I
came across a handful of books by the Bhutanese at the Book Fair in Bajothang.
I was very much surprised. Because that I’ve not heard of and read before about
these books and authors. But those books are written and published by our
fellow-Bhutanese, and they are there in the market for sale. More surprisingly,
most of the writers are very young teachers. I’m very happy for them and have bought
some of the books as personal copies. The books are:
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Creating a little more space
Not long ago, I wrote here
about how thrilled I was to visit my friend Sonam’s apple orchard at Khasadrapchu to pluck apples there. Last
Saturday, again, I visited this beautiful orchard along with my friends Pema
and Sonam. This time, it’s not to pluck apples, but to nurture the orchard.
The entire noon, we weeded
the orchard, and added manure and water to the plants. Like a group of
peasants, we toiled in the orchard, digging and weeding. Our limbs were
mud-stained; our faces profusely streaming with sweats.
Meanwhile, we whistled, in
a rustic way, commanding the wind to bring us fresh air. As expected, a strong
current of wind gusted around the valley. Magic works, ah, it really does! The
apple plants started to bend and twist as if they were dancing to the song of
the wind. As they danced, the flower petals of the plants were blown away in
the air, over the valley. The bees, sucking nectars, were also brushed away. It
all appeared to me so truly surreal.
Beneath a handsome tree, we
lied down, talking and observing the loveliness of the countryside. We admired
the lone farm road that climbs way up into a tiny settlement on mountaintop. We
listened to the mysterious sound of the wind too; keenly observing its flow. We
felt it deep inside, breathed it deeper. It’s very peaceful.
We continued working. We continued talking. It’s all about our lives, our little aspirations, our ideologies, our beloved ones and families, and not so much about our works. After a while, we felt sublime, peaceful.
However, the beauty is not
that I could spend my weekend away from Thimphu, but it’s this small moment of
working and sitting together with my friends in such a lovely place. I’m happy
that I’m creating a little more space for them, my soul friends.
Monday, April 14, 2014
My little world, my writing
I feel very lucky to have
found a love of writing. Here, on my blog. Quite surprisingly, this writing has
become part of me, my daily life. As I spend a huge block of my time on writing
here, almost everyday.
But I’m one person who
often writes about my own little life - my world, activities, philosophies, hopes,
and dreams. Because I feel that all other things are being written amply by
pens far mightier than mine.
I absolutely love to write about
these itsy-bitsy activities of my life. They are so little, tiny, mundane,
small, and naïve. Yet, they are part of me. All this together make me, this
very self.
I live a simple life with a
handful of friends. And what I’ve owned and done in my life is little. I know
that no one else would ever write my story. So I write it myself, with thanks,
as ever to e-blog.
My stories, blog posts, are
mostly about my home, my heart, my family and friends, my village, writing,
good books I read, walks, photography, and nature. For, they are what I focus
on the most in my life. For, they are my creative muse too.
And each post I write, there’s
still more to write. That’s the indisposition of my little world, my writing. Insatiable.
Never-ending. Writing here helps me to explore what life is all about, and I’m
always delighted in the discovery and contentment.
So much wrong happen each
day. But writing is transformative, peaceful. As I sit for a small moment
thinking and writing, it’s like I put pause from the routine and busyness of my
life. Sometimes, I put down my feelings and thoughts to get answer in my
writing.
Above all, I write to
remember, and to be remembered. Through writing, I intend to relive each moment
of my life on these pages, briefly, though it’s only about small things.
It’s through this blog that
I hope to live on for a few generations after I die. When my friends, family
members and readers go through this blog, 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.
I am not sure that I could ever
write in the future. I don’t know. I don’t know what pages of my life would
unfurl for me. I don’t know, at all. But I know this…that I am writing here!
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Pink Thimphu: Instagram pictures
I
started loving Instagram so much, lately. It seems like this online photo-sharing
and video-sharing social networking service has been designed especially for
me. Seriously. For, photography is one of my favorite engagements in everyday
life. So much so I love doing it that there isn’t a single day without my
camera clicking pictures.
What
I like most about the Instagram is its photographic filters that we can apply
to our images. And of course, it confines photos to a square shape. For a
person like me who doesn’t use Photoshop, Instagram is simply comfortable and
fun. Just capture a picture, choose a filter to transform its look and feel, use frames if you want to, and share it with my friends and family. It’s very simple, enjoyable, and
beautiful.
