“A monk strides past, beads clicking, wrapped in his ochre cocoon, carrying the kind of certainty I can’t seem to hold onto.”
Nowhere, Somewhere, Everywhere
The air is thin in Thimphu. Thin like the veil between past and present, like the space between knowing and not knowing.
Last night, I got lost in old photos, each one a postcard from another life—Kyiv’s cold blue mornings, Saigon’s ‘Bread and Butter Pub’ nights, Bogotá’s thundercloud afternoons, Paris in art, Miami burning bright. I let them wash over me, these ghosts of past selves, all those cities where I was briefly someone, then no one, then gone.
I sip my coffee at a nameless café, watching the morning unfold. A monk strides past, beads clicking, wrapped in his ochre cocoon, carrying the kind of certainty I can’t seem to hold onto. The traffic cop stands straight-backed, radio in hand, a fixed point in a world that shifts beneath my feet.
I don’t know where I’m going next. I never have. But the road—she always finds me.
“The traffic cop stands straight-backed, radio in hand, a fixed point in a world that shifts beneath my feet.”
On Confidence, Solitude, and the Quiet Courage of My Students
Reading my students’ essays today has left me feeling existential. Their words, their struggles, their dreams—they all sit with me. Many of them dream of travel, of seeing the world beyond Bhutan. But what strikes me most is how many of them aspire to something I’ve never thought twice about: the confidence to walk into a restaurant or café alone, to order a coffee, to sit with themselves.
It’s a quiet kind of courage, one I’ve taken for granted.
For the past 22 years, I’ve lived as a nomad, moving from country to country, city to city. Sitting alone in a café, watching the world move around me, has always been my preference. It’s where I feel most at home. I’ve never needed to summon the courage to do it—it’s simply who I am. But for my students, it’s a milestone, a step toward self-assurance, toward independence.
And that humbles me.
It reminds me to never take my freedom for granted. The ability to move through the world with ease, to find joy in solitude, to sit alone without questioning my place—these are privileges, built on years of experience, maybe even an innate confidence I never had to develop.
But for my students, confidence isn’t always innate. It’s something they reach for. And I see that in their writing, in their longing to step beyond their comfort zones, in their quiet dreams of sitting in a café alone, ordering a meal without hesitation.
It makes me wonder: When did something so small, so ordinary to me, become an act of bravery for them?
Maybe that’s the lesson for today. What we take for granted might be someone else’s mountain to climb. And what we see as effortless, others might see as courage.
The tiger’s eyes burn through the wall, wide and unblinking, caught somewhere between fury and wisdom. It is not just paint on plaster—it is a presence, a reminder, a guardian from an older world where symbols hold power and myths walk alongside the living. In Bhutanese Buddhism, the tiger is strength, protection, a force that does not hesitate. And yet, in the way its body stretches and curls, there is movement, a restless energy pressing against the surface, as if it might leap free, off this wall, at any moment. In Thimphu, these symbols are everywhere, woven into the streets, the temples, the fabric of daily life. You pass by them without thinking, until one day, you don’t. You stop. You meet the tiger’s gaze, and for a moment, you understand—this place is alive in ways you can’t quite explain. I notice them everywhere. 🐅 ☸️
I saw that dragon, that crazy serpentine beast dancing up the mint-green wall like some holy apparition rising through Himalayan mist, all spotted and scaled and breathing fire-clouds that curl like the smoke from a thousand butter lamps in the dawn. Always passing by it in a taxi, today, I decided to walk to it.
And there hanging, this massive prayer wheel with its ancient Sanskrit wisdom etched in gold against white, turning turning turning with the weight of centuries, each rotation sending mantras spinning into the thin mountain air where snow-capped peaks pierce the belly of heaven itself.
The dragon’s eyes fierce with enlightenment, its body twisting through realms of samsara while that QR code sits there like some modern mandala, digital dharma beaming straight into the 21st century, while the accordion-fold gate stands sentinel, all geometric and patient, watching the eternal dance of ancient and now, now and forever, forever and now.
Everything’s connected here.
This is Bhutan, crystallized in one corner, one moment, where the dragons still dance and the wheels still turn and the ancient wisdom meets the digital age in a sublime cosmic shuffle that’d make the Buddha himself snap his fingers in holy beat appreciation, digging the ever-flowing now of it all.
Closeups of paintings of great historical characters from Bhutanese Buddhism ☸️ displayed on a chorten near the Old Faithful tree.
1- This is Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava), the revered Buddhist master who brought Vajrayana Buddhism to Bhutan and Tibet in the 8th century. He is considered the “Second Buddha” and is credited with subduing demonic forces, blessing sacred sites, and establishing Buddhism as the dominant spiritual tradition in Bhutan. His teachings and hidden treasures (terma) continue to shape Bhutanese Buddhist practice today. 2-This is Pema Lingpa, one of Bhutan’s greatest tertons (treasure revealers). He was a 15th-century saint and spiritual master who discovered sacred Buddhist teachings (terma) hidden by Guru Rinpoche. Pema Lingpa’s prophecies, visions, and contributions to Bhutanese culture, including sacred dances and religious texts, remain influential in Bhutanese Buddhism today.3-This is Palden Lhamo (also known as Mahakali), the fierce female protector deity (Dharmapala) in Bhutanese and Tibetan Buddhism. She is the wrathful guardian of the Buddhist teachings and the only female among the Eight Dharma Protectors. Depicted with a flaming aura, wearing a garland of skulls, and riding a mule across a sea of blood, she is associated with wisdom, protection, and the destruction of obstacles on the spiritual path.4-This appears to be Shakyamuni Buddha (also known as Buddha Gautama or the historical Buddha) depicted in traditional Bhutanese thangka painting style. He is shown in his classic meditation pose, wearing orange monastic robes adorned with floral patterns, sitting on a lotus throne, with a golden complexion and the urna (third eye mark) on his forehead. The sun and moon symbols in the background are also typical elements of Buddhist iconography.
