into some sweet milk tea mishaps on the concrete block which served as a
table. The long strokes of the fountain pen looked like a well made bed
on the paper and as I, with snail-like dexterity, penned the next letter
my unswervingly optimistic and dedicated friend patiently offered advice
and antidotes in soft belabored English as cool as the blue ink on the
page.
The sun filtering through the trees of the courtyard outside of Sera
Monastery left shifting dappled marks on my face and paper and as I
blinked in the glare an entire class of novice monks surrounded our study.
Having just finished their own Tibetan script lessons, nothing could
have amused them so much as such a foreigner learning at the rate of a
child half their age. They offer advice, repeating from the ridges of
forced memory the very phrases my friend had been teaching. They squat
and crowd the small table and paper in the shuffle knocking tea cups and
fingering old notebooks. They repeat letters slowly to me, they beg me
to hold the pen differently, they give me one of their own pens. Their
robes are too big for them and the smell as though never been washed.
Soon they will doff the public navy colored robes for some bright maroon
ones of their own, if they pass the test. They grin and laugh and
chatter and take turns practicing the letters themselves. They can't be
older than fifteen years and as I glance through the now shadow now
light at their faces I realize that they are as distinct as the letters
which I practice though can barely read.
Where have these boys come from? How long have they been here? What is
their future?
They are called away by an older monk, presumably their instructor. But
wait, a moment later one named Nawang returns sans robe to offer us some
of his own study materials. Out of a plastic notebook with Snow White
stickers on the inside he pulls page after page of practice sentences in
various different scripts which he begs to give me along with his pen.
As quickly as this surprise gift giving spree begins he disappears up
the crumbling steps away into a nearby tea house.
Learning this language has been one of the single greatest blessings of
my time here. What do I have that I did not receive?
