PR

I created my PR profile in March 2025, when little Norzang was barely a month old. Life was overwhelming, yet I pushed myself to sit for IELTS, hoping to secure a competitive score. Unfortunately, my marks weren’t enough to strengthen my profile. In September, my wife and Norzang travelled to Bhutan, and with a quiet home and renewed determination, I decided to attempt CELPIP—even without much practice. Three days later, my results came out. They weren’t perfect, but they were good enough to push me forward. Within the very next month, I received my ITA. My wife and I could not have been more thrilled.

Since TNC Consultancy had helped create my PR profile, I contacted them again to continue processing my application—especially because they had assured me of a discount for returning clients. That was when the real journey began. I paid CAD 4,200, received a checklist, and thankfully, because I had been gathering documents for months, I managed to compile and submit nearly everything within two weeks. IRCC gave me the standard two-month submission window.

The one document that worried me from the start was the Indian Police Clearance Certificate, since I had studied there for three years. TNC told me to inform them if any document seemed impossible to obtain. I clearly explained that getting an Indian PCC was beyond my reach—I had no contacts in India anymore. I followed up again after a few days, but there was no response.

Meanwhile, my wife—who was still in Bhutan and preparing to return to Canada—was able to secure our Bhutanese police clearances while she was in Thimphu. Around the same time, due to new IRCC policy changes, PR applicants were required to submit upfront medicals. We got ours done at Imperial Medical Clinic near Walmart in Richmond. I also reached out to my former chief at the Bhutanese Embassy in Brussels and obtained a supporting letter for my home country work experience.

Then, during the final week of our submission period, TNC informed us that my wife needed to return to Thimphu because she was listed as a non-accompanying dependent. This was shocking. Had they advised us earlier, we could have acted accordingly. We had paid for timely, proper guidance, yet crucial advice came at the very last moment. With no other choice left, we prepared a justification letter to avoid receiving a Procedural Fairness Letter from IRCC.

To make matters worse, the consultant suddenly told me that without the Indian PCC, they could not submit my application at all. Desperate, I sought help from my friend Phurpa, who was in India for diplomatic training and had connections through FSI. My hope was that he could expedite the process through the proper authorities. I waited anxiously, but days passed without a response.

Stressed beyond words, I then contacted Lhamo Tashi in Dehradun. Coincidentally, he had just returned to the city and welcomed a newborn daughter—beautiful news that felt like a good omen. Despite being busy, he was willing to help, but he needed a bonafide or proof-of-residence letter from my university. It was a Saturday, but I emailed them anyway, worried. To my relief, they issued the letter within hours.

I forwarded everything to Tashi, who also advised me to apply online so he could follow up locally. I informed him, but again, no response afterwards—understandably, he had family responsibilities.

Running out of time, I decided to take matters into my own hands. On Tuesday, I visited BLS after reading online that they accepted walk-ins. I arrived around 11 a.m., but the security guard told me I was 12th in line and the office closed at 1 p.m. I placed my name anyway. Unfortunately, I wasn’t called in time and had to leave for work.

The next morning, determined not to lose another day, I informed my employer that I would arrive late and planned to queue up early at BLS. That night, before my alarm even rang, I woke up and saw a message from Phurpa—he had somehow managed to obtain a PCC from Dehradun Police Station. My wife and I were overjoyed. I submitted it immediately, contacted the consultancy, and headed to work with newfound relief.

But the relief didn’t last long. Just after boarding the train at Lansdowne, TNC called saying that the document was from the local police station and IRCC required it from the headquarters. My frustration was beyond words. This was advice that should have been given at the very beginning—not at the final hour.

With no other option, my wife and I decided to visit BLS again the next morning, this time aiming to obtain an official receipt showing that the PCC process had been initiated at the Indian consulate. We woke at 4 a.m., reached downtown BLS by 4:45 a.m., and were the first in line. After waiting three hours, the doors finally opened at 8 a.m. Inside, we faced another hurdle: my BC ID listed my previous address, which did not match my current home address. To avoid delays, we decided to pay the service fees—CAD 165 in total—and submitted the application.

