Tshewang's Journal

Dechen's hair swayed gently as the bus hummed along. Golden fringes highlighted her sparkling eyes, and a lone dimple graced her cheeks. The chill of the air brushed her crimson lips, adding a shiver to her already cold frame. Beside her, a man's occasional glances broke the monotony of the journey, stirring a mix of curiosity and discomfort within her. Lost in thought, Dechen pondered the sun's boundless energy, the birds' cheerful melodies, and the mysteries of the cosmos. Her contemplation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a young girl's cry, sparking a cascade of thoughts about the cause of her distress. The momentary distraction of two men roaring past on a tractor, their shouts piercing the tranquility, snapped her back to reality. A sharp cry of pain jolted Dechen from her reverie. The safety pin from her muffler had come undone, pricking the man next to her. Apologizing profusely, she felt a wave of dizziness from the bus's relentless bumps. The m...

Upon our arrival in Bhutan, Phuntsholing greeted us with open arms, beckoning us into a local restaurant where we indulged in a feast of Bhutanese delicacies, a long-awaited treat after a year of absence. The journey's dust made an impromptu visit to the restroom necessary before I could fully enjoy the meal. There, amidst the comforts of home cuisine, we reveled in dishes that spoke of familiarity and nostalgia, far removed from the Alu Parathas that had become our staple abroad. Our journey took a humorous turn upon reaching Gedu. My friend, known for his reserved nature, unexpectedly disrupted the silence with a loud fart, prompting an exchange of jests between us. His excuse? The fermented curd hadn't sat well with him. Little did I know, my own stomach would soon join this comical rebellion. Indeed, as we approached Tsimasham, my insides began their own uproarious laughter, compelling us to request an unscheduled stop. I silently prayed for anonymity in my discomfort, unwi...