So today,
I offer you some of the pictures that I took on Instagram this spring. These
pictures are all the pink peach blooms of Thimphu. Enjoy much!
Monday, March 31, 2014
In its own way, the nature’s way
It was already late evening. And that I was
still in my office. But hey, I’m not an “over-sincere” civil servant. In fact,
I was waiting and just hoping that the rain would stop so that I could walk
home. But it didn’t.
So I pulled out my umbrella and marched into
the downpour, toward my home, clutching my bag to my chest. The moment I started
walking, the rain poured harder. Even the air became damper, chillier. To put
it simply, the March rain is pretty uncomfortable. Because it retains the cold,
that of the winter, unusual cold, isn’t it?
It was almost instantly dark, starkly though. Actually
Thimphu doesn’t become so dark this early in the spring. But that evening, it
was. Maybe – just maybe – it could be because of the heavy downpour, or the
dark clouds that hung so low and held the entire valley in its bosom. To me, it
all appeared like the heaven was kissing the first spring blossom of the year.
The road that I walked was virtually empty.
All shops closed and the people returned to their homes. And as I walked, I
could feel the fresh aroma of the spring in the air, its fragrance all exuded, fluxed
with the rain. I became so intoxicated. I felt as if I were in the company of a
beautiful woman, walking together. Honestly speaking.
The endless droplets of the rain splattered
against my umbrella and against the road. Some drops big, others tiny. And they
produced a rhythmic beating sound with different uneven beats. I stopped
walking, abruptly; however, not to listen to the rain sound.
I started watching the rain tapping on the pink
peach blooms and green leaves that was perfectly illuminated by the streetlamps.
They met so gently, almost playfully. Ah, it looked so passionate, so sensual, and
so surreal. Instantaneously, I was hit by a wave of something – a few questions
though.
Is this how nature mates?
Does nature really make love?
Sorry readers, I’ve no idea what really aroused
me to think about it, but there I was asking these questions. As I continued
walking, the sound of the rain enfolded me and the darkness too. But deep
inside me, it’s these questions that enfolded me overpoweringly.
As I write this post, right now, these questions still buzz beautifully in my head, my heart. I was and still am very much sure that I can’t get the answer, anyway; not even in my writing. But now I can, at least, console myself that all I could see was the mystery of wild, the wonder of nature. Perhaps heaven can make love with nature, in its own way, the nature’s way.
As I write this post, right now, these questions still buzz beautifully in my head, my heart. I was and still am very much sure that I can’t get the answer, anyway; not even in my writing. But now I can, at least, console myself that all I could see was the mystery of wild, the wonder of nature. Perhaps heaven can make love with nature, in its own way, the nature’s way.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Written out in the spring
Last
weekend, I borrowed a book, “Further Chronicles of Avonlea”, from my friend. The
book, a collection of short stories by L. M. Montgomery, includes a number of
stories relating to the inhabitants of the fictional Canadian village of
Avonlea located on Prince Edward Island. One of the stories really touched me,
coz it relates to the spring, my favorite season,
“It
was in the spring that Josephine and I had first loved each other, or, at
least, had first come into the full knowledge that we loved. I think that we
must have loved each other all our lives, and that each succeeding spring was a
word in the revelation of that love, not to be understood until, in the
fullness of time, the whole sentence was written out in that most beautiful of
all beautiful springs.”
Dear
readers, walk around, open your eyes, and be awed by the timely coming of this
year’s spring. Share love, share happiness. I hope you would have a wonderful springtime with your beloved ones!
Friday, March 14, 2014
Special little moments
It was lunchtime. Yesterday.
As usual, I walked out of my office with some of colleagues to buy lunch at my
office cafeteria. By the way, I don’t carry the packed lunch to office. It’s
pretty sad - I know it very well - both for my health and saving.
So then, I went straight to
the counter and put my order. It’s simple one - roti with emadatshi. Tea
too, because it’s still cold here in Thimphu, even at noon. After that I pushed
myself towards right.
On the wall behind the
counter, as always, I spotted a fresh quote. Every day, my office cafeteria
puts up a new inspiring quote on the wall. It’s quite thoughtful of them,
though. It could be, perhaps, this opportunity that I get to read new quote
every noon that I don’t bring my lunch to office, he-he.
