Min tibetanska barndom i Zorgay - Life and Culture on the Tibetan ...

tragic blow that devastated me. I thought life was not worth
living. On the way to school, lying on the grass beside the road
<strong>and</strong> staring into the sky alone, my eyes were full of tears that
blurred the beautiful green summer scenery. I missed Brother
terribly. My cheeks stuck to the pillow from my tears every
night. Crying alone in my gloomy bedroom, where once my
brother <strong>and</strong> I had slept together merrily <strong>and</strong> told each other our
favorite stories, became routine. My quilt was my only
companion. I considered suicide but the sight of Father's body
gaunt with grief convinced me otherwise. I did not want to
bring him more sadness. I could not be so selfish, for it would
only make matters worse. I did my utmost to accomplish what
those who loved me wished for me. I pretended not to be sad
when I was with Father. I was no longer a weepy boy for I had
started to think about other people. Mother <strong>and</strong> Brother's deaths
helped me appreciate the importance of my own life. I
continued school as Mother had wanted.
A prayer wheel in the author's home that is often turned by the
author's father.
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