We Never Say Goodbye

Last time I parted from my beloved family, my friend told me that it's always hard to say goodbye. He was right—it really was. But then I started wondering: why does English have such an aching, miserable, heart-wrenching word as "goodbye"? It sounds like something you say at a funeral, or when you're dropping someone off at the airport and secretly relieved it's not you leaving.

I don't feel like using it. And I never have. Not once. Not even in dramatic moments.

"We never say goodbye," I told my friend proudly. "We don't even have a word for it. I just tell them to stay well and that I will see them again."

He looked confused. I looked enlightened. It was a good moment.

Truly, as per my dictionary—which lives mostly in my head and is occasionally wrong—two major Bhutanese languages, Dzongkha and Sharchop, don't have a word for goodbye. Not one. Zero. Zilch. We don't believe in goodbyes. We believe in coming back. We believe in reincarnation. Why say goodbye when you might come back as your own neighbor's dog and bark at your former self?

"We only part to meet again," said John Gay. And John Gay clearly never had a bad breakup.

We have Kuzuzangpo for hello. But this greeting is used regardless of the time of day—morning, noon, midnight, or 3 AM when you run into someone at a convenience store buying instant noodles. This means Bhutanese people believe time is the same and should remain the same throughout life. No good morning. No good evening. Just Kuzuzangpo. Simple. Efficient. Time-proof. In Sharchop, there's no "good evening" or "good morning" either. We just wake up and Kuzuzangpo our way through life like time doesn't exist. And honestly? Less stress.

We have Kadrinchhe for thank you—which we say often, especially after momos. But for parting, we say Lashom bay joen if the person is leaving, which literally means "go nicely" (please don't fall into a ditch). And Lashom bay shug if the person is staying, which means "stay well" (please don't burn the house down). Neither means goodbye. They just mean "survive until I see you again."

In Sharchop, we use Tshingai rumey na, which actually means "see you in the future." No sadness. No finality. Just a casual assumption that the future will happen and we will be in it. Together. Possibly older, possibly grayer, but definitely eating.

So I never say goodbye to my loved ones. I refuse. I boycott the word like it owes me money. I say only Lagpan choina—stay well—believing with all my heart that we will meet again. In this life. In the next life. Or at least at the next family gathering with free food.

And if we don't? Well, then I'll see you in the next round. Save me a seat.

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