Returning Love to the Land of Prayer Flags

I never thought that when I finally sat down to commemorate my solo travels through Nepal earlier this year, I would be doing so with such a heavy heart.

As part of turning 40 this October, I traced my ancestral roots and found my way into the loving embrace of a land so beautiful, it often felt as though I had stepped into the pages of a Nat Geo documentary.

But beyond the extraordinary landscapes, what made this journey perhaps the most memorable of my life was its people.

In a nation where many had little to spare, I encountered a generosity that seemed boundless. Again and again, people offered what they had freely, extending warmth and care to a stranger without hesitation.

Where did this generosity—one I often felt so undeserving of—come from?

We don’t see the world as it is; we see it as we are. And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of travel is the opportunity to experience, in a deeply felt way, what it means to see life through another lens.

I’ve travelled to places where I’ve encountered anti-tourist protests on the streets. So when my Sherpa, Hari, said to me, “Thank you so much for coming to Nepal and giving me the chance to show you my beautiful country, Gabby,” I sat dumbstruck for the moments that followed.

In the days to come, he would tuck me into bed with extra blankets so my tropical-climate-city-girl ass wouldn’t freeze. When my fingers were so cold they were practically useless, he would quietly tie my bootlaces without me ever having to ask. There was such genuine care in everything they did.

I remember slipping in the mud during the rainy descent from Mardi Himal. My head was already pounding from the drastic change in altitude after reaching the peak just hours earlier. I struck my elbow against a boulder and, convinced I had broken it, lay there immobilised by shock, pain and fear. Hari simply stayed beside me—silent and unwavering—holding my hand while I worked through a wildly disproportionate outpouring of emotions, snot and tears.

There was something deeply wholesome about the way people cared for one another there. A kind of love expressed in its most unguarded and generous form—not announced or performed, but simply lived.

I left Nepal with a heart so full, a perspective widened beyond anything I could have imagined, and an uncomfortable awareness of how far I had allowed myself to drift from some of the most elemental aspects of being human—the very things that can bring us so much contentment.

And so, to now witness this beautiful country and its people facing destruction, displacement and grief feels deeply personal.

It is that spirit of the Nepali people—the generosity, tenderness and humanity that held me so lovingly during my time there—that I hope, in some small way, to honour and protect during this period of immense hardship.

Throughout the Mental Health Awareness month of October, all proceeds from my OASIS projects will be donated to the Singapore Red Cross, in support of humanitarian response efforts for communities affected by the deadly flash floods and landslides in Nepal on 26 August.

This will include proceeds from the Spaciousness Series, OASIS Outreach Wellbeing Series, Prayer for Peace Kirtan, Ritual Candle Range, and Remembrance Cards, as well as Wellbeing Team Bonding requests for the corporate sector.

There may never be a way to adequately repay the generosity I received in Nepal.

But perhaps this can be one small way of returning some of the love that was so freely given to me—and of honouring the lessons its people left in my heart.

“We may have different religions, different languages, different colored skin, but we all belong to one human race.” — Kofi Annan