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. 

Friday, June 27

Life has been moving at a whirlwind pace lately, and amidst all the chaos, our family made the big decision to relocate to a new place. It often feels like trying to balance everything is a puzzle with missing pieces. I’ve come to realize that a truly comfortable life isn’t just about convenience—it’s about finding comfort even in discomfort.

Right now, our focus is firmly on building something more stable for the long run, and that pursuit has demanded more sacrifices than we anticipated. Through it all, it’s my wife who has carried the heaviest load—juggling the responsibilities of our home while pouring her heart into raising Norzang. It breaks my heart that she doesn’t get to fully savor the joy of motherhood the way she truly deserves.

She’s the heartbeat of our home, the quiet force that keeps everything running. There’s truly no reason we shouldn’t get along, especially when she embodies such remarkable qualities. And though we occasionally differ in opinion, beneath it all, I hold her in the deepest respect—not only as my life partner but as the exceptional mother of our son. She deserves nothing less than the very best in life.

I often find myself silently giving thanks for her presence in my life. Her health may seem delicate, and her body may sometimes appear weary, but to me, she’s the strongest person I know. Her values, her grace, and her quiet strength inspire me more than I can express.

Every day, I pray for her well-being, for the strength to match the kindness she pours into our world. Fate could not have been kinder to me than when it brought her into my life. Even when things seem uncertain, I find comfort in knowing that I have the best companions on this journey—my extraordinary wife and our beautiful son. With them, everything will eventually fall into place.

On my way to work (8:41am)

A Note from the Morning Bus

Yesterday marked four full moons since you entered our world, Norzang. June 12th—a day quietly sacred in our little calendar of life. You're now four months old, and already, you're showing the quiet strength of someone learning how to be here.

You can lift your head with steady purpose, and your neck now proudly supports that curious gaze of yours. You play with pure joy, laugh like the world itself is telling you jokes only you can understand. Your grip is strong—you reach out with your tiny fingers, determined to hold on to things, as if you already know the world is made to be touched, explored, and loved.

Your eyes follow the light—every flicker, every passing shadow. Sometimes, you're completely lost in the dance of the world outside, your gaze fixed on movement and mystery. Perhaps this is how wonder begins: distraction becoming discovery.

I often find myself wondering what you see—what must all this look like to you? To be brand new in a world already spinning with colors, shapes, and sounds. Whatever it is, I know one thing for certain—you find it endlessly entertaining, and that alone fills my heart.

A week before your fourth-month milestone, the doctor noted your healthy weight at 6.4 kilograms, and your height continues to grow like a little sprout after spring rain. You are blooming.

Your mother is tired—beautifully, lovingly tired. And as I watch both of you, I feel an ache of gratitude. You, her, and my parents—you are the compass points of my life, the meaning behind my every day. You give my living its purpose.

May you continue to grow strong, healthy, and kind.
May you become a good human being.
And may you always know how deeply you are loved.

With all my heart,
– Dad

Written on June 13th, 8:05 a.m., on my way to work

The Heat of June and a Test of Grace

June arrived with its golden sun and the first true taste of summer heat, casting warmth over everything—even the chaos that quietly bloomed in the corners of our life. My calendar was dotted with interviews—some completed, others hanging in limbo after the initial screenings. Amidst this professional whirlwind, another storm was silently brewing closer to home.

My wife began feeling an odd discomfort—an ache under her left ribs, a lingering pain near her shoulder. We brushed it off at first, hoping it was nothing more than the toll of caring for our young baby. Still, to rule out anything serious, she went to the hospital. That simple visit turned into a five-hour wait, just to give blood and urine samples. I joined her later, expecting answers, but the results never came. With baby Norzang waiting at home with Shacha, we had no choice but to return without seeing the doctor.

The next day, she went back. This time, the news wasn’t as kind. The nurse revealed her UTI hadn’t fully healed—and worse, it was creeping towards her kidneys. She was added to the CT scan queue, where time moved slowly, measured not in minutes but in sighs and uncertainty. I joined her again the following day and before my arrival her scheduled CT scan was completed. After hours of waiting, a female doctor finally approached with results, yet the clarity we hoped for remained elusive. The kidneys, once our main concern, were thankfully fine. But a slight inflammation in her appendix raised a new red flag. There wasn’t any link between her appendicitis issue and the pain on her left ribs. 

A surgeon was summoned. He arrived briskly, pressing into her right abdomen, reading each wince like lines from a book. His diagnosis was calm but firm—appendicitis. He presented two paths: treat it with antibiotics, a route with a 70% success rate, or proceed with surgery, the surest solution. We hesitated. The idea of removing part of her body, no matter how small, felt so drastic. We leaned toward the antibiotics, clinging to the hope of healing without the blade. But the doctor gently steered us back—his voice steady, persuasive. “It’s a very minor surgery,” he assured us. “Thirty minutes. Two days recovery.”

But how could anything be truly minor when a three-month-old baby needed his mother? I wrestled with the weight of responsibility—caring for her, for Norzang, and holding everything together. It felt like too much. But then came the doctor’s reminder: a mother’s health is the pillar of a child’s well-being. And so, with a mix of trust, doubt, and a prayer on our lips, we agreed.

The surgery went well, by the grace of something greater than us. But reality wasn’t as painless as promised. The ache lingered long after the anesthesia faded. My wife, ever strong, bore the pain silently—painkillers helping only so much. Her hands, which once rocked our baby with ease, now trembled as they tried to hold him again.

I took time off to care for her, while Shacha stepped in, her hands and heart always ready. Even friends joined in—helping with Chador when we couldn’t juggle everything ourselves. On June 7th, my wife, still healing, couldn’t make it to Norzang’s doctor visit. My brother and I took him instead, a small but symbolic journey of fatherhood in action.

We were worried about a new concern—Norzang’s fontanelle seemed sunken when we lifted him. Our nurse took it seriously, promising to consult the pediatrician. We’re still waiting, hopeful.

Looking back, doubt still flickers in the quiet hours—did we rush into surgery? But then again, maybe that decision was guided. Maybe, just maybe, we dodged something far worse. Sometimes strength doesn’t look like certainty—it looks like showing up, choosing the harder path, and trusting that healing, like summer, comes in waves.