It wasn’t as if I was any cleaner than her. It has already been couple of days since my last shower. But I did not want this Nepalese woman’s bare arm touching against mine as the poor suspension of the rusted, cage like bus uncontrollably rubbed us together. What was supposed to be a six hours bus ride became 18 hours of grueling and body contorting ride due to two landslides on the only road available to my trekking destination. It wasn’t the physical aspect of two sticky and sweaty arms touching that made me frown with disgust. It was my inhumane thoughts of her dark brown skin somehow making me dirtier with every rub. It was as if, no matter how equally filthy we both were, she will always be dirtier than I am and that her skin will be made out of plague. I was terrified and deeply ashamed at these vile imperialistic thoughts of mine.

Who, when, and where was I sculpted into a statue so tall and large that I could only look down on other humans? Was it because I am from America, or was it because I could afford to not drink the water from the tap?… I realized then, that I wasn’t made of glossy marble but, rather, softly melting mud, and that it was actually my skin that was dirtying her.

This woman also had a little boy with her that patiently and silently sat on her lap for 12 hours in this packed (it was a local bus and people were also riding on the roof) old bus. I tapped on his scrawny shoulder and without a word gave him a cookie. Also without a word he took it and began to eat it. But he did not eat as you and I would eat a delicious cookie. There was no munching or shoving the cookie into a hungry mouth leaving crowds of crumbs around the lips. The little boy instead held the cookie as gently as one would hold broken glass. He carefully broke tiny pieces with his small fingers and let his tongue saturate every bit of sugar. Crowds of cookie crumbs begin forming around his fingers. And watching him, my heart also crumbled into a pile of ash.

After 13 hours of driving, the tired bus driver parked the bus next to a neon lit bank sign and fell asleep. For the rest of the night, light but steadily, Monsoon rain fell on the metal rooftop of the bus. Tik tik tik tik… I rested my tired head against the cold window and saw the reflection of my eyes brilliantly beading. But I soon realized that they were not my eyes glistening but they were the rain droplets on the glass. I thought to myself, I am not as humanistic and compassionate as I once thought I was and was afraid that I would never be one. Painfully, I re-positioned my body to relieve of my back ache and with an uncomfortable heart, soon fell asleep.

Long bus rides with the locals have become my sanctuary for self-realization and humbleness.