And the quote is,
Happiness
comes from special little moments.
However, this particular quote
touched me in a strange new way. It penetrated me deeply. I read the words, reread
them. And I nodded, agreeing to what it has to say, so loyally.
Happiness is not tangible, we
know that. But after reading the quote, I swear I could touch it. And here, as
I type this post, I’m all smiling, still feeling that happiness.
Yes, happiness really comes
from special little moments. Like this, to me, even from reading a simple quote,
even from spending small time with my colleagues over the lunch. And you can
never guess how happy I’m putting down small little moments of my life here on
my blog.
A happy weekend, dear
readers!
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
One of the best youth-related films ever
“Chuut Wai” is the film. Both written and
directed by Phuntsok Rabten. Quite remarkably, at the 13th National Film Awards, the
150-minute long film won several awards.
As I work with a youth agency in Bhutan, I felt
very happy to know about the award and more so that I watched the film. Today
when our country is facing with new social challenges, especially youth
problems, “Chuut Wai” has brilliantly illuminated all the core issues of youth
concerns. And even through films, “Chuut Wai” lauds loudly that we can help address
youth problems.
By the way, the film is thoroughly
entertaining with very original screenplay and music. To be precise, it’s a
real cinematic treat for you - this I don’t hesitate to say. It can make you
laugh, fight with your own emotions, and cry ultimately.
Kuenzang received award for Best Newcomer (Female) |
Last month, I met the film director and I was
quite happy to learn many more things about the film from him. He told me that
“Chuut Wai” is a film adapted from real life characters from our contemporary
times.
‘Chuut Wai’ revolves around Dingay, a disillusioned
young man, who breaks down into depression, drugs and violence after his uneducated
mother commits suicide when her husband divorced her. This is a real life story
of Jigme Yosel Jigme, a recovering addict; and quite interestingly, he played
his own role in the film as Dingay.
As the film unfolds, all along you also walk with
Dingay. You are there in his story, in one form or another. Like him, you start
to loathe his father, and howl in anguish and injustice; and cling to the past
all related to the deceased mother. You become angry with everybody, everything
around you. As Dingay gets into depression and seeks solace in his horrid past
and drugs, you are also filled with a lonely, dark, and helpless feeling.
However, Dingay’s life undergoes a
transformative journey when Jigme, a visually impaired young man, comes into
his life. Even the role of Jigme is the real life story of Jigme Namgyal and he
played his own role in the film.
As the film runs through scene after scene, it
begins to take on a clear form and you can hear the film’s conscience, the
voice. Too loudly. Too clearly. At the end, the film feels like a religious
ritual that can heal your wounded spirits, your errors corrected.
This film is full of comedy; however, the
humours are real, not coarse or forced. You laugh because it happens to you
everyday, anyhow. Through comic scenes, we are enticed to reflect your own
perceptions, feelings and intentions, and rethink some of our own prejudices,
ignorance and stupidity. At the end, you are laughing at yourself only.
At one moment, Phuntsok Rabten explained me
that this film of his takes on the holistic approach to today’s social
problems. I love the resonant power of his message in the film - all relevant,
real and powerful. He has woven all our traditional values and wisdoms in the
film so beautifully. And these are something invisible and beyond our
understanding, yet we can feel them with right attitude and belief. The classroom
education is not enough to fully educate our youth, and solve social problems.
The film also has, for you, unlikely romance
and songs but of remarkable proportions. And it takes you to unexpected twists
and astonishing turns, all the way to a climatic finale. There’s good news for
you, that the film will be re-screened in Thimphu.
Photo courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/ChuutWai
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Waiting for Dasho
I was a small young man
with a small life. Just 19. Inexperienced, and naïve. That was many many years
back. My parents were farmers (still they are) – my father worked in the fields,
and mothers cooked. My village, Chuzagang, a very remote village, was a full
two-hour walk from Gelephu Town. I suppose I could begin from here, an incident
that had happened to me 11 years ago.
So every morning, my
parents would ready my journey. They prepared breakfast and pushed Nu 10 note
in my hand. Whereas, I combed my hair, dressed in fresh gho, fed on breakfast
and then set out early. To Gelephu. The Dasho Dungpa’s office. To get the
Dasho’s signature on a form for the identity card of my sister.
