Nga sheagimeh

The little Tibetan boy with impish features and two adorable dimples squealed as he tipped over the wobbly table and pulled the towel off the otherwise bare wooden bench. His hair brushed neatly to the side only served as an ironic touch to his otherwise carefree demeanor. He chattered and could not stand still and giggled as he played a violent hide and go seek and breathlessly chirped "nga sheagimeh, nga sheagimeh" when threatened by impatient others in the tea house.

Nga sheagimeh.

Maybe it was the dusty boxes in hand, or the lights left on, or the piles of work left to do, but when the door to my apartment slammed shut behind me immediately my heart sank. My keys were on the other side of that locked door. So was my cell phone. So were all of my afternoon plans.

Nga sheagimeh.

It was pouring down rain when I, wearing only house slippers, ran ashamedly down the filthy concrete steps to pound on my friend's apartment door. After a quick phone call to the person who had the spare keys, who also happened to be in another city until later that evening, I found out that my friend was a friend indeed. We cracked walnuts in the door frame, ate grapes, looked at pictures of her daughter, ate dinner together, waited, and bemoaned my fate until the man with the keys arrived... five hours later.

Nga sheagimeh.

And so I don't know what the next day holds, I can't be sure of its happenings, it could bring elation, it could bring despair, it could bring another potential disaster turned opportunity. Nevertheless, I join in chorus with the rascally Tibetan boy and sing: Nga sheagimeh.

I am not afraid.