I have some great news! The picture above was taken with the iPhone I thought was stolen out of my bag —yes, the same phone I spoke about in my last post. It turns out; the phone was not taken from my possessions, but rather, when I had placed it in my bag, it fell into the secret compartment. Although I dumped the bag entirely when I got to my hotel that evening, the hidden section kept the phone from falling out of the luggage. So, I went about two weeks believing someone stole my phone, but it was with me the entire time. I found my phone when I was trying to find somewhere I can place a delicate gift and as I was digging in my travel bag to find somewhere to place it, I then found the hidden compartment and to my surprise, first came out some red apples - that I put in there a few weeks before and forgot - and then came out the actual Apple product. I know I can be clumsy at times, but this one possibly takes the torch. The best part to my clumsiness is I was forced to connect deeper to each experience without the need to feel as if I should record every single moment.
I remember slightly panicking when I thought my phone was stolen, as questions began to overwhelm my mind: How am I going to capture those moments, which, if not photographed, could have never happened? How am I going to record breath-taking moments? How am I going to connect to my family, friends, and supporters without my phone? I eventually found out I can ask folks to take those photos, which, in my mind, proved my wild experiences to be true. As far as those breath-taking moments, they don’t need to be recorded but rather should be wholeheartedly lived in, and concerning connecting with folks back home, my MacBook still allowed me to communicate with everyone. I had one of those "aha" moments where I realized the anxiety that crept into my mind was unnecessary worrying, regardless of having my phone or not, the journey would continue whether I shared it or not.
I ended up coming back to Katmandu (the capital of Nepal) after leaving from my friend Aabass’ family home in Surkhet, but because of the expenses and the overpopulation, I decided I would go back to my favorite city out west called Pokhara! In my first blog, where I talk about why I am coming to Asia, I mentioned briefly how your financial support would allow me the time and solitude to write my first book that will be titled “Leader of Many.” Before I left for my pilgrimage, I received all my records from my former foster care agency, Edwin Gould Services for Children & Families, and from the after school program I attended as a kid named NorthSide Center, where I was prescribed the various medications I was given as a child and where I saw my first therapist(s). I garnered approximately 3,000 documents of recorded information regarding my early travels through the system, the medications I was prescribed, and why, what home I was in and for how long, the many mental disorders I was diagnosed with, and other classified knowledge.
So, here in Pokhara, I have committed myself to read through the stack of forms and jot down notes to help me write my one-day Bestseller. I will be frank with you; it has been a bit of an emotional challenge for me to read some of the things the caseworkers, therapists, and doctors have written about my early experiences. Many occurrences that have slipped from my memory have resurfaced, and tears followed as I was reminded of memories I tried my best to forget—such as the early sexual abuse that crippled me mentally. In any case, after reading and taking notes, I took about 300 of the forms, went into an isolated area about 25 minutes from my hotel, and crazy enough, my spirit led me to this spot where there was already a hole in the ground, and I placed the documents in there and burned them! It was as if God already made sure there was a burial place for that stack, and He led me there. I watched as the lies, the diagnoses, the misconceptions on my younger self burned in the fire. In that moment, my spirit felt freer, and there crept a slight smile on my face as I am now taking control over my life and giving parts of my past its proper burial. As I began walking, I noticed how cathartic that process was for me, how the grips of my traumatic past began to slip and give way, and at that moment, I looked up and felt my mother Okema smiling down.
A few days later, in my boredom, I remembered a conversation I had with this gentleman named VJ in New Delhi’s airport, he recommended I reach out to any local orphanages in the places I traveled to so I could share my message of hope. “Although you are from a different country, there are some painful experiences that are universal, and I am sure the children will be inspired to hear from you” I recalled him saying. So, I gathered myself from staring at the ceiling, reached for my computer, and googled local orphanages and found a place about a 15-minute walk from my residence called the Rainbow Children’s Home. After emailing the director, Ms. Goma responded within a few hours and said she would love for me to come to speak with the children who ranged from 2-years to 20-years-old. I remember the morning I was preparing myself to travel to Rainbow Children’s Home, I was entirely filled with an unspeakable joy, as I was going to do what I was born to do: to inspire.
