Atul Pokharel
I had been in America for just over a month, working at McDonald’s. The reality of America was starkly different from my imagination. Skyscrapers were rare, not ubiquitous. The diversity of people was striking; it wasn’t just white faces everywhere. The neighborhoods felt eerily quiet during the day, almost like a curfew during political turmoil in a third-world country. People here were confident; they didn’t look at you, but if they did, they always smiled. I wanted to ignore them as they did me, but somehow, I always ended up staring, and they would smile and say ‘hello’. I was never quick enough to respond before they passed by.
Back in Nepal I’d always had a deep love for the English language. Starting in the fourth grade, I absorbed English from any source I could find—textbooks, storybooks, and news broadcasts from Nepal TV and Doordarshan. By the time cable TV became widespread and English channels like CNN were available, I was already an adult.
In Nepal, the rare chance to converse with a native English speaker was thrilling for me. I often wondered what it would be like to live in an English-speaking country where everyone spoke English daily. However, when I finally arrived in America, I was struck by how different the spoken English was. It felt almost as foreign as French or Spanish compared to the English I had heard on the BBC and CNN.
Gradually, I learned to understand this new form of English. Interestingly, I found that Americans often understood my English better than some Nepali people who had been living here for a long time. Yet, those very Nepalis could instantly grasp the English spoken by Americans, while I struggled to catch even a hint of what was being said. This gave me hope that, in time, I too would gain a flair for English as those Nepalis did.
Language, culture, and the modern way of life often overwhelmed me. While I was eager to understand and adapt, the daily grind of dedicating most of my energy and effort to my employer left me utterly exhausted. Balancing the desire to integrate with the demands of a busy schedule was no easy feat.
Overall, this was a strange new world where I had to be wary of things I was not used to. I had heard that everyone here was afraid of everyone else, thinking anyone could be hiding a gun. It was unsettling to know that people found happiness in such a tense way of life. Those who didn’t care about this seemed truly happier.
However, there were some interesting episodes too, of course, and I want to share one of them here.
During my break at McDonald’s, I sat at a table, eating a McChicken, french fries, a couple of nuggets, and a Coke. Through the glass window, I saw a Nepali girl standing by the road, seemingly waiting for a bus. I was excited to see another Nepali in a city where I had scarcely seen any. She was the first I had come across in over a month. They said there were thousands of Nepali people in Texas, California, and New York, but here in Kentucky in 2007, she was the only one I had found so far.
She was short, with brown skin and dark hair, wearing jeans and a gray vest with big flowers on the front. She had a purse and was holding a phone. I observed her from inside the McDonald’s, feeling a strong urge to talk to her. Not out of romantic interest, but just to know where in Nepal she came from. She looked like she was from a village, not from Kathmandu, Dharan, or Pokhara. There was something rustic about her, as if she was from some distant village in Nuwakot or Charikot.
She looked towards me, unaware that I was watching her. Her look seemed to say that if I didn’t hurry up and go to her, she would leave, and I would never see her again. I stood up and rushed towards the road. I went straight to her and stood in front of her. She was surprised. I asked, “Hello, chinjaan garaun na.” She looked at me with full curiosity. I continued, “Tapai Nepal ma kaha bata aaunu bhako ho?” She blushed, just like a young woman from Kavre would. I asked again, “Where is your home in Nepal? Just asking because I haven’t met a Nepali person for a long time.” She replied, “No se ingles.” I was confused. I asked in English to be sure, “You are not Nepali?” At that time, I didn’t understand what she said, but after staying in America for many years, I think she must have said, “No sé lo que estás diciendo.”
