My parents are illiterate, so to say. My siblings are not highly educated and not book smart. In short, I was brought up in a family, even a locality, where the importance of literature was not known. But this literary passion has been there in me, from then, since very young.
I’ve been writing since my childhood days. For I always loved reading books and writing stories. I used to pay a huge respect to all kinds of literary materials. I kept letters, magazines, newspapers, books, autograph books, cards and diaries in my tiny wooden box. To protect them, I could do anything.
The truth is that I was a shy young boy, an introvert. I would scribble on almost everything - on papers, leaves, walls, floors, tables and in my notebooks. As a shy young lad, this is how I talked, expressed myself and interacted with the world around me.
During school days, I used to write love letters for my friends lots. Besides I would contribute articles for the school magazines and newspapers. You can’t imagine how thrilled I was to see my own articles published.
Soon after I graduated from the college, I quickly realized that writing was not a career track that would earn my livelihood. That’s why I resigned from Bhutan Observer after working for a year knowing that it was a shaky profession. Then, I joined the civil service.
As a civil servant, still I am still writing. In fact, writing has now become an important part of me, my life. But I am one person who often writes about his own little life. My writing is mostly about itsy-bitsy activities of my life.
The stories are mostly about my home, my heart, my family and friends, my village, writing, great books I read, walk, photography, nature, dreams and hope. For, they are what I focus on the most in my life. They are important part of me.
Above all, I write to remember and to be remembered. Through writing, I intend to relive each moment of my life on white pages, as briefly as possible. It’s through writing that I hope to live on for a few generations after I die.
When my friends, family members and readers go through my writing, I live on. When they read my stories of the memories I’ve made, I live on. When they remember my name, I live on.
Today, at 31, I wrote over 300 posts on my blog and got published many articles on different newspapers and magazines.
A dream is still due though- to write and publish my own books.