The Old Faithful Tree of Changzamtog: The Legacy of Drukpa Kunley
“Let this tree stand for those who seek wisdom and those who seek mischief—both will find shelter beneath it.” ———————- This ancient tree, said to be over several centuries old, is not only known for its imposing presence but also for its legendary ties to Drukpa Kunley, the Divine Madman.
According to local legend, when Drukpa Kunley passed through Changzamtog on one of his many journeys, he stopped beneath what would later be called the Old Faithful Tree. He rested under its shade, meditated, and shared his teachings with a small group of villagers. It is said that before he left, he struck the ground with his dungchen (ritual staff) and proclaimed that a great tree would grow here, one that would stand the test of time and serve as a silent guardian of the land.
Bhutan is often painted as some mystical kingdom, a paradise tucked away in the Himalayas, where Gross National Happiness (GNH) replaces GDP, and people live in harmony with nature and tradition. It is a compelling ideal—one that has brought travelers, seekers, and dreamers like myself, to its mountains, hoping to find a world untouched by the pressures of modern life. And in some ways, it is like that, but in other ways, it is not.
What happens when the myth meets reality?
For those who live here, Bhutan is not just a land of fluttering prayer flags and serene monks. (Even though this photo I took in February 2025 may say otherwise.) In reality, it is very much still a developing country with the same struggles as any other—youth unemployment, economic dependence, rural-to-urban migration, and a generation caught between the past and the future. The philosophy of GNH, though admirable, does not shield people from hardship. While Bhutan measures progress differently, it is still vulnerable to the forces of globalization, climate change, and an increasingly materialistic world.
The disillusionment comes not from the failure of Bhutan itself, but from the unrealistic expectations placed upon it. Tourists and outsiders arrive expecting enlightenment, only to find WiFi cafes in Thimphu, social media-fueled aspirations, and young Bhutanese dreaming of life abroad. Even for those within the country, the promise of GNH can sometimes feel like an illusion—how happy can one be when opportunities feel limited, when tradition and modernity clash, when the reality of daily life is far more complicated than government policies suggest? A lot of this insight comes from students’ writing assignments in my Prose Writing class.
And yet, even in disillusionment, Bhutan remains unique. The country is not a utopia, but it is trying. While others chase economic growth at all costs, Bhutan still values the intangible—community, environment, cultural preservation. It is not perfect, but perhaps the real beauty lies in the struggle itself: the attempt to balance old and new, happiness and development, myth and reality.
Maybe the disillusionment is necessary. Only by seeing Bhutan for what it truly is—not just a dream, but a living, evolving nation—can we appreciate its real story. One that is neither perfect nor broken, but simply, deeply human.
A lama (spiritual leader) walks alone across Clock Tower Square in Thimphu, Bhutan. 🇧🇹 ( 📸 : always by me, February 2025)
Solitude in the Last Shangri-La
There is a quiet magic to being alone in Bhutan. A solitude that is not loneliness, but something richer—an immersion into the slow rhythm of a country that exists between past and present, tradition and modernity, simplicity and complexity.
For 22 years, I have wandered, a nomad in search of something just beyond the horizon. I have seen solitude in many forms—on vast desert roads, in neon-lit cities, in the hum of unfamiliar languages—but in Bhutan, solitude feels different. Here, it is not an emptiness to be filled but a presence to be embraced.
This is a land often called the last Shangri-La, a phrase both true and misleading. To outsiders, Bhutan is a mystery, a nation of prayer flags fluttering against Himalayan peaks, of monks in deep meditation, of Gross National Happiness (GNH) instead of GDP. But how are the people, really?
The truth is more layered than the tourist brochures suggest. Bhutanese life is both simple and intricate, woven from centuries of Buddhist philosophy, rural traditions, and an evolving modern identity. Villages still operate on an economy of barter and belief, while Thimphu’s youth dance between their cultural roots and global influences. The GNH philosophy—often misunderstood as a utopian dream—is not about relentless joy, but about balance, about measuring progress in more human terms.
And yet, the realities of a developing country remain. The economy is small, opportunities can feel limited, and Bhutanese youth increasingly look outward. Solitude, too, is not always a choice here—many live in remote villages where isolation is a fact of life, not a meditative retreat.
For those of us who seek solitude, Bhutan offers an introspection that few places can. A silent afternoon in a monastery’s courtyard—these moments remind us that solitude is not about being away from people, but about being present with oneself.
Perhaps that is Bhutan’s greatest gift to me, a wandering soul. The permission to be alone, without being lost. For the time being.
