If journals are meant for us to remember certain people, things, places, then do you write about things that make the strongest impression, or the little details that would otherwise slip out of memory? If it’s something that the mind already grasps so firmly, then could words really capture its totality and significance? If it’s something so inconsequential that would eventually be forgotten, then is there a reason for keeping its record?
While on the road I tend to record everything, as much as I could, for the fear of forgetting. But as time passes, it is inevitable that more have been forgotten than remembered.
What really stuck with me are the people, and, of places, their colors.
I remember standing still in amazement, at the vast stretches of red earth in Khamp,
a lone wild donkey running in pink-purple snow-covered mountain at dusk;
looking from Atise Gompa at the valley with thousand shades of brown;
walking along the purple-green mountain valley of Photoksar Tokpo;
grazing yak herds in the golden autumn fields in Amdo…
But in what language could I faithfully describe the way these colors dance in nature?
The name of this green earth pigment is “Bohemian Green Earth”. Though I have not seen landscapes of this color, they bring back the sense of wonder, inviting me to dive in, and listen to the way nature speaks to us again.
Chumik 