Be here now

Awake at six a.m.!? and I'm wondering what has happened to the natural order of things?
Daily now, I keep the schedule of a farmer - awake at hours I've not seen since the glowing red eyes of a much-hated digital alarm would snarl me out of my eighth grade Catholic schoolgirl sleep, and in bed at a time normally reserved for the seven-to-ten year old crowd serving time grounded [my own parents always called it 'restriction' which sounded worse; relatively causing more suffering simply for the name of it.]

For two weeks now I've been privy to the sunrise, a spectacle to be sure; especially from our rooftop balcony four floors up. On one side lives a very tall and verdant forest and on the other three sit small, fat cousins of the Himalayas endlessly piled up on eachother. The view is no small work of art and I am reminded of the friendly bearded man broadcast on Seattle's Channel 9 public programming, painting his heart out every afternoon and quipping all the while about brush strokes or shadowing as he manifested 'happy little trees' and 'cheerful mountains'.

The view also reminds me a bit of the spectacle from our rooftop in Tehran and were it not for odd whims of the universe I imagine I'd be waking up there now instead of Nepal. If that were the case we'd have a flight of just a few hours to look forward to today - instead we've got something like 24 hours travel time in front of us with most of it spent in the transit lounge in Delhi, India. In any other circumstance we'd just exit the airport and take a room for the time being but because securing a transit visa for my darling would be nothing short of an exercise in frustration (dealing with Indian customs officials is now and forever will be way down on my list of pleasureable activities) we're going to spend the twelve or so hours between flights practicing our skills at living in a terminal.

Once, I washed my hair in Bangalore's airport bathroom on a trip to Goa, and I've slept in more than a few airports in my life; most recently in Thailand and Sri Lanka. With my luggage serving as a kind of pillow I'd self-consciously doze in and out, waking up to find some small child peering down at me or a group of maintenance people giggling together as they swept past me with a pile of rubbish in tow. It's not the most comfortable way to get from point A to point B but it is what it is and at least it's somewhere in between this early morning anxiety of 'how will this all pan out?' and actually knowing the answer.

I'm not nervous about the fliying, although I absolutely cringe at takeoffs and landings. It's the reason behind our trip that settles in my stomach like a heavy stone. Obtaining a United States immigrant visa for my Iranian husband has proven to be one of the most challenging and complicated games I've ever played. With yet another interview on the horizon and memories of a much failed interaction with the Consul in Chennai we're both filled with that same excitement of possibility but it's now tinged with a little fear. These people literally hold the keys to one of our possible futures and I've heard some intimidating stories about interviews turned interrogation that leave me feeling the slightest bit wary. Apparently, they are just as interested in seeing me as they are Hamid - curious to learn if I've been converted to a hard-core Islamic tradition (ie - will I be in hajib or scarf?) or if we're a more 'socially appropriate' mix of modernity and faith. I'll be wearing stilettos and a sundress - no sense leaving any question which axis we take our fashion queues from now is there?

Anyway, as much as I'd sincerely love to continue to wake up in Kathmandu indefinitely, Nepal just isn't the place we've worked so hard to get to. We've paid taxes to the United States government since the inception of our business, we've shopped for houses in our American neighborhood of choice, we've researched the process for acquiring Hamid's coveted PhD in CS as well as extending my own university studies (I'm thinking a switch from Philosophy to Theology is in order), we've even gone so far as to research birthing centers and midwives - all with the idea that America is 'the best place on earth' (regardless of the inherent political issues, it's still a belief I hold as truth after living abroad so many years). At the very least America has the best internet connections and sidewalks (yes, sidewalks) on the planet...two things I've added to the list of "I miss..."

With all the packing done and arrangements made there's nothing left for me to do at this point other than wait. Wait for it to be time to go, wait for boarding, wait for the sweet business class crew to bring me something wonderful to eat, wait for the bloody mary I am destined to imbibe en-route, wait to see if our hotel is all it's meant to be, wait to be interviewed about how much I love my husband.

Fortunately I'm much more practiced these days at the art of handling the strange imbalances that exist in my intercontinental life, and sit on the roof surrounded by the happy little trees and cheerful mountains as the sun comes up, typing all of my anxst and worry onto the page so I can, at least for the time being, leave it there and be here now.