When I arrived at the orphanage, I was greeted by one of the youths whose name slips my mind but whose presence I will never forget. I told him I was coming to speak to the children and asked if Ms. Goma was around. After waiting a few minutes, the director, also known as the mother of the home, walked in, I stood to shake her hand, and we sat down and conversed over her work at the group home while enjoying some delicious black tea. I was much impressed with Ms. Goma’s 20+ year dedication to ensuring children, who had been either left by ailing parents, devastating economic conditions which forced their parents to send them elsewhere to have a better life or those who were simply abandoned, can live in a place where they would be fed, clothed, and sheltered from the dangers of child trafficking or homelessness. When I asked what keeps her going through those challenging moments, she replied: “knowing every night I lie my head down, I am the protector of a multitude of children, who otherwise wouldn’t know where they would eat, be clothed or rest safely.” In that moment, I was reminded how we are all here in this world not to be of self-service but to be self-less in our pursuits of service to others—especially those who are less fortunate than ourselves, for this is the meaning to live a noble and honorable life.
I then was led to where some of the children were playing within the front yard which had only a slide and a swing set but without the actual swings. Some kids were going up and down the slide, and other young people stop conversing and just started starring at me. I gently introduced myself and said, before they could ask, “I am from America, specifically from New York City.” After procuring their names and repeating some several times so it could sink, I asked if I could give the slide a try. A few of them let out a slight laugh as if to say, “you’re too big for our slide, but go for it!” I made my way up the ladder, and to my surprise, what looked to be certainly a dry and slow experience, turned out to be a rush of speed, as I flew down the slide and hit my buttocks so hard on the bump beneath the ground, I jumped up and grabbed it in temporary pain. I received the most heart-felt applause of laughter. I was now accepted into the family.
Instead of gathering all of the children and talking formally, I ended up speaking to each as the afternoon passed by. We spoke about their dreams, which, some said they wanted to either join the army, work with computers, or own a business, and others knew not what they wanted to do. I shared with them my dream to one day become the President of the United States. “Wow! That is amazing!” One excitedly exclaimed. “That is a big dream,” the other said. “Exactly! So, I want all of you to remember to dream big! No matter what it is you face, don’t ever give up on your dreams.” I noticed I had their undivided attention now so I continued: “Don’t just dream on joining the army, aim to become the commander; don’t just dream about working with computers, create your own; don’t just think about owning a local business; work to have an international company.” I tried, in that moment, to help them to envision their aspirations being bigger than before since I knew no one or very few had pushed them to not only dream but to DREAM BIG!
After a few hours there at Rainbow Children’s Home, I had to leave to meet a young lady for dinner, but I told the children I would return before I left Pokhara. Back in Katmandu, I had met this woman from Kenya named Antaka, who I introduced myself to since I get so excited whenever I see another black person and feel the urge to say hello. I have now been in Nepal for close to a month, and I can count on two hands how many black people I have seen. There are moments I think I see someone black, but rather, it is just a dark Nepalese. But this time my eyes didn’t deceive me. After a brief conversation, we decided we would hang out in Pokhara since we were both planning to go there in a day or two. It turns out Antaka never made it to Pokhara, so instead, she introduced me to her friend Simirah who is from Congo but was already there in Pokhara on vacation, so we decided to meet that evening for dinner.
A brown-skin African woman with eyes that appeared to stare into my soul and a face of a child, we met at a local restaurant and exchanged details on how our time in Nepal was going, our work, and we spoke a little about our previous dating experiences. Since the majority of my time here, I have been in solitude or simply alone with not many to talk to, it felt good to be in the company of someone else, yet alone an attractive woman. I just allowed myself to be in the moment with Simirah, and I could tell she was doing the same. Eventually, our meals ended, and we both decided she would come over to my hotel for a bit. Interestingly enough, we also mutually agreed not to be sexually intimate, I for reasons of celibacy, and she for her own personal reasons. In any case, there we were sitting on my bed talking about whatever came to mind, laughing at each other's accents, and forgetting about the time that seemed to be escaping us. Not sure how it happened, but I found myself after some moments in her arms, taking deep breaths and connecting with her spirit.
