I am still a Child

"Wake up, Dawa! Time for school!" My father’s loud voice jolts me awake. My eyes snap open, and I glance at the clock—7:30 AM. The soft hum of morning chants and the wafting scent of incense from the altar-room fill the air, slowly grounding me in reality. But the clock tells me everything I need to know.

Holy cow! Panic surges through me as I scramble out of bed, throwing the blanket aside. Five minutes... maybe less. I can’t be late again. My mind races with thoughts as I dash toward the washroom.

"Put on your chappal!" he calls out from the kitchen, but it’s distant, barely registering.

"Okay, okay..." I mutter, hardly hearing him as I slam the door shut behind me. Why do I always do this to myself?

I brush my teeth with rapid, unconscious strokes, the water cold and sharp against my skin. My eyes sting—bloodshot from staying up late. I knew I shouldn’t have watched that show last night. It was one more episode... Why do I do this?

Splashing water on my face, I feel a slight refreshment, but it’s not enough. I rub my face with the towel, trying to wake up my brain. Focus. You need to hurry.

When I step outside, my father is standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a steaming cup of tea. He eyes me over the rim, a small frown forming on his face.

"Your eyes are puffy… again, you slept late, didn’t you?" His voice carries a mixture of concern and a hint of frustration, familiar and comforting but also a little too real this morning.

"Just a bit late, I suppose," I mumble, feeling the weight of his gaze. Same conversation every day. I’ll get better at this… eventually.

He points to the wall clock. "See? It’s already late. Get dressed, quickly."

I scramble to put myself together—dab of face cream, swipe of hair gel. My thoughts are a blur. Why can’t I get it together? I’m always rushing, always late. If only I could manage my time better. I’ll do it tomorrow. Maybe.

I grab my gho from the hook, checking the mirror for just a second. Okay, not terrible. I’m out the door, but then—"Don’t forget your books!"

I glance over at the table where my English textbook and The Giver lie waiting. Right. Books. Almost forgot. I shove them into my bag along with a pen and gulp the tea my father made.

"Apa... I’m off to school!" I shout, hearing the school’s warning gong faintly in the distance. I have five minutes… I need to move faster.

"Come home for lunch. I’ll cook something delicious!" he calls after me.

"Sure!" I shout back, already halfway down the path. Lunch, yes, but first, I need to survive today.

..................................................................................................................................

As I step into the school compound, the morning bustle greets me. A few students spot me and wave, smiling brightly.

"Good morning, Sir!" they call out, their energy infectious. I smile back, the rush of the morning slowly starting to fade.

"Good morning..." I reply, my voice steady despite the tiredness weighing on me. Why do they always seem so full of energy?

"Kuzuzangpo!" I greet my colleagues, nodding as I pass by. Their friendly gestures remind me that I’m not in this alone. A few offer a chalem, their respect subtle but always appreciated. I return the nod with a slight bow, acknowledging them as I head toward my office.

The bell rings loud and clear, signaling the start of another school day.

And then, as I reach my office, I glance up at the sign hanging above the door: Vice Principal. The words catch me for a second. Another day, another set of responsibilities. Here we go again.

With a deep breath, I step inside, ready for whatever the day brings.