I have a great fascination for the song "My Country, 'Tis of Thee", whose lyrics were written by Samuel Francis Smith. Its opening - "My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From ev'ry mountainside, Let freedom ring!." - is 'sweetest of all'.
What I find more contextual here, however, is the remark of Thomas Jefferson, an American Founding Father, the principal author of the Declaration of Independence (1776) and the third President of the United States: "I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just; that his justice cannot sleep forever." My country Nepal is an issue here. Let me write down some of its features.
The smell of steamed momo's along the streets.
The yellow, red, orange lights that colorfully decorate buildings.
The silence lingering in the streets after the sun has set.
The feel of the busy road on a hot day.
The sea of happy faces engaged in their own little worlds.
The loud conversations of the shop keepers across the street.
The swarm of local students in blue streaming out of the public school.
The occasional baah from the cows roaming awkwardly down the paved roads.
Yes, I am going to miss every bit of it. My country Nepal, my hometown, the place where I belong.
A country so different yet so special. I have thought about a million times and I still do. I am young and still have a long, long way to go in life. I have dreams I want to pursue, goals I want to meet, things I want to experience.
I love my country, and yet, I feel like I haven't seen enough, done enough, been exposed to change. My country gave birth to me, shaped the way I think, gave me an identity, let me have a place to call home.
Yet, sometimes, I catch myself thinking about living somewhere else, somewhere far away from home, in a place so unimaginably different.
Right now, I feel like the journey with my country ends here. I wish to not return, but instead, travel to places so different and new, and discover another life. Although I will miss the comfort of my hometown, I think that this age is pushing me to look in another direction, think in another way.
However, when I am old and withered-out, desperately holding onto the small amount of life inside of me, I will look back and remember the place I grew up. I will catch a plane from there and fly straight home. I will brush away the tears that will obstruct my vision as the plane descends down the horizon and the city starts taking shape.
Then, as I step on the soil of my beloved nation, I will feel victory for accomplishing the single cycle of my life and ending just where I had begun.