Sandwich Generation

                                                                                                                        Shyamala Shiwakoti

    I borrowed the term "sandwich generation" from my husband, who refers to this for people like us, aka first-generation immigrants, sandwiched between the older generation (who identify as Nepali) and the younger generation (who identify as US citizens). Of course, we are not the first people who have immigrated. People have been migrating throughout the earth since the beginning of human history. We all had the same purpose: to find a better life. It was in the news a few days ago that ten lakh (100,000) people from Nepal emigrated to different parts of the world this year, a mass exodus considering Nepal has a population of around 30 million. Last November, I visited Nepal and went to the village where I was born. You can feel everyone is leaving the country when you look around the surroundings. You only see older adults and kids in the village. The working force people are almost nonexistent.

The fields I remember used to produce multiple crops ranging from rice, wheat, potatoes, corn, soybeans, and different lentils are barren because there is no one to do farming anymore. I saw a troop of monkeys near the house, and my grandmother and aunt told me that they come every day in search of food because there are no crops in the fields. Hence, they come in search of food in the house. I also realized the forest has outgrown and has expanded close to our home. It was terrific to see nature flourish and go back to where I was born, but at the same time, it was heartbreaking to see how people have left the place. Once filled with people and life, the site has become almost empty. This is not only the story of the village where I was born. This is the story of almost all villages in Nepal. But who can you blame? It is our right to look for a better life; this is how we have progressed.  

    In the first few years of settling into the developed world, I was confident that I had landed in a better part of the world. I can earn my living and do not need to worry about food, shelter, and security. After living here for two decades, I keep thinking, is this life better or just different? When I visited Grandma, she had two beds, one TV, some clothes, and some sweet food she savors occasionally. I asked her if she needed something, and she told me to give her around $100 to buy sugar and tea leaves to drink tea (chia). If somebody had asked me that question, I would have a list of things I want even though when I walked into my garage this morning, there were a whole bunch of things that I would never use but still are sitting there. So, I am poorer than my grandma because she has fewer needs than I do, even though she has fewer worldly possessions than I do. So why does my grandmother think she does not need more than $100? She feels her life is whole, and there is no void that needs to be filled with stuff. 

Last week, I visited my uncle, who has lived in the USA for almost two decades. We went to different places and had many activities ongoing when we were there, but he told us he felt refreshed when we went there despite the physical tiredness. He said that he feels good when people come and visit him. I know what he is talking about. My parents, especially my mother, love when people come and see her. This was the way of life: people coming into our house unannounced, chatting, sharing food, and laughing. There is no need for agendas. Likewise, there is an old Indian couple I think is my extended family. When I invite them or vice versa, they seem happy, although physically tired. 

    I stumbled upon a random post a few months ago where somebody spent a couple of months in Mexico, and when she came here, she realized that we have an epidemic of loneliness. I can relate to what she was talking about because you are all by yourself here. You do not need anyone to sustain your life. Food, shelter, and clothing all come if you have a job. If you get sick, you call an urgent line, and when you get admitted to the hospital, they provide you with everything. In a way, we live in this highly sophisticated, prosperous, and affluent society. There is a lot of personal space and independence, which helps you grow as a person. However, there is a hefty price to pay for that which is almost nonexistent human relationships and, as she suggested, an epidemic of loneliness. It is more palpable when I go to social events and meet the older generation of people who are here because their kids are here. I listen to them because I feel like they want to talk and vent their feelings, and most of the time, I have no one to talk to. You don't need to approve or disapprove them. You get to listen to how they cope with some daunting health conditions. Some will inform you about our religion and culture you did not know beforehand.

    On the other side of the coin is the young generation, who are more attached to mobile devices and games than humans. They have a very different perspective on life than mine. One kid told me that I must have had at least an iPad when I was growing up. I laughed a lot when I heard that. But it is not their fault because they were born and raised here, and they do not have the perspective where I was born and raised. Both of these generations have at least a clear mind that they belong: older generations to Nepal and younger ones to this country. However, people like me have no clue where we belong. It's a boon and a curse at the same time. I am glad I have perspectives from both sides, but life is undoubtedly blurry and sandwiched.