And I had to run across
several ungainly terraces of rice fields, avoid abuse from village youth, and
escape dogs’ chase. Worst of all, I had to walk the infamous river, Maokhola,
all alone.
At 9 in the morning, I’d
reach the Dasho Dungpa’s office in Gelephu, all exhausted, drenched in sweats. The
form has been reviewed by the admin assistant already. And outside the Dasho’s
chamber, I waited for him to arrive and get his signature on my form.
“Dasho is in a very
important meeting. He cannot come today, come tomorrow,” announced the office
assistant to us. There were four of us. I made my way back home.
The next day, again, we
waited for the Dasho outside his chamber. At times, we walked in the office and
asked the office staff about the Dasho. The staff who dressed rich and spoke
only in English never answered us properly. They got angry, instead, disconcerted
at us.
Dasho didn’t come the next
day, either, nor the day after that. And soon a week went by. By then, we were over
15, waiting for the Dasho’s signature. There was nothing for us to do until the
sun goes down. So we would walk down the office lane, bask in the sun, listen
to each others’ stories, buy lunch in canteen, and take nap and return to
waiting.
One afternoon, Dasho came
to his office, donning himself in a colourful kabney. Our hope got lifted up
and we ran into his chamber, in line, our forms in our hands. But he just walked
out. For the record, he didn’t even look at us. Then, he drove off in a big Toyota
car. We heard from others that he was going to attend his daughter’s birthday.
After a week, my parents
stopped giving me pocket money – perhaps they didn’t have it. All day, I would
yawn, scratch my head, hunger intruded. And as the sun set, I would run back
and reach home only when the dinner was cooking. This created so much of stress
even for my family. Fights broke out between my parents.
However, next morning I
would walk to the office, in a furious hope that this time, perhaps this time,
the Dasho may come.
Let me tell you something
about ‘waiting’. It’s so sickening, truthfully speaking. The waiting makes you
furious, anxious and agitated. After sometime, it becomes a pain. It pains even
if you sit, walk, talk or eat. Later, you boil, burn out – all inside. The last
stage - hopelessness and apathy engulfs you. Then, you become a mechanized monster.
So I too became a monster, then,
a hater. You never know, after that incident, how much I used to detest the
government officials, bureaucratic system and above all, Dashos. After 10 days
of painful waiting, and of course the longest 10 days of my life, I got the
form signed by the Dasho.
About a decade later, I’ve become
a civil servant too. When I think back on this particular incident, I often feel
myself with a surge of affection and pity. But today this truly helped me understand
my duties and responsibilities as a public servant. Our duty is not limited to paper
works, tours, meetings and workshops, and honing skills in public speaking and
making PowerPoint presentation, but way beyond that - to serve people.
Different people enter our
office seeking directions and support, and helps and favors. I know that it
takes your few minutes to guide or help them, but it can save their weeklong
time, traveling and money.
And way advance, I wish you all a very wonderful Losar!
And way advance, I wish you all a very wonderful Losar!
Friday, February 21, 2014
Bhutan rises in “The Land of the Rising Sun”
Which is one country that you wish
to visit in your life? And why?
I still remember writing an essay on the topic above when I
was in my High School. It was 2000. My answer and my wish that I wrote in my
essay was Japan. And I had one particular reason to visit this splendid
country, also known to us as “The Land of the Rising Sun”, to see and
understand its economic miracle.
So after 13 years, this boyhood wish of mine has been eventually
fulfilled. I got an opportunity to visit Japan in 2013 and there I traveled and
stayed in several cities and prefectures.
I found everything in Japan incredibly grand and
advanced. With over 127 million of population, it is home to the world’s largest and
technologically advanced producers of motor vehicles, electronics, machine
tools, ships and processed foods.
This country takes huge pride in acclaiming itself as the
world leader in fundamental scientific research. Moreover, it is the world's third largest donor of official development assistance, of which Bhutan too is the beneficiary.
Everything in the country is perfectly organized
and clean - from the streets to the planning and policymaking. The motor vehicles
don’t honk, and people don’t spit on the floors and walls. They respect your
time, the elderly, and seniority.