We immediately forwarded the receipt to the consultancy, and my wife followed up for the final confirmation. On Friday the 28th, after weeks of stress, frantic coordination, unexpected obstacles, and countless early mornings, my final PR application submission was completed.

A Journey in Patience and Purpose

Moving to a new place is never just a change of address—it’s the beginning of an entirely new life. Everything must be built from the ground up, and in the whirlwind of adjustment, one truth hit me harder than anything else: proper planning makes all the difference.

In the first year and a half, my focus was singular—finish my studies as fast as possible. It wasn’t just about academics; it was about easing the weight on my wife’s shoulders. Watching her work tirelessly to fund my tuition was both inspiring and heartbreaking. Her sacrifices became the silent fuel that pushed me forward.

Once the studies wrapped up, the next hurdle loomed: the work permit. What followed was a long, uncertain wait—weeks stretching into months, heavy with anxiety. But eventually, I crossed that gate too. I had made it through another storm.

Then came the biggest realization of all—planning for Permanent Residency (PR). At first, it was tempting to grab any job, just to start contributing and catch up. But deep down, I knew: this journey wasn't just about short-term survival. It was about building a future, a secure one.

I watched my friends juggle multiple jobs, pulling in good income. I questioned myself constantly—Am I not working hard enough? Just one job didn’t seem sufficient for my family. My wife and I both shared the weight of that feeling, as though we were being too soft on ourselves. The urge to take on more was overwhelming.

But I kept reminding myself: this is a season of sacrifice. For now, I have to hold back—just for a while. Let the months pass. Let go of quick wins in favor of long-term security. Once I secure my PR, I can choose the path I truly want. Until then, I must endure, plan, and be patient.

Language proficiency was one of the keys to unlocking this path. Without the right score, I’d have to wait another year to gain points through work experience. That’s when I consulted Jensen Johnson Immigration, and they opened my eyes to a strategy I hadn’t considered—I was eligible for the Federal Skilled Worker stream.

If only I had a stronger language score earlier, I could’ve qualified as early as mid-2024. Still, I moved forward. They advised me to create an Express Entry profile after six months of experience in a TEER 0–3 category. At the time, I wasn’t in a skilled role.

But fate had other plans.

In August 2024, I was hired as a Graphic Designer, falling into TEER 2. The job was far—two hours each way, every day—but I took it in stride. I needed the experience, and that made the daily four-hour commute worth it.

By March 2025, after six months of work, I created my Express Entry profile. The score came in—low. Anxiety crept back in. I tried the language test several times, but my motivation wasn’t what it once was. The questions were manageable, but time management tripped me up. Life, too, was moving fast—our son had just been born. I was balancing work, long commutes, family, and the constant pressure of immigration timelines.

A year passed, and I found another graphic design job, this time closer, in East Hastings Street. One quiet day, I decided to update my language score on the system—and suddenly, my score spiked.

It was like a shot of energy straight to the heart. That glimmer of progress reignited my drive. With renewed determination, I registered for the test again, even as my wife and son traveled back to Bhutan in early September.

This time, I performed better. Still, I knew I had more in me. But when I entered the new score into my Express Entry profile, something incredible happened—my total score leaped beyond even the highest previous IRCC draw.

And then, like a dream crystallizing into reality, it happened.

On October 2, IRCC announced a draw. The cutoff was 534—my score was beyond and above it. I saw the news mid-day but couldn’t access my email until the evening. I called my wife, and we both held our breath. She had been praying for this moment.

And then I saw it: Invitation to Apply (ITA).

I had made it.

The very next day, I reached out to the immigration consultant and started the process. Payments made, documents gathered, forms filled.

Now, I wait—hopeful, prepared, and grateful. Every sacrifice, every delay, every missed hour of sleep had led to this point.

Bless us, Tsawai Lam. Let the path ahead be clear.

