I owe this whole adventure to my superintendent. She’s the one who sent out the email about Fund for Teachers, and if she hadn’t, I probably never would have known this opportunity existed. One little forwarded email and suddenly my whole summer — and honestly, my life — took a turn I never expected.
I swear, my best ideas hit me when I’m doing something completely ordinary like handing out pencils for the tenth time that day.
It started in my 4th grade classroom. I was looking out at my hilarious, determined, and endlessly creative group of students, thinking about the stories they carry. About 45% of my kids are Bhutanese‑Nepali. Their families lived in one of Nepal’s seven refugee camps for years before coming to Ohio. These kids are resilient, funny, and so full of life, but their stories are largely unknown.
Once again, I found myself circling back to the thought I’ve carried quietly in the back of my mind for years: if I really wanted to understand my students I needed to see their world, feel the same dirt between my toes, and sense even a little of the uncertainty their families faced when exiled from the country they loved.
Then it hit me with a clarity I couldn’t shake. I can teach my heart out, pouring every ounce of energy into helping little humans learn academics, navigate friendships, grow their social‑emotional skills, and build the tools they’ll need for the future. But if I never truly see their world, there’s a piece of the puzzle missing.
I did what any teacher running on caffeine and hope would do. I turned that idea into a plan and applied for a Fund for Teachers fellowship. My proposal was simple: step into the refugee experience, learn from the communities my students come from, and bring back authentic stories and artifacts that would make our classroom feel like it truly belongs to them.
I spent the next three months researching, writing, and designing a plan to dive fully into the world of the Nepali diaspora. I mapped out visits to refugee camps, schools, temples, and community spaces. I was determined to listen, learn, and soak in as much as I possibly could.
Clicking “Submit” on that application? Terrifying. I stared at that button for way too long before I finally tapped it. But the second I did, I thought: This is it. This is how I start building the bridge my kids deserve.
This Side Of The Himalayas 