But what surprised me the
most was to know how hugely popular “King Jigme” and Bhutan in Japan. You just
can’t believe me. In fact, it’s the Japanese love for my King and Bhutan that got
me writing this post. And I’m very proud to write and post it on 34th
birth anniversary of our King.
One afternoon, I visited the
Asakusa Kannon Temple in Tokyo with other Bhutanese fellows. I was wearing my
gho and a badge (the picture of my King and Queen) attached on the gho. After
sometime, at the temple, I knew that all people were staring at me and my
Bhutanese fellows.
I was surprised, felt
awkward too. For it’s the first time in my life that I was gaining so much of
attention, that’s also in a foreign soil.
Many just murmured amongst themselves, others kept staring at me. And some
followed and approached me.
“You Bhuutaan…aah…happiness?”
they inquired me. I nodded, nervously. And their face, instantaneously, glowed
in all bright smiles.
After that they spotted the
badge on my gho. They pointed at it and exclaimed, “Aah, King Jigme!” They
recognized my King in the badge. There was so much joy in their voice, in their
reaction.
Then, they called out their
friends to have a look at the badge and to talk to me. As they looked at my
badge, they jumped in sheer excitement and ecstasy, some even clapping their
hands. And they kept uttering repeatedly, “King Jigme”.
In another occasion, we visited the Kasai Water Reclaimation Centre. There, I came across Mr. Abiko who followed me
the entire day and he talked in incredible details about Bhutan which simply
astounded me.
With Mr. Abiko |
“I save money to go to
Bhutan. Happiness country. And to meet King Jigme and Queen,” he told me in one
moment, his eyes teary, and added, “It’s my last wish.” It touched me so much that even I wanted to
cry.
Wherever you travel to Japan, any Bhutanese would receive different treatment. Even in the busyness of
life, they come forward to talk to you. You are priority, you are respected.
And you would walk your head held high.
In 2011, our King and Queen
visited Japan. This is the time when our King and Queen touched their lives -
the people of the world’s most developed country. This is something unbelievable. Their love and
respect for our King and Queen is so huge that I can’t bring myself to put it
into words. Moreover, it’s far beyond my understanding. But to know this, to
feel this in Japan, my heart swelled with pride and I was moved to tears.
So on this joyous occasion,
on 34th birth anniversary of my King, I pay all my reverence and
love for what His Majesty had done for us - your citizens and country. I wish
His Majesty a long life and keep inspiring people all around the world to
become a good human being.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The strength of young men
I came to office, this
afternoon, to complete my pending work. Once I started working in the office, I
felt how cold Thimphu has been of late. No clothes and room heaters were
keeping us warm. It’s bone chilling and exhausting.
The entire Thimphu valley has
been engulfed in dark clouds, and the cold it fetched to us was very harsh and
uncomfortable, the kind that you really don’t like. And this cold gets into your
bones, straightaway, and makes your whole body ache severely.
And here, in my office, instead
of working, I stood up praying the rain or snow to fall outright and wash away all
this clouds and cold. This is the time when I started hearing, opposite my
office, children screaming and shouting, “Punakha gi Nya-goe! Nya-goe!
Nya-goe!”
I craned out my head from
the window, and watched what was happening outside. Out in the ground, a group
of 15 children was cheering up for their friend who was pulling a pair of motor
tyres. Yes, this is exact replication of Nya-goe Dendhur, the competition for
the strongest man that BBSC organizes.
It took a little moment to
think about going outside to watch this competition. There were nine young contenders
for the competition. Each contender has been named as Punakha gi Nya-goe,
Mongar gi Nya-goe… according to their dzongkhags.
The contenders |
The competition has four
different rounds (first round, quarter, semi and the final). In each round, the
contenders have to go through four different stages of weightlifting and
pulling the tyres. I was surprised to see this competition so well
organized.
I was even more amazed to
see that all the contenders were taking the competition very seriously. They
fought with great passion, that for a moment, I wondered they can even beat me
like the way they beat the cold weather.
So I announced them I’m
going to provide prize for the winner, Nya-goe. After that, they took the
competition way more seriously. It’s wonderful to see them fighting for the
competition, created by themselves, and delighting in it. They cheered up for
each other; meanwhile, they have gathered a huge crowd of spectators.
