Even as I walk amid thousands of graduates, I sense, within deep inside me an unfathomable emotion that oozes out from my elated heart. These emotions, as torrential as summer’s flood, are powerful enough to erode every unforgettable troublesome situation of my school days to transform into several yet tiny precious tears that drenches my face. It has been a long wait and arduous journey to reach the present stage. If my father was alive, how happy he would have been to learn that his son has successfully acquired the highest qualification from whole of his past and present lost generations.
Today I call my mother far away in the darkness over the phone to inform her that I am one among 1800 graduates and I find her speechless. May be she wanted to say that she has finally been successful in pushing me up atop the hill with other affluent children. May be she wanted to congratulate me but her heart seems not ready as she had reared no dreams of anyone from her family to be successful in pursuing the road of so-called bourgeoisies. I could only hear her sobbing incessantly over the phone.
My success is my mother’s. Ever since my father passed away the society named her ‘widow’ and her sons (me and my brothers) ‘orphans’. We were seven brothers, strong to serve the country, when born. However the opulent disease took the handsomest three and the other three while negotiating with the death got handcuffed to the mud. No prophets must have ever liked to prophesize that the weakest like me would ever make to the top.
Obtaining degree is no longer a pride for elite urbanites. The path they walk is a lively tune owing to the fact that they have all the supports required. The road I embraced was unthinkably adventurous and heart throbbing. Yet I didn’t stop at the road blocks. I risked my life and broke in with the thought that I must bring what my parents have failed.
Life is difficult when you have to lead a hand-to-mouth existence. You find amusing yourself someday discerning over your inevitably down-trodden status while that very moment is also precious for working for the next meal. While others lived I was looking for my survival.
The pepper (thing-nge) that ripens in summer has been my life joining essentialities during the lengthy summer days. My horse named Sermo has dedicated whole of her life carrying load to earn money for my education. My relatives summed up their forces and pushed me up. I was also supported by my magnanimous Principals (Mr Passang Norbu, Principal of Tashitse MSS; and Mr Namgay Dorji, Principal, Khaling JSHSS). And never to forget what my government have spent for me: I do not know if any government could be kinder than her.
Hailing from a far-flung remote place of abject poverty, pursuing higher education was not a piece of cake. Every step that you take ahead is embroidered with miseries. On my way, I have cried, laughed, suffered and lost hope several times. At one point, I lost my self too.
Today, never to think about future, when I am able to walk at par with the affluent graduates, I feel myself transferred from the ragging inferno of suffering to the beatific bliss of happiness. Though I do not possess more than a paucity of knowledge, I stand all in firm to serve my country to the best of my ability. My degree in an alien land have not only enriched me academically but also in terms of my experience. While I am ready to embark on my own, I also wish my father could know that he also has a son who is a graduate.
“You asked me to keep you proud from your deathbed; I have walked your words and hoisted all generations’ flag. May you be proud forever, Dear Father!”
Written during the graduate orientation time, 2011