Ten thousand miles without a cloud

It was the fantastical charm of The Legend of the Monkey King that first drew me in—whirling spells, mythical creatures, and tales of miracles captured my imagination. But as the story unfolded, I began to realize that beneath the playful magic lay a far deeper truth—one centered not on the Monkey King himself, but on the quiet, determined monk who journeyed alongside him.

Xuanzang—his name etched in both legend and history—was no ordinary pilgrim. Long before his tale was dramatized in folklore, he embarked on a formidable quest from China, across the shifting sands of Central Asia, and into the heart of India. His journey, spanning 18 long years, was not just a physical odyssey but a profound search for the purest essence of Buddhism. He walked through four vast landscapes—historical, cultural, spiritual, and deeply personal—documenting with piercing clarity the world as it existed between 602 and 664 AD. At Nalanda University, the intellectual epicenter of ancient Buddhism, Xuanzang studied deeply and emerged with a nuanced, enlightened understanding of the faith he had sought so tirelessly.

When Xuanzang returned to China, his fame had already preceded him. Emperor Taizong, recognizing the monk’s vast knowledge and the reverence he had earned, wished to appoint him to a position within the imperial court. But this was far from Xuanzang’s own vision—his heart was set on sharing the spiritual treasures he had gathered, not on serving in political circles.

The emperor was reportedly displeased by this refusal. Fortunately, a wise intervention came from one of Xuanzang’s relatives, who diplomatically persuaded the emperor to allow him the freedom to document his experiences instead. And so, with imperial blessing, Xuanzang began to write—giving birth to the monumental work known as Records of the Western Regions, a timeless chronicle of his extraordinary journey through lands, cultures, and the soul of Buddhism.

Ironically, while his writings captured a vibrant Buddhist world, time was not kind to the religion in India. Centuries later, Buddhism waned and withered, nearly vanishing from its birthplace. It wasn’t until the era of British India that many of its sacred sites—including Bodhgaya—were rediscovered, largely thanks to the meticulous chronicles left behind by Xuanzang.

In 1999, another traveler—Sun Shuyun—set out to retrace his footsteps. Following the ancient Silk Road from Handan to India and back, she sought to experience what Xuanzang had seen, but her account is painted with the hues of melancholy. So much had changed—lands, peoples, and even faiths. Her narrative, though lengthy, was deeply moving, revealing not only the erosion of time but also the enduring power of one man's devotion to truth.

And in the end, it was not the Monkey King's magic that lingered in my mind—but the quiet, unwavering courage of the monk who walked across worlds to bring enlightenment home.

2025 Reading List

 1. Ten Thousand Miles without a Cloud

-Sun Shuyun (27/09/2025)

2. 80% mindset, 20% Skills

-Dev Gadhvi (05/10/2025)

3. The 10X Rule

-Grant Carson (14/11/2025: 8:51am)

8th September 2025

On September 6th, I wanted my little Norzang to meet my friends Joemar and Mercy, so we reached out to them. They arrived just past one in the afternoon to pick us up, asking if we had any particular plans for the day. I told them we had none—only the simple wish for my son to see them before his departure.

They decided to take us to Metrotown Mall, about a twenty-five–minute drive from our home. Once there, we wandered through shops and shared a meal together. Susan and her family soon joined us, and our gathering grew into a cheerful crowd. Mercy, out of her boundless generosity, purchased several clothes for both Norzang and Chador. At first, I felt a wave of hesitation—our intention was only to let them meet Norzang, not to burden them with such kindness. But their gestures were rooted in love, and we could only accept with heartfelt gratitude. Susan too added to the joy, bringing her own gifts of clothes for Norzang.

Through it all, my little boy remained cheerful and cooperative, radiating a quiet happiness that seemed to reach everyone present. Wherever we go, it feels as though he carries with him a light that brightens the hearts around him. That is Norzang—true to his name, a blessing, just as Rinpoche intended when bestowing it upon him.

Now, only one day remains before his departure. An emptiness has begun to creep quietly into my heart, a hollow space that will deepen once his laughter, his coos, even his cries are no longer by my side. I know I will miss him deeply—every sound, every smile—until the day of his return.

