When I had to take a very difficult subject in the final semester, I panicked that it might detain my return. When I chose my course, I wanted the duration to be 18 months because I thought two years was too long, and one year was too short. I didn’t want to be away from home too long. I am glad things did go as planned – at least this once. And now, I am home.
I missed my mother. I missed my country. But until the plane descended and I saw Paro Valley, I didn’t realize the intensity of how much I have missed home. I craned my neck and watched out the window, wanting to carve each small detail of the landscape in my mind: clumps of clouds strewn overhead, the small isolated houses on the hill tops and down in the valley looked heavenly. I thought even the long zig zag footpaths that go to these houses have happy stories to tell.
A chill winter wind welcomed us home as we got out the plane. But I thought, ‘it isn’t as cold as I thought it would be.’ My brother and driver from my office welcomed us. My mother waited in the car. I went straight to her – she sat near the window, her eyes already wet. We hugged and I cried too. I felt an enormous gratitude (to the almighty) for bringing me and my family back home safe.
I am home. Yes, I am home. It is where I belong. No matter where I go, I will come back here. It is where my heart is.