It was a moment I shared with a few other women, where I would let down my walls, and my inner pain seeps out as my head is buried on her chest, and naturally, since women are by nature nurturers, she would wrap her arms around me and embrace my inner pain and anguish. There were no words spoken, but there was a conversation between our spirits. If I could put that discussion into words, it would go something like this: “I feel your pain, Demetrius. I don’t know who caused it or how long you had it, but I am here to comfort you at this moment.” I would respond by saying, “Please don’t judge me, I have a lot of internal affliction I am dealing with, and in this breath, I need and appreciate you for opening your arms for me.” While this internal heart-to-heart is transpiring, my mind went back to those stack of documents I burned a few days prior and how I had read all about the pain I felt and tried to cope with as a child. I thought about how I cannot remember being wrapped into any woman’s arms, a place I yearned to find to escape my suffering. As my mind reconnected with my breath as I was in Simirah’s arms, I felt a rush of anger. My rising anger wasn't directed at her or even towards myself but towards God. I, at this moment, detested the path He called me to walk since I had to deal with so much internal distress and that now, I was sharing this sorrow with a complete stranger. I raised myself from my position of comfort and asked Simirah to leave. She, without pushback, had a look on her face of understanding and departed. I prayed and expressed my frustration with God. In my prayer of anger, tears began to swell in my eyes, I wrapped my arms around myself and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, my spirit was still heavy, but I was glad the skies were cleared, and for the first time, I could see the mountains I had yet to behold. What beauty I thought to myself and decided I would take myself paragliding — a late birthday gift to myself. After paying the $60, we drove to the top of the hills (which, I initially thought was the mountains), and there was the view I could never forget: The majestic mountains allowing its presence to be not only seen but felt. I strapped on the required gear, and my pilot, Luxenberg, told me on the count of three to run and jump off the top of the hill. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, and accepted in my heart if this was my moment to die, it would be a beautiful death since I have decided to live fearlessly!
One. Two. Three. GO! Luxenberg screamed! My size 12 feet began rushing with full speed, the wind pushing me forward, and I jumped without any concern on whether I would come crashing down or fly (thank God it was the latter though)! When I caught my breath, there I was, hundreds and soon to be thousands of feet in the air. Excitement and nervousness simultaneously filled my heart as I beheld a view of what appeared to be the entire Nepal. I remember a thought that came to my heart but one that felt more like a voice silently saying, “I will show you great and mighty things.” The same voice I had heard in another breath-taking moment when I was in South Africa speaking with the youth with the beautiful landscape in my peripheral. Luxenberg snapped me out of my moment of deep reflection by saying, “say cheese to the camera,” and I then let out the biggest smile, showing all 40 something of my teeth.
I couldn’t believe I was now thousands of feet into the air with a complete 360 view of Pokhara. In that breath, I thought back to the night before with Simirah. Without hesitation, my heart uttered the words “thank you, Abba” (Abba being an intimate term for God as Father), since it was because of that inner pain I was able to procure the support to go on my pilgrimage of Healing through Meditation. I came to a moment of understanding and gratitude for that same path I cursed the night before. After about 25 minutes paragliding through the skies, we began to descend towards the landing spot. I had not eaten anything yet besides some M&Ms and drank some water, so when Luxenberg began spinning as a pendulum does, my stomach began feeling uneasy, and I got nauseous. He asked if his added treat was okay, and me not wanting to miss out on the feeling of the extras, I excitedly said: “keep going, brother!” I thought I could hold myself together, but before I knew it, I vomited in mid-air; all of that chocolate and water resurfaced! Two, three, four, times I puked, and then began stretching out my hand so it would not touch Luxenberg, but it was too late. To my surprise, he laughed and said, “wow that has never happened to me,” and I responded, “never has that happened to me either, so I guess we will never forget each other!”
The following day I decided I needed to go back to Katmandu so I could handle the visa application for India since I depart from Nepal on Sunday, October 27th. Before I left I remembered my promise to the kids so I went and bought from a local bakery 30 different pastries for all the kids at the orphanage. When I arrived, a few ran up to me, gave me a hug, and asked “where you’ve been” and I said “I’ve been around town, but I told you I wouldn’t leave without saying ‘goodbye.’” After waiting for some of the boys to come from the boys house down the block, I gathered the students there. I expressed my gratitude towards them for allowing me into their space. I reminded them to dream big and to always keep an eye out for one another since they are their family. My cab driver began beeping his horn--it was time to go. As I began walking away, the young man who first greeted me said, “Hey, Mr. D! Make sure to come visit us when you become President of the United States.” I smiled, with tears now slowly coming, and said I would.
By the time you read this post, I will either have reached India, specifically, Rishikesh (to get my yoga license) or on my way there. The past few days, I have heard a lot about how developing the country is and how living there will be a challenge, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and even physically. I don’t know what lies waiting for me in India, but as everything in my life, I will run and jump off the cliff and have faith I won’t come crashing down, but that I will fly!
Final thought:
Please remember, although we're living in uncertain times, love always wins. So always put her first <3
And be SILLY--life is too short not to be :)!
If you can, PLEASE donate here to keep me here in Asia on my life-transformative journey. Every dollar makes a difference <3:
Take gentle care of yourselves, and of others.
With love and gratitude,
Demetrius T. Napolitano