Knight Street

Just eight more days to go, and little Norzang continues to be the heart of every room. His smile—innocent yet mischievous—has become his signature, a memory etched into anyone who meets him.

This long weekend, with Labour Day falling on September 1st, we decided to take him farther from Richmond than ever before since his birth. Our destination was Knight Street, where Norbu Zangmo and Tashi live. The trip was a small adventure in itself: first, the 407 bus till Cooney Road, then a transferred to the 430. The ride was calm, the bus half-empty, and the rhythm of the road almost soothing.

Once we arrived, the day unfolded gently. Norbu Zangmo started preparing a wonderful meal, and together we shared a warm lunch that felt like more than just food—it was togetherness. By evening, around five, it was time to head back. They walked us all the way to the bus stop, a small gesture of affection that never goes unnoticed.

The return, however, was a different story. The 430 was crowded, and Norzang, already deprived of sleep all day, grew restless. His mood shifted quickly; my wife and I tried every trick to keep him entertained, but his fatigue weighed heavier. From Bridgeport we changed the bus, yet his fussiness lingered. Just a few stops before home, he cried in frustration, and we had to work harder to soothe him.

At last, we reached home, bathed him, and watched him finally surrender to sleep. A brief rest for him meant a brief rest for us, too. Later that night, Chador and I slipped out for a quick shop at TNT, leaving Norzang with Kam Dem and Shacha. Yet even then, he was unsettled. The moment we returned, his little face lit up with joy—proof that he has already imprinted his parents’ presence deep in his mind.

But because of his evening nap, sleep at night did not come easy. As always, it ended with us whispering lullabies, guiding him into dreams.

Norzang’s growth—his tiny victories, his stubborn moods, his radiant smile—unfolds like a story I never tire of reading. It is a journey, tender and profound, that I am lucky enough to behold.

Written on September 1st, 2025, at 10:12 a.m., while he was being fed by his mother 

27 on 23 July 2025

The clock gently chimes 23rd July, ushering 27th Years of living, marking another year of your graceful bloom. With every passing moment, you grow not just in age, but in strength, in wisdom, and in the quiet elegance that defines you.

You are, without doubt, one of the most cherished souls in my life—your presence brings depth, light, and meaning to my every day.

You’ve given so much—more than words can capture—and you continue to give with a heart so generous that I often wonder how I got so lucky. As my dearest friend, my beloved wife, and the most nurturing mother to our beautiful son, you are the thread that weaves our family together, the strength behind our every stride forward.

Though I may not place a valuable gift in your hands today, what I offer is something far more enduring: a love that belongs only to you, held gently in my heart every single day.

To the one I owe so much—Happy Birthday, my love. May your journey ahead be long, joyful, and full of health and laughter.

Happy Birthday, my dearest! 🎉❤️

Tsawwassen Mills

July 19, 2025, was one of those heartwarming days stitched with simple joys and the comfort of familiar faces. It had been a while since we last saw Joe and Mercy—our dear friends who have stood by us since we first stepped foot in Vancouver. The last time we gathered was shortly after Norzang’s birth, and life had moved so quickly since then.

At around 1:30 in the afternoon, Joe and Mercy arrived to pick us up. We first made our way to their home, where Joemar, ever thoughtful, had brought along pizza and juice so we could share a small meal together. As laughter echoed and Netflix played softly in the background, the warmth of friendship settled in.

After a while, they asked if we’d like to go out somewhere. We agreed, and our little adventure took us to Tsawwassen Mills—a sprawling mall just a short drive from Richmond. It was a first for all three of us—my wife, myself, and little Norzang—and the place was bustling with summer shoppers. Amid the sea of people, we picked out a pair of shoes, while Mercy and Joemar, in their ever-generous spirit, showered Norzang with clothes. We remain endlessly grateful for the way they care for us, like extended family.

Their presence in our lives has been a blessing. From day one, through every big and small moment, they’ve been there—helping, guiding, and quietly lifting us up. I often wonder how we’ll ever return all the kindness they’ve poured into our lives. I hope we can, someday.