Nyagoe Jr. with the prize |
Finally, we saw the winner
of the competition, Druk Gi Nya-goe. He completed his final task in 33 seconds.
As promised, I gave the winner a small prize. I urged them to keep practising
the Nya-goe Dendhur. We never know, one day in the future, after 15 to 20
years, these kids would be representing their respective dzongkhags in the real
Nya-goe Dendhur.
As I returned office to
continue my work, the sky slowly cleared the dark clouds. After almost a week,
I saw a glimpse of the sun, oh god, I feel good.
Dear readers, stay warm and
happy weekend!
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Let’s read, and change the way we live
As all things do, the cold
winter here in Thimphu is almost instantly over. The snow fallen, the winter
vacation all done. And it simply excites me to embrace, back again, the warm
Thimphu, the one that’s generously pleasant and beautiful.
This means that I can go
out on walk frequently, attend social activities and shoot more pictures. And
quite hopefully, I can write my blog more vigorously and get treat to read
wonderful stories from you too.
So on this pleasant day, let
me share this particular story of my life with you; for I believe that you can
relate to me, my story. When my parents first sent me to the school, they had
in their minds that his son would learn to read and write and become an important
person in his life.
They wanted that his son was
not going to grow up illiterate like them. So I attended schools and learned
how to read and write. It opened my eyes; I’ve become a literate person.
To them, my parents, to
make me literate mean that other people won’t be able to cheat me. Because that
I would be able to read, write, and do maths calculation. Read the notice and
boards when I have to travel. Read and write application and letters. Above all,
I would get to work in the government office.
That’s all.
Last month, back in my
village, I was reading a book outside at the courtyard of my house. A fellow-villager
who passed by looked at me in surprise. It’s not because that I was there,
but I was reading the book.
“At this age…when you’ve
already finished studying…and doing job now, eh!” he talked to me, confused,
and asked, “Why you read book?”
I wanted to answer him
right away, and tell him so many things. But I just smiled at him, and
continued reading.
The truth is that in the
Bhutanese way of life, generally, reading ends once you complete your studies.
And writing is limited to writing letters, application and other necessary
documents. Perhaps this mentality in us that the reading habit amongst is very
low, and we keep passing it on to next generation.
So our generation really
needs to break this cycle. That education is not limited to school and college,
but it walks with you until your last breath. That from this pleasant spring
season, let’s buy books and start reading so that our children follow us.
And a very Happy Valentine’s
Day!
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Standing near, being close
This year’s January is a
month of relatively happy times. For me, and my family members. More eloquently,
it’s the month of family, of reunion, of joy and celebrations. By the way, we
are over 40. My father married two wives, my mothers. Altogether, we are 11
siblings. Most already got married and have kids, and some still are single.
All of us are spread in different places - working, married off and
studying.
So when you’ve a giant
family like mine, it’s always very difficult for all of you to get together.
However, this winter, all of us met in our village, after many many years. It’s
the family reunion, to put it precisely.
I don’t know about you, but
spending time with my family members and beloved ones close by is simply transformative
and wonderful. It’s truly a blessing.
In our family get-together,
in the month of last January, we spent our time together creating loads of
stories and memories that I’m sure we will cherish and laugh for decades.
We made memories in small, loving bites - one memory at a time. That we went out for outdoor picnic, that we played together, that we helped each other in the fields, that we attended to family rituals, that we drank and danced hysterically, that we shared our laughter limitlessly.
We made memories in small, loving bites - one memory at a time. That we went out for outdoor picnic, that we played together, that we helped each other in the fields, that we attended to family rituals, that we drank and danced hysterically, that we shared our laughter limitlessly.
And when something good
happened, no matter how small, we celebrated it. This is how we built a legacy
- a legacy of my family and village that we were born into and what we can
preserve and pass it down.
Also, we nudged on each
other, argued at times and bothered sometimes. But it’s ok because it’s part of
being close and caring for each other. In fact, we are part of each other’s
lives and the protectors. We’re always there (in our prayers too) if some of us
are about to slip.
We all know that this world
is very fragile. So much unexpected things can happen in our life, anytime. No
one can apprehend it. Ever. When my own beloved ones are close by, standing
near, I feel safe and happy. More importantly, we are sacrificing our time for
our parents and family members that are so very important in our life.
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