I assure her of a time and blink hard in the sunlight as she disappears again into the shade.

Interactions with students making their way through lives of which I am only a speck sound like miracles to me. Each erratic instance interrupting another to create a melody that testifies to the praise of the Creator.