As for Norzang, true to his nature, he remained calm and cheerful throughout the day—his little eyes wide with curiosity, his tiny hands reaching out toward the newness of it all. He didn’t cry much, making everything easier and even more enjoyable.

It was a full day in every sense—filled with love, gratitude, new experiences, and quiet contentment. A memory to carry forward.

Written on July 21, 2025, at 5:37 p.m. while returning from Burnaby.

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Audience with JDKR

 In a land where diversity blooms like a vibrant garden — where cultures, faiths, and philosophies converge in harmony — the air feels thick with the yearning for peace. For the Bhutanese diaspora, especially those far from the towering Himalayas and prayer-flagged temples of home, the arrival of revered Rinpoches is more than just a spiritual event. It’s a reconnection — a gentle reawakening of identity and tradition.

On the 13th of July, 2025, the city of Vancouver became sacred ground for many of us, as Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche graced it with his presence. My wife had long held this day close to her heart — she dreamt not only of receiving his blessings but also of offering our son Norzang’s first haircut under his sacred gaze. A symbol, perhaps, of surrender and fresh beginnings.

The organizing team graciously shared the schedule, and we decided to accompany our friends Dorji and Sangay, whose group had a vehicle. That morning felt enchanted. As if sensing the importance of the occasion, Norzang beamed with an unusual delight, giggling, cooing, and waving his tiny hands with joy. We dressed him in his best and together made our way to 8240 Chester Street, nestled off Marine Drive.

We arrived just in time. The room, filled with fellow devotees, pulsed with a serene anticipation. When Rinpoche entered, calm and radiant, all hearts stilled. In reverence, attendees, through the volunteers, offered three heartfelt songs — a humble gesture of devotion. What followed was a cascade of blessings: the transmissions of Guru Rinpoche, Güru Drakpo, and Arya Tara — each syllable weaving threads of light into our spirits.

In his brief yet profound talk, Rinpoche urged us not to forget who we are — our roots, our values, our cultural essence. But he also gently prepared us for the tides of change. The next generation, he said, would not mirror the old ways exactly — and we must meet this evolution not with resistance, but readiness. His words sank deep — a wisdom both comforting and cautionary.

Then, as the gathering neared its end and Rinpoche prepared to leave, my wife, with her unwavering heart, approached the organizers. Through her quiet determination, she was granted the wish dearest to her — Norzang’s first haircut by Rinpoche himself. That moment, simple yet powerful, felt like the closing of a karmic circle — our son was blessed not only with sacred words but also a new path.

We returned home that day with spirits uplifted and hearts full. The experience was not just a blessing — it was a moment stitched into our family’s story forever. And as we continue on our journey in a distant land, we carry with us the hope that Rinpoche may live long and continue guiding countless beings toward light and liberation.

Final Day of my 4th Job

Some days stretch endlessly from dawn till dusk, but today carries a different feeling — a quiet sense of completion and new beginnings. This marks the final chapter of my nearly year-long journey between Richmond and Surrey, a stretch of time filled with lessons, frustrations, small victories, and countless reflections.

I carry deep gratitude for those long days that tested my patience and shaped my determination. I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, to embrace the journey itself, even while striving for better outcomes. With each layer of experience, I hope I am inching closer to where I truly want to be — to a place where effort and reward finally align.

Starting next week, on June 14th, 2025, my path takes a new turn, from Richmond to Vancouver. A new chapter, a fresh beginning. I step forward with hope, trusting that the road ahead holds fresh opportunities and growth.

-7:51am in the Bus no. 407 

Trelda Tsechu 2025

July 5th, 2025 — the 10th day of the 5th lunar month — unfolded as one of the most sacred occasions in our Buddhist calendar: the Birth Anniversary of Guru Padmasambhava. Like countless devotees worldwide, I hold a deep and unwavering reverence for Guru Rinpoche. This day carries an extra layer of meaning for our family. Around this same time last year, in 2024, my wife had a remarkable dream — a dream we didn’t fully understand then, but looking back, it feels like a gentle sign from the universe, perhaps hinting at Norzang’s arrival into our lives. In that light, this blessed day now carries both spiritual and personal joy for us.

