Back to Schoool 2016

 

Extensive Cardamon Plantation at my village

I have been away. Back now—with lots of official and personal work. I didn’t even have time to open my own blog page, and sorry to say about others—I barely remembered my own name, let alone your existence. Before you assume I ran away to a peaceful monastery to find enlightenment and escape marking.

First, I went to my village for nearly two weeks to work on my cardamom plantation. I was genuinely thrilled to see three or more new plants sprouting from a single plant. That’s right—nature is out there showing off, photosynthesizing like a champion, while I can barely keep a single houseplant alive without it giving me a look of disappointment. The cardamom is thriving. Me? I’m surviving. Barely.

Then came the Class Ten evaluations—fourteen days in Phuntsholing. And it was hectic, because every poor soul had to correct almost a thousand papers. A thousand. That really kept me tight and sleepy. Tight in the shoulders from hunching over answer sheets, and sleepy in the soul from reading “the sun rises from the west” for the fortieth time. You haven’t known true darkness until you’ve read the same wrong answer fifty times. Fifty.

After this, I went to Gelephu to stay a few days with my family. That was nice. No papers. No cardamom. Just relatives asking why I get married, why I’m still not single, and whether I’ve “considered settling down.” Cause I didn’t know how to even cut radish for Losar.  So, you know, a completely different kind of stress—the emotional ambush kind.

Then I had a School Health Coordinators workshop in Phuntsholing. For six glorious days, we were oriented on some basic health services. I am now officially qualified to tell you to wash your hands. You’re welcome. Next year, I might earn a certificate in breathing. Stay tuned.

And then, Losar abruptly emerged near the door like an uninvited but welcome relative, and we had ‘bang’ Losar in Gelephu. The ‘bang’ wasn’t just the celebration—it was the sound of my head hitting the pillow every night after too much whiskey and too many greetings.

Now that February is officially here, we have to face the ugly truth: winter has almost ended and it’s time to be in school! Yes, the holidays are over. The warm blankets must be abandoned. The alarm clock must be befriended again—reluctantly, suspiciously, like a former enemy you now have to share a room with.

By now, I have come up with drunken dreams, terrified hopes, and all that “new year, new me” freshness over the break. Drunken dreams meaning the kind where I genuinely thought I could wake up at 5 AM every day and exercise. Terrified hopes meaning I know, with absolute certainty, that I won’t. The only thing getting up at 5 AM is the neighbour’s rooster.

Just a few days ago, I have been constructing a website for my school. It’s almost done—miracles do happen. Here is the link:

http://darlamssedu.blogspot.com/

Go on, visit it. It has fewer typos than my exam papers. That’s not a high bar, but still.

Wish you all the best and back to school!!!

May your chalk not break. May your coffee be strong. And may your first day back be mercifully short—preferably zero minutes long. But we don’t always get what we pray for, do we?