When I look out my window in Kathmandu, I see houses. Big houses, bright paint, metal gates. Some are new, some are old, but all have one thing in common at least one child who’s gone abroad.
In my neighborhood, there’s not a single house without someone in Australia, USA, Japan, UAE or Qatar. We brag about it. We celebrate visas like we have won the lottery. A student visa stamp is worth more than gold.
But behind every successful visa story, there’s an empty room, a mother scrubbing dishes alone, a father watering plants in silence.
I have seen it. The house next door two daughters, one in Sydney, one in Texas. I see their parents outside every morning planting flowers, growing vegetables, starting new little things just to keep themselves busy.
It is like they are trying to fill the empty rooms with plant. Are they proud? Yes, indeed, who would not be? Their kids earn in dollars. But they also worry about slipping on the bathroom floor. They worry about who will take them to the hospital when their knees give out. They stay home because who else will lock the gate at night?
And here is the thing: this is not just in villages anymore. This is the capital city the beating heart of Nepal. Even here, in these narrow congested alleys, the echo is the same: everyone wants to leave.
I was lying on my bed one night when I heard an auntie quietly asking to uncle, “Why hasn’t they called? Maybe something’s wrong.” And the uncle said, “They’re busy. They’ll call tomorrow.”
It breaks my heart to think that one day my parents might wait for my call just five minutes, 10 minutes and I might be too busy to answer. It is not their fault, and it is not mine either. Of course, when you are far away, you have to work hard to survive. But as a daughter who dreams of going abroad, it makes my heart sink to imagine that.
Younger ones are leaving behind their parents because there’s little hope of a better life here. Without jobs that pay well and no promise that hard work will get you anywhere. So we run. We run for degrees, for salaries, for a chance.
Yes, there are people doing good work in Nepal. There are opportunities here I know that. I would want to stay, I really would. But the competition is fierce, the nepotism is real, favoritism runs deep, and those in power hold the keys tight. I do not see myself fighting in that battlefield, fighting for the rights that are mine but feel like someone else’s. It is exhausting just thinking about it.
But who stays behind to hold our parents’ hands when they grow old? Who will celebrate Dashain with them? Who will sit with them when their bodyache at 2 am?
We clap when someone gets a visa. When they do not, the house just feels heavy. But we never talk about who are left behind standing at the gate when the plane takes off.
I do not know if I will stay or go. But I know who will be waiting if I do.
