Life has many twists and turns, and these twists and turns are the facts of realism. For every curve, there is a bend, and for every bend, there is a curve. For every significant day, there is an insignificant day. Because of the so-called unimportant days, a notable day exists in our lives. There are moments in life, thoughtless days, and unforgettable days.
Pema too has such a moment—an unforgettable day.
Pema, the celebrator of this day, is a brilliant boy of ten. Brilliant—yes, he is the topper of his class. Teachers gasp at his artwork. "What a beautiful drawing, Pema!" In every school drawing competition, the first prize is booked for him, always. That is Pema. Pema Tashi.
He is ten now, but he will never forget the day that shaped his life—blissfully. That was when he was eight years old.
He would care for, recollect, and muse over that day—the most important day of all his days. It was the day he heard that he had won a national-level poetry writing competition. He received the news on 12/11/2004. He was cherished, one of the happiest persons in the whole world. It was the turning point in his life. Because of that particular poem, he became a recognized figure. That beloved day encouraged him to continue writing from the heart and by his own hand. But it wasn't only the winning. On that day, something bizarre, unexpected, and special happened to him. Something greater than his victory.
On the night of November 11, 2004, he had a dream. He was trudging across dangerous, craggy rocks, sweating to cross them. His whole body was drenched. Then, from nowhere, a bird appeared—he couldn't name it—a white bird. The bird came beneath him and carried him to what felt like home. It was a beautiful home, filled with the radiance of candles and butter lamps. In front of him stood Jampelyang—the god of wisdom. Pema bowed low. Soon, he was awakened by a piece of music. He couldn't grasp the words. It was just a dream! To hear the music again, he tried to sleep, but sleep was gone. It was already dawn. All he could hear were knocks.
Pema opened the door. He was surprised to see a group of friends near the door, holding newspapers, all smiles and applause. He was down to earth! What had happened? Without delay, his friends told him what he would never forget for the rest of his life. They showed him the newspaper—his poem and his name were there. The previous weekend, he had sent a poem to the newspaper for the Kids' Poetry Competition. He had written about a tree in a treeless land: how a single tree changed the lives of many people, how it provided shelter for many lives. He described the shape of the tree, the surrounding landscape, and the weather conditions. It was a good poem, he thought—at least.
His poem was nominated as the best in the country. He had become like that single, lonely tree—now thronged by so many people in a short time. This day had changed him, just as his tree in the poem had changed many lives. In the struggle of his life, a white bird had appeared. This bird was his poem. He flew high. He was elated with the hive of life. The day became even more joyful when his English teacher read his poem and held him up as an example to his fellow students. Miss Dema read it three times! His teachers were proud. His classmates were proud. His school had something to be recognized for. Everyone congratulated him—all the teachers, a group of friends, a group of girls. His mother, brothers, and sisters were over the moon. His tree had brought change. His whole life had made a U-turn. After that, life had no more twists—it moved straight, no crooked paths, no hooks. He was to stay here, writing and receiving awards.
The day was swift. Merriness was everywhere, but one thing always lingered in his mind: his father's return. His father was said to have gone far away for further studies or some sort of training in the USA. Pema had been waiting for him for more than six years. His father had left when Pema was only two. His father sent letters. He sent photos. And only through those photos had Pema ever seen his father. His father sent love and hugs but never came. Pema's mother expected him to return anytime—for his children, if not for her sake. "The hope of my papa will remain as my dream," Pema told his mother one day. She always tried to make him think of other things and always told him that his father would come someday.
If Pema were to divide his mind into parts, about seventy percent was in a merry mood. Still, he felt incomplete that day. The sun was moving, touching the tip of the mountain. His heart melted down with the sun. His happiness began to melt too. He was sitting at the entrance, reading his poem "Tree." Lost. There was a rush of wind and a sweet aroma from the doorway. Pema looked up. He saw a gentleman, standing tall, looking at him, and smiling at him. He perfectly matched those photos. Behind the man, his mother beamed and burst out, "Here is your father!"
Pema ran toward him, and his happy tears ran down too. "What a coincidence of happiness!" Pema blurted out.
If his happiness had a volume, it would measure the entire space of the earth's joy.
From his long-awaited father, Pema had expected something—and his expectation did come true that day. His father gave him a white laptop from a black suitcase, so he could do more writing. Moreover, his father promised that he would stay with them for the rest of his life. Pema's happiness reached its brim. That day had chosen him—life had chosen him, God had chosen him. He was the chosen one, the most important one on that day. The day was unlike any other because of the series of momentous events. Pema soon narrated his day's events to his father and concluded with the remark, "This white bird is my white laptop." His mother laughed and said, "This white laptop is not a white bird." And his father said, "This laptop is a white bird." Everyone laughed.
That day was the most important and most colorful day of his life. If he ever had a remote control for his life, he would rewind and pause it to enjoy it slowly. He wondered if he would ever have a dream as beautiful as the one he had on that day. And he hoped that one day, the white bird would take him to the real world, where he could hear that beautiful music again.
