3 March 2025
Today began with me leading the morning yoga class—an experience that was both fun and humbling. I had no idea how these sessions were usually run, just that they were slow and simple, and that most of the girls didn’t speak English. Still, I decided to trust my instincts and guide the flow with patience.
Some of the postures were clearly familiar to them, while others left them laughing and sweating. It struck me again how different our perceptions of “slow and gentle” can be. Kosal stood by with his camera, snapping photos as we moved through the sequence. It was a light-hearted and lively way to begin the day.
Afterward, we dove into another English lesson—challenging, but full of spirit. Teaching here continues to test my creativity and adaptability. Even the basics, like “I am, you are, he/she/it is,” required visual aids and stick figures on the whiteboard. But slowly, the group began to grasp the structure. We also practiced some verbs and nouns I’d asked them to review the day before. It’s a slow climb, but every smile of understanding makes it worthwhile.
Later, the girls wanted to continue working on the mural. Their enthusiasm warmed my heart, but their lack of artistic experience made it difficult to maintain a polished result. Lisa and I had to gently explain that their help was no longer needed—not because we didn’t appreciate them, but because the details were getting lost. It was a delicate balance: honoring their excitement while preserving the vision. We did our best to make sure they still felt included and encouraged.
In the kitchen this morning, I couldn’t stop laughing. A little army of brown birds has moved in, fluttering around and dropping bits of nesting material from the ceiling beams. The kitchen boys were clearly at their wit’s end, sweeping every few seconds only to have more twigs and grass rain down on them. It’s become a daily ritual: nature vs. kitchen staff.
Meanwhile, the women were preparing a large meal. They sat on windowsills and floors, effortlessly chopping vegetables, stirring pots of ghee and spice, and rolling endless stacks of chapatis. It’s moments like these that remind me how beautifully different daily life looks across cultures.
There’s no right or wrong—just different ways of moving through the world. And here, amidst the dust, the laughter, and the occasional chaos, I feel myself softening. I’m learning to observe without judgment, to appreciate the rhythm of life unfolding exactly as it is.
