A Star in the Night

The first person to really say anything to me when I got to Nepal was the man at the passport desk. He looked at my name printed on there and said, “Tara is a Nepali word.” He didn’t tell me what it meant though, and I forgot to ask.

Tara is a Nepali word that means “Star”.

Tonight I went up on the rooftop to watch the stars coming out. Like I normally do. I enjoy watching sunrises and sunsets. But I like looking at the stars more. Especially when they are first coming out. There’s just something about it.

I sit up there, curled into my blanket, and scan the sky for the very first star. It’s usually one of the planets that you can see first. I make a wish on it anyway.

Then gradually, almost imperceptibly, the rest of the sky starts filling up with little dots of distant light. One by one they fill their little corner with whatever light they can muster, and then they stay there and twinkle quietly at all the other little stars around them.

I love watching the stars. My name fits me perfectly. I just didn’t know it until I came to Nepal.

But my favorite star to see is not that first one. Or even the first hundred usually. It’s when it’s getting near to the end and the sun has almost completely disappeared.

It’s the one that shines through the clouds, mist, and/or smog. In Kathmandu at least, there is always some sort of thick something-or-other along the horizon that makes you feel like you need to rub your eyes to get it out. It’s a little hazy and frustrating because it makes it so you can’t see the Himalayas.

But the stars shine through it. There is one star in particular that is one of my favorites. It’s this small, bright, persistent thing. It just pierces through the dusty cloud without regard at all to its suffocating influence.

As I’m watching the stars coming out, I also take plenty of time to look at the lights of the city gradually coming on all around Kathmandu Valley. Each one representing a house, a family, several hearts, souls, and lives. Each one is a different kind of star in the world.

Some are funny. Some are quiet. Some cook food really well. Some have an unlimited vocabulary. Some have big dreams. Some have big fears. Some talk in their sleep. Some don’t like to wear shoes. Some are allergic to peaches. Some can do handstands. Some are born with six fingers. And on. And on. And on.

They are all amazing. And beautiful. And unique.

But the ones I love the most…. Are the ones that shine through the dust and smog of the world. The ones that fight through all the grime. The ones that refuse to acknowledge that it could possibly have any power over them at all to stop them in the slightest.

The ones that are persistent in shining bright and being good. The beautiful, shining stars in the sometimes dim and tired world.  

Everyone’s light grows bit by bit. It doesn’t need to be anything magnificent right now. It just needs to be there.

And growing.

And becoming.

And persisting.