On My Birthday- June 6

My birthday has never been a special day during my childhood, I never had a cake in my name, nobody would remember the date, and I would cry but things started getting brighter as I learned to expect less. Now my birthdays are special because I have mastered the theory of expecting nothing, and therefore if nothing happens then nothing happens, and whatever little things come my way becomes pleasant surprise.

Birthday Picture for the Record.

But life is strange, best happens when you least expect and I often wish if some of these happened to me when I was desperately wishing for them. Now I have a beautiful family who would remember my birthday for me and treat the day like a national holiday and I have friends all over who would send their best wishes as if they have waited whole year to do that. I don't know why they are so excited about letting me know that I am growing old lol.
This is my last year in twenties and I am getting a strange reluctance to agree, because this one year unlike other years will change the whole story about me- now I know why some items' cost has _99 as suffix, one Nu. makes a great difference when considered at critical point. However, with this birthday I have broken the record of my father who died at 28- I think I am going to live longer.
For all the wishes and kind words, early and belated, long and short- some as short as 'HBD', from near and far, thank you so much. Your words made me feel wanted and useful in this world, they gave me joy and pride, and they gave me good reasons to live longer and bigger. Thank you all so much.

Father's Name

My father died in 1984, a year after I was born. He shouldn't have jumped into the river, because rest of the passengers survived that fateful bus accident near Katso bridge. I only saw a picture of him when I became 16. Now I am 29, one year older than my father when he passed away but in last many years I had to write his name over a thousand times. From admission form in school, to security clearance form, to job application form,  to income tax from, to promotion form,... every paper on earth seems to want my dead father's name. Sometime I feared it might not let my father rest in peace.
My poor mother gave me the life I am living today, but nobody seems to place any importance in her except myself. No paper ever had a space to write her name. I wish someday we acknowledge the role of a mother in a child's life and ask her name.

My Mother GAKI!

Emotions aside, even if I didn't have a father who held my fingers through life I at least had his name. Let me write it one more time: Lt. Phub Dorji. And some people would read it Lieutenant Phub Dorji. But there are hundred others who have their fathers alive but don't have names to write. These children are victims of so many deprivations in life and the only thing they generously get is humiliation. And I don't think I can write comprehensively on the influence of humiliation on life.

Therefore, I would like to join women activist Kesang Chhoden in seeking government's attention on the 178 cases she brought forth from the dark shadow around Kanglung College. While her demand for DNA Bank may not be easily possible, I hope she has some very practical proposals in place to take the matter ahead. Government should be wise enough not to try and justify the legitimacy of the children or defend itself, rather join the cause for change, so that long after today history will remember them.

Mathematically speaking mother is a constant, no one will ever question the mother of a child,  while father is just a variable and therefore questionable. Finding x can be very difficult and I wonder why all the papers want the name of a variable than a definite constant.

My Mother is giving up

My mother was in Thimphu during the earthquake. She told me, "Since you all are away there is nothing to worry about in the village". She went home after six days to check on our house. Though the house was still standing there were several large cracks running down the entire mud wall. Rooms were filled with debris from the broken walls. But she returned to Thimphu that same day, without even cleaning the rooms.
She later told me, "If this house falls to ground as well, I am not going to build another house." I could see tears welling in her eyes.
Our village Yangthang rose from ashes after 2002 Fire. It took years before we had a roof over our heads. We  not just lost our homes in that fire, but our history and memories. What we lost after the fire changed the whole course of our lives. During construction we were living in huts, where we lost all our ancestral inheritance. We learnt to live without it, just then we lost our father. By the time we entered our new home we had nothing.
My mother is giving up, she doesn't want lose so much again. I wish our house will stand strong and not let my mother relive the trauma of building a new home again.

Wangay's Letter - "Bereaved leave"

Wangay is a teacher in Phuntshothang Middle Secondary School, Samdrup Jongkhar. I don't know him but his letter (see the picture) published in Bhutan Observer yesterday connected to me. He had to come to school to attend to his duty leaving behind his grieving wife whose mother passed away. In times of sickness and death even enemies join in to give helping hand but because he was a working man who ran out of allotted leave, he failed so much as a husband.

When I was in my first year of college my father passed away. My sister was one year senior to me in the same college. Two of us cried our long journey home. I cried more when I thought of how my mother would be, and cried even more thinking about our three younger siblings. Our youngest sister was only three then. When I reached home I rushed to see my mother, why has already cried herself to unconsciousness. My little sister was among the villagers trying to revive my mother, she wouldn't know what had happened. She would say her father has gone to collect firewood. My youngest brother was on his way back from school and hadn't yet known his father was dead. My other younger brother was strongly waiting for us, since he was the eldest when we were not there.

All our close relatives living in Thimphu provided us with all the money we need to preform the funeral rites, but when it comes to being by my mother's side they weren't there for even a single night. We children were the only people surrounding the widow. And the most ugliest, most regretful and the most inhumane part of that story was our early return to college. The two eldest children left their mother on the seventh day because of our unforgiving attendance system in college. If we didn't have the required attendance we wouldn't be allowed to sit for exams no matter what. Even today, it pains me so much when I think of that system, and my biggest regret is the choice I made- I chose too leave my broken mother for a damn college.

This is my story among thousands of your stories. Of all the times in life shouldn't we be given a special leave  when something like these happen? These are life changing moment that don't happen often. And with Wangay, I wish to urge the government to think over it. It's should matter if it isn't in American system, Bhutan is the first country that should welcome "bereaved leave". Please.