Tshewang's Journal

Beneath a sun cloaked in the ashes of a faded love for humanity, Dhaka stirs. Rain falls sparingly, clouds a constant annoyance against the city's relentless rhythm. A cold breeze dances amidst the cacophony, carrying the early chirps of birds that haven't yet witnessed dawn. Crows caw, one leading the chorus with a mocking hump. Car horns blare, drivers sour-faced as they navigate the May Day chaos. Back in the room, an avalanche of books awaits. Medical and non-medical tomes stacked precariously, their bumps a testament to a quiet quest for knowledge. A Sutra, draped in an orange scarf, whispers the wisdom of long-gone Buddhist masters. A large fan hangs uselessly from the ceiling, a relic of a warmer season. On the wall, an old calendar declares 2014 a distant memory. Yet, a deafening silence prevails. The closet, five bars of soap, the study table, even the badminton rackets - all stand frozen in a silent tableau. Only the rhythmic tick of the quartz clock breaks the stilln...

Embarking on a journey from one of the world's second dirtiest cities to the familiar embrace of family and friends, I found myself reflecting on the uneven scales of life. It hadn't always been a ride of sheer joy or profound discovery for me. Yet, amidst the academic grind and the nocturnal battles with sleep, the sudden announcement of a delayed next semester exam felt like an unforeseen holiday blessing. It was an opportunity that hadn't crossed my mind until then, igniting a spark of anticipation for the break ahead. Our departure was marked by the reluctant farewell of the sun, setting the stage for a nocturnal voyage. The flight's smoothness was a stark contrast to the rough journeys of past, where constant jolts and the startling honks disrupted the quest for rest. The turbulence of wind against the slowing vehicle and the fluctuations in fuel levels added layers of discomfort to the ordeal. This was the reality of travel for those of us not privileged with the ...