Kuenza's Diary

I call my mother ‘Amku.’ I don’t know how I came to call her that but I find joy in calling her so. I usually smile as I call her, ‘Amku’ in the long tone. She looks at me and laughs. In that laughter she holds me enchanted. That laughter is pure; there is no trace of malice, no trace of insincerity. I feel like breaking down, just because in that instant of joy, I feel the stab of pain of losing her. Few days back, I was telling her that if she had been sent to school, she would be a Dasho now. And I was serious. I know she would be. But that is not what I wish. I am so happy she and my father raised me up, implanting in me values as they sowed seed in the field. If there is a reason for me to wish she were sent to school, it would be to let her know how I would write to her my feelings in a letter: Amku, no words will be able to tell you how much I love you. For the numerous reasons you must have been born as my mother, I wish I could just tak...

I call my husband. I sometime curse myself for being blunt. I have to bear the brunt of bluntness so often that I curse myself to death sometime. I call my husband, not even giving a second thought that probably he is enjoying somewhere with his friends and in that jurisdiction, my voice isn’t something that is welcomed. I talk to him and I hear cacophony of woman like voices mocking at me. I can make out that they are laughing at my back. Do I enjoy that? I wish I could say yes. But unfortunately, no, I don’t enjoy that. So I demand my husband to tell me who that person is….oh there comes my miss call. So I gotta go. Kinley’s mother has sent me cheese from her village. So kind of her. And there, ah, like a swift cool breeze in the sticky summer night, I got a bit of my hefty feelings out. She asks, “Gunda gi chhim gati mo?” I give her the location and then ask her why she wants to know. She replies, “Gunda gi chhi na tas tseyde lo sey.” Oh okay, so that is the reason for the gathe...

My mother learned to read Dzongkha when she had to stay home taking rest after the surgery. She can now read prayers but she would be more fluent if she had better eye sight. For a week she went to Jungshina community lhakhang to pray. There, the lama presiding the community prayer has given a prayer book each to everyone present. This evening when I got home, my mother wanted to read that prayer book. I sat beside her and helped her with words she had difficulty pronouncing. And then, right after dinner, she chanted the “Dechen Moelam.” When prayed in the long melodious tune, it can tear your heart apart and send you right next to your lama and make you feel that you really do not need anything at all in this world. I did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and sat by her side again while she was doing that moelam. Then, I told her, “Ama nga cha po, Aema ho chi tangma nyampu” (meaning: Let us pray together the Aema ho moenlam before we sleep), and...

I said, I will now work harder, concentrate appropriately and thus bundle myself together with people who are called 'good hardworking people.' And it seems to work. Maybe it is only for today but I'm glad even if it is just for a day. Though the weather is very gloomy and we have seen the first winter rain, I seem to embrace the mood of working harder even as the cold seeps in my bones. For some reason, I do not have a heater in my room. Tshoki and I seem to have made a sacrifice somewhere for this. I don't mind; I am wearing a thick muffler and I got a shawl wrapped around my thighs. But that is not part of what I want to say. I feel so happy now despite the sickness I had in the morning. Dizziness tucked me in bed until 9:15 a.m. But now there is no trace of sickness. I feel like the first flower blooming as the Spring season sets in. Or better yet, I feel like the flower that blooms even in winter. And not to say, I might turn back into indetermination, for ...

If I were to define my life now, it would begin without a single achievement. If  I were to define my life now, it would just be a single blank page. If I were to define my life now, it would be just a starry dumb pair of eyes. If I were to define my life now, it would just be a butterfly-pupa who never knew of the beauty of having wings. If I were to define my life now, it would just be an orphan who never knew what it was like to have a mother. If I were to define my life now, it would just be a drunk without destination. If I were to define my life now, it would just be a hollow space without life. If I were to define my life now, it would just be a pair of unstable, shaky feet. And with all this, if I were to look for a future now, it would just be a blank paper without a pen to write anything on it. Author's note: This is written in the mood of self discrimination and it shouldn't give the idea that I do not value the many good friends I have in my life; ...

Something is terribly going wrong somewhere. I'm not doing something right. Am I not committing myself enough for what I should? Am I not following the thumb rule of how life should be lived? What is going wrong and where? I wish I knew this. Then I would know what exactly I must do and how. I think I have taken things for granted for so long. I think I have depended on faith so heavily for my entire life. I think it is time I found a better way to look for meaning in life. I think it is time I knew where I should begin. And it is time, I knew what I want. Even when I have my love next to me, hugging me, and telling me, 'it is okay,' I know, it isn't totally all right. It is time I got serious. And with this, I change. And with this I will fight stronger than I ever willed. .

The title as you see is just to console myself that I cannot expect people to be what they are not, just so it will please me. I cannot hope people will change just because that will be convenient to me. And I cannot hope people were different, just as I would make them, if I were the architect, just so they will merge completely with my thoughts. But even when you know all that, sometime it is hard to take that some people's nature can be repeated in the same pattern of irritating ripples. Not that pleasing tease, but that uncomfortable eerie feeling like snake walking on your feet. Whatever it is, I know just as I would like to remain myself, they would want to be what they are. I cannot snatch that right from anyone but I'm becoming a little sick of being the understanding person of 'Oh that is fine," nature. Anyway...as the world goes on, so would my life. And just as everyone, I would forget this discomfort. But I can only wish it would come soon.

The meeting on child poverty takes place in a five star hotel. What an irony, a senior officer says.  Another senior officer has been flying out so often (visiting other countries on official purposes) that he gets free ticket as a compliment. What an irony, I would say, because I would like to ask if that is a way to work efficiently. And for this child poverty meeting, there are more than 50 items of dishes laid out on the table. There are four long tables of dishes. And I can bet there is not a single person who isn't wasting it. Each one brings several items and they leave wasted, because they don't like it.  Outside in the street, a barely 10 year old girl, carrying a baby, scooped in her right arm, comes begging. "Give me 500 bucks, I'm really, really hungry." She has a shrill strong voice. But the fact remains that she is begging.  Now, I'm wondering, how effective holding such meetings are. The large part of the budget of poverty alleviation progra...