Could I be a writer? The alleyways of Paknajol, kathmandu

This is my updated introduction, as i wasnt sure when i started on steemit what its purpose was and why i was going to use it contribute and balance it with actually....being.....here...in Nepal really living and the amount of time its taking to be here and the huuuuuuuge learning curve. I've gained some clarity and know at the moment definately for writing something been considering doing for sometime.

I am back in nepal the place that overwhelms so much
i just dont want to spend hours learning how to comment post upvote tag etc i just want to write and get feedback on my writing. I am grateful and happy to give you a flavour of where i am and maybe keep your appetite for any adventure big or small, alive...
Even if 5 people comment i and we in this community are gonna make a fart of a steem...so id love your feedback
I know theres typos grammar but its 2.00 am, ive typing with one finger on my old phone and all the blood is has run out of my.fingers...i need to go sleep...aba sutne
I am definately help to be a #creativewriter lol and will comment and support you but my posts wont be regular, im.gonna live, do my thing and share, thats what i do share where i am with people
im 53 a mum a grandmother, i am 6 years old, this is my.second life. ive just got stoned with 2 of my best nepali brothers, its 1.00 pm in the hostel and i'm off at 7.00 in morning on back of motorbike for 1 hour drive to bhaktaphur and spend day with my brother in his town on his day off. And im trying to get this all down. I just see.so much, too much for just me.
So i am kind of out there doing what i do in nepal.
I do promise to reply engage and update just chat.
I am thrilled to recieve feedback for feedback to.learn...obviously we're #creative writers
I just want to evolve here...
Im not overly worried about.....dare i say it.....the steeeeeeem.....steem will either or it won't
Just my writing
So this first piece of creative writing in steemit
See you on the other side...

So I begin again in Paknajol local area, just one street behind thamel, the old city. Full of dark, and bright avenues and alleyways of old decrepit buildings decayed by age and a history of abuse from pollution, poverty, construction, cracked, disjointed, maimed and wounded by the earthquake, abandoned, shabby and shaken, tangled and twisted, faded and jaded and yet vivacious and vibrant, alive and growing, in constant flux and change and yet stable, strong and consistent.

This tiny part of a huge sprawling city is fascinating, diverse, friendly and just like no where else.
Safely wander down any side alley. Some elevated, dry and dusty with local houses, of quite lovely styles, huge hostels painted from high wall to high wall with funky murals of flurescent and primary coloura, with mellow daytime sunny music drifting across the avenues. Prayer flags festoon everywhere, entwined with plants and Ivies and exotic flora flowing and blossoming over the edges of balconies and roofs.

Some alleys are tiny thin dark and dreary, devoid of sunlight for decades, cold and dank, with the labour of the nepali people working, in shadowy, semi darkness of damp streets, mircobusinesses, computers and mobile repairs, tailors, the guts of ancient washing machines exploded and strewn across the floors, in chaos and neglect, manipulated into the guts of other machines. , black rusted concertinered security Gates pushed back exposing high steps up into dark desolate accommodation of cold stone and dead lifeless cement, the poorest of accommodations, ratty, pissy, dickensian squalor.
All around all holes of devastation and destruction, slow, human machinary building and constructing, back breaking manual labour, women small bent under the weight of body sized baskets over full of crusty dry red bricks, strong, like workers ants, relentlesly, eternally building with men with shovels effortlessly refilling the true burden of the baskets of these small ragged women bear everyday. Again and almost instantly my respect for women deepens everytime I come to nepal.
Quiet local side streets, schools, laundry and clothing drying, hanging draped, dogs dozing.
Above Shambles of corregated iron sheets, electricity wires matted and woven like electric dreadlocks, dragged along the skyline, hanging heavily with their own weight, everywhere dreadlocks.

Hippies, tattooed, shabbies, ali babas, tshirts, funkie, psychdelic, spiritual, buddhas, ganeshas, grungies and don't give a fuckies, backpackers, squares, straights, off centres, trekers adventurers, all milling together, peacefully naturally and easily. No staring here, no judgements here, complete acceptance and sense of safety, comfort and welcome. So much activity and chaos and yet utterly peaceful.

![20180405_132414.jpg](https://steemitim
Motorbikes, petrol, exhausty, big and dirty, assertively weaving, jolting, starting and stopping, seamless around each other, along nonexistent pavements, and the steps leading up to shops directly on the road, puddles and mud, masks and slightly yellow air, the sun shines warming one side of the streets. Shop owners with no customers, langer on stoops, attending to kids playing in the dustiness of the road, sunning, thinking, staring into the road and wheels whizzing by. Women seated on the steps with onions green veg and tomatoes, covered in the grim, chat and genwrous smiles to passers by.

Constant Beeping blasting motorbikes taxis, black diesal spurting vans, rickshaws, and solid wall of sound, a brurring drone of ambient engines sharply broken and discenant sound of hooters and unoiled brakes.
All of this 2 minutes from my hostel...I would need a million words to begin to even touch the sensory experience

!steemitworldmap! 27.714513,85.398588 the local streets of kathmandu D3SCR