This year, we made our way to Thrangu Monastery once again to offer our heartfelt prayers and supplications to Guru Rinpoche. For Norzang, this was technically his second Trelda Tsechu, though it felt like his first true celebration of the day outside the womb. We brought him to receive blessings, and one thing that always fills me with gratitude is his cheerful cooperation whenever we take him on these little pilgrimages. He was radiant with joy, laughing and soaking in the colors and sounds of the sacred surroundings.

My wife and I caught the midday bus, timing our visit so we would arrive when the monastery reopened at 1:30 PM after the lunch break. We reached around 1:15, and already groups of devoted volunteers had gathered, filling the air with chanting and prayer. Although we couldn’t stay for the evening prayer session, the few hours we spent there felt deeply fulfilling. After offering a butter lamp and guiding Norzang to receive blessings, we did a peaceful round of circumambulation before boarding the bus back.

On our way home, we made a brief stop at Lanesdown Mall to finalize our WiFi subscription contract. While wandering through the mall, Norzang’s curious eyes fell upon a collection of dolls. He may not yet understand what they are, but something about their bright colors captivated him, so I bought him a small doll as a keepsake of this joyful day.

And so, we returned home with full hearts and gentle smiles, grateful for a day beautifully spent. May we be blessed with countless more years to celebrate Guru Rinpoche’s birth. May his compassion continue to light our way and ease the sufferings of the world.

30th-Last day of June 2025

Just woke to our second morning in the new place, greeted by golden sunbeams boldly cutting through the blind ray—a bright start to a fresh chapter. Norzang was already wide awake, full of joy, his cheerful shouts echoing through the quiet morning. As usual, I set out along Richmond–Surrey Road, though the heat of summer is making its presence known more and more each day.

My brother remains behind for one final task—clearing out the last of his belongings from our old room. Within a few hours, he too will bid farewell to that familiar space. That home wasn’t just a roof over our heads; it was a place where my family shared beautiful memories, and I was gifted the time to truly bond with them.

Though he’s chosen to live closer to his workplace and we’ll now be in neighboring cities, I hold hope that this new independence will shape him, teach him lessons that help him grow into the man he’s meant to become. I wish him strength to face whatever challenges lie ahead and the wisdom to walk his path with courage.

As we all move forward in our separate directions, may our journeys be guided by light, and may each of us—and everyone seeking hope—find a brighter, smoother road ahead.

Written on the morning of June 30, 2025, at 8:19 a.m., while crossing the bridge from Richmond to Surrey.

༦༥༡༡ Gilbert Road

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost two years since we made Elmbridge Court on Gilbert Road our home. Room 321 wasn’t just a space—it became a vessel of memories, carrying with it waves of joy, frustration, laughter, and quiet reflection. Our time here has been nothing short of meaningful.

This third-floor room gave us the most precious gift of all—Norzang. He was conceived here, and for the first four months of his little life, this was his world. It’s where he first heard sounds, discovered light, and began exploring life. One day, he’ll read this and know that this place was his first haven.

On Saturday, June 28, 2025, we woke up early—so did Norzang, as if sensing the change. With the help of my brother Sangay and a kind Bhutanese driver named Tobden, we made two trips to move our belongings. We’re deeply thankful to the managers—Anna, Ladh, and Jey—who were always so kind and supportive. This building also carries memories of my wife working tirelessly as a cleaner here for nearly a year, until she stepped into her new role as Norzang’s mother.

There are countless moments etched into this space—walks around the football field, afternoons at Minoru Park right across the street, quiet evenings watching the seasons change. We’ll surely miss it all, but we’re not going far. And one day, I know Norzang will return here to reconnect with his very first home.

As I write this, we are just minutes away from leaving—Norzang sleeps soundly on my lap, unaware of the new chapter beginning. We’re moving just a few kilometers away, but the memories we’ve built here will travel with us.

With love in my heart and hope for the days ahead, may the next journey be even more beautiful.