Lettering

Right now I'm learning the Tibetan alphabet (I'm enrolled in a Tibetan class for the upcoming semester, when I'll be studying in Bodh Gaya). Whilst the crisp breeze of August-in-Oregon-masquerading-as-September slips through my screen and ruffles my exercise book, my pen traces a beautiful script that would be foreign... but isn't quite.

You see, as I trace this alphabet, I can clearly hear the voice of the vice-principal of the Home of Hope: "Ga, Kha, Ka, Gna..." He is patient, but is somewhat frustrated that I don't immediately master the difference between "kha" and "ka." I struggle to write these letters down on a white board, but the proportions are all wrong. Children are laughing outside the office, and I wonder what I might teach them this afternoon. My hair is dusty. Those laughing children are writing outside with sidewalk chalk more gracefully than I could ever hope to.

"Ja, Cha, Ca, Nya..." The vice-principal's voice was far more encouraging than the one that speaks from my Fluent Tibetan CDs.

There's something about these letters, though. I've been in Eugene for almost a week, and I've almost seemlessly entered home-mode. It's late August in Oregon--time to pick peaches and reunite with old friends, time to ride my bicycle, climb the Cascades, and sleep out under the stars. But the letters jolted me. I feel like I'm tracing mountain tops, and I can smell insence in the space between words.

Tibet is so, so far away from here.
But maybe I brought something of that country back, if I listen.