From a Remote Village in Nepal to a Geospatial Data Scientist in the USA. Yes, This Actually Happened 🌿

Grab a cup of chiya first.

Let me be honest from the beginning.

When I was a little girl growing up in a remote village in Nepal, if someone had told me, "One day you will sit in America analyzing satellite images of the Earth," I would have stared blankly and said, "के हो त्यो?" (What even is that?)

Half of my relatives still say the same thing. 😄

But here we are. And it's time I told you the real story, not the LinkedIn version where everything looks smooth and intentional.

Where I Come From (No, Not Kathmandu)

I grew up in a remote part of Nepal where the biggest career advice I received was essentially: become a teacher or get married. (Love and respect to teachers and married people, truly.)

But I had a stubborn habit of being curious about everything. The plants on the hillsides. Why certain trees only grew at certain altitudes. What the land was trying to tell us.

So I followed that curiosity through a BSc, an MSc in Botany, and then into a lecture hall as a university lecturer myself. Yes, the girl who was told to become a teacher became one. On her own terms. 😄

The PhD, And the Hardest Goodbye

Then life said: "Pack your bags, leave everything you know, and start over in the United States."

And I said: "Sounds terrifying. Let's go."

Here is the part I don't talk about enough. When I left for my PhD, my daughter was two years old. She stayed behind while I flew across the world, carried by equal parts hope and heartbreak. I wanted to build a future where she could see what was possible. That does not make the leaving easy. Nothing does.

She joined me later and the day she walked into my Florida apartment was one of the best days of my life. Suddenly there were tiny shoes by the door, crayon drawings on every surface, and a two-foot-tall chaos agent visiting my office while I tried to save my dissertation. 😄

The Bike. Oh, The Bike. 🚲

Something I did not think through before moving to Florida: I did not know how to drive.

My solution? A bicycle. With a child seat on the back. Groceries, daycare pickup, commuting everything, by bike.

Florida is not designed for cyclists with toddlers and grocery bags. And Florida rain doesn't drizzle the sky opens up like it has a personal grudge against you. I cycled through more downpours than I can count: groceries drenched, daughter dry as a biscuit under her rain cover, happily eating a snack, and me in front, soaked, pedalling and questioning every life decision. 😄

It was hard. It was also, in retrospect, hilarious and a kind of strength I didn't know I had.

The Friends Who Showed Up 🚗

When you do hard things far from home, you find out who your people are.

Mine were the friends who didn't just say "let me know if you need anything" but showed up at my door in the rain. Who gave me rides without drama. And who eventually taught me to drive a grown woman with a PhD, gripping the dashboard while her friend calmly said, "You're doing great, just ease onto the gas," and when driving on the highway needed some extra boosting, said, "Don't be a Chicken, do it"

I was not doing great. But I learned. License, car, and the faithful bicycle retired gracefully. Those friends are still my best friends today.

Postdoc, Then a Real Job 🌍

Nobody warns you that finishing a PhD is not the finish line, it's the end of the beginning. Enter the postdoc: more research, less money, while everyone asks when you're getting a "real job." 😄

But that's where everything clicked. Botany, GIS, remote sensing- suddenly, satellite data could tell stories about forests, vegetation, and change over time. I was hooked.

Today, three years into my career as a Geospatial Data Scientist, I work with satellite imagery and maps that help us understand our planet. And my daughter, the girl in the child seat is growing up watching her mom do work she loves.

Village girl. Botanist. Lecturer. PhD. Postdoc. Data scientist. Mom. Beagle mom. Terrible cyclist in the rain.

The Kitchen and the Beagle 🍲🐾

I still cook, a lot, and with great passion. Proudly vegetarian, and if you think vegetarian Nepali food is boring, come sit at my table and reconsider your life. Dal bhat is sacred on weekends. Momo, made entirely from scratch, is the crown jewel. Spice is non-negotiable in this house. 🌶️

And remember how my daughter pointed at every dog from the bike seat? "Mama, kukur! KUKUR!" For years a dog wasn't possible, PhD stipends are not "add a living creature" money. But I made a quiet promise, and the day finally came.

We now have a beagle: floppy-eared, chronically dramatic, convinced meals should happen every twenty minutes. Watching my daughter with him feels like arrival. Proof the hard seasons were worth it.

What Nobody Tells You About America

Now something uncomfortable, something young people in Nepal dreaming about America need to hear.

America is real: the careers, the opportunities. It gave me a PhD and a life I'm proud of. But the pictures don't show everything.

It's expensive in ways beyond money. Rent, healthcare, childcare; I've done grocery math that rivals PhD-level mathematics. 😄

And it's lonely in a way that's hard to explain until you live it. In Nepal, your neighbour knows your name, your mother's name, and has loving, unsolicited opinions about your life. Here, you can go weeks without a real conversation. If you're sick in Nepal, someone shows up with food. Here, you are your own support system and when you're a new immigrant and a parent who can't drive yet, that aloneness sits heavy some nights.

What Nepal Gave Me That America Cannot Buy

Resilience that is bone-deep. Growing up without everything handed to you teaches you to figure it out worth more than any degree.

Community that is unconditional. People show up for each other simply because that's what humans do. I didn't know how rare that was until I lived without it.

A relationship with enough. Joy in small things a good meal, a long conversation, mountains on a clear day. America runs on wanting more; Nepal's sense of enough is my compass.

Food with soul. I've eaten at beautiful American restaurants and still come home to make dal bhat. And there is no American equivalent of momo. I said what I said. 😄

I live in America and love my life here. I also miss Nepal every single day. Both things are true. That is the immigrant experience and this blog is where I'll talk about it honestly, warmly, and with as much humour as I can manage.

Why This Blog Exists

I kept looking for people who looked like me women from remote South Asia navigating PhDs and data science careers in the West and found too few. So I built this space for anyone living between two worlds:

• 🌿 Science made fun — plants, GIS, satellite data, explained without putting you to sleep

• 🎓 The real PhD-to-career journey — including the parts nobody posts on LinkedIn

• 🍜 Food — Nepali vegetarian classics, homemade momo, and quick spicy weeknight experiments

• 📷 Travel and photography — two countries, many mountains, one beagle

• 💪 Honest talk for women and early-career folks from underrepresented backgrounds

• 😄 Humour — because if we can't laugh at this journey, what are we even doing

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If this made you smile or feel less alone, share it with someone who needs it and subscribe so you never miss a post.

Now go drink your chiya before it gets cold. ☕

With warmth, honesty, and a beagle who is just next to me snoring and looking so cute,

 

Asha Paudel | Botanist | Geospatial Data Scientist | Mom | Momo maker | Survived Florida on a bicycle | Everything must be spicy 🌱🌶️

If you're reading this from Nepal at midnight instead of sleeping: same. Hi. You belong here. 👋😄