Life on the Roof of the World

In the February 2013 issue of National Geographic magazine, there is an article dedicated to the Kyrgyz people of Afghanistan, a nomad people who live in one of the most remote areas of the world. Much of their land is above 14,000 feet, making for very harsh winters. Their isolation was further sealed by the Russians and British in the 19th century, who both fought for influence in Central Asia. The Kyrgyz became stuck in a cul de sac buffer zone, whose borders became eventually sealed with the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the Chinese Revolution of 1949. To reach the nearest existing road takes a three day trek through treacherous mountain terrain. The result of this isolation is a startlingly high mortality rate, as there are no doctors, no hospital, no medicine. Less than half the children live past the age of five. A road closer by their land would connect the Kyrgyz people to the outside world and end the  harshness imposed by their isolation. But that road is unlikely to materialize. To build a road that would possibly cost close to a hundred million dollars, for 1,100 people in a poverty and war stricken country sounds unreasonable. The article struck a chord with me. I consider myself a person at peace with her heart and its story, after all the loss of family due to betrayal and tragic illnesses. So, like the Kyrgyz people, even though there is some harshness in my story's history, I appreciate the beauty of living on my own terms. And like the Kyrgyz, the isolation they endure strikes a chord too, as the isolation my life deals with is the result of a certain hesitation to be as vulnerable as I was before, and like them, I too long for a road out of that isolation. Writing and therapy before it, became a tool to find a path that can eventually feel sturdy enough to be the foundation of a strong road out of the pasts dead end street for good. Like the Kyrgyz, who consider themselves untamed people, hesitant to let go of heir way of life, I too hesitate to surrender my hard won emotional resolve and strength and am conflicted about a road that would reconnect me to a more gregarious life again. Like the Kyrgyz, I dream of the road and certain days I am convinced it's just around the corner, and other days I know I am just kidding myself, that it will continue to take hard every day effort to break down the tall wall I built around myself in order to survive the trauma of loss and betrayal. Everything comes at a price. The Kyrgyz know that their ultimate survival may depend on the building of the road, just like that same road could eventually spell the end of their way of life, as they would have a choice to leave and choose a less harsh way. So I also know that if I persist in the isolation, it may be my undoing, but giving it up may mean a compromise of my hard earned claim on dignity and freedom from manipulation and meek surrender to compromise. My time is running out, I know, I will not be able to deny the road out much longer, but for now, the lone tiger in me is proud to prowl the lone valley that is just my own.