Chapter 08
Window Seat
When did life begin making sense?
5 min read
There are moments in life that don't feel important while they are happening.
Only years later do we realize they quietly became milestones.
For me, one of those moments began with a simple boarding pass.
A small piece of paper.
A seat number.
A window.
At the time, it didn't seem like much.
Today, I think it represents far more than I understood.
Earlier in my life, I believed dreams always arrived exactly as we imagined them.
Study hard.
Work hard.
Reach the goal.
Life, however, has its own way of writing stories.
It rarely follows the plans we make for it.
Sometimes it quietly replaces them with something we never thought to ask for.
That trip was one of those moments.
The idea started almost casually.
A few conversations.
A few possibilities.
Maldives.
Bali.
Different destinations.
Different ideas.
For some reason, Bali kept returning to the conversation.
Someone mentioned its growing technology community.
Someone imagined the ocean.
Someone imagined simply getting away from everyday routines.
Eventually, the decision was made.
Bali.
It sounded exciting.
But even then, I don't think the destination was what truly mattered.
The journey was.
When everything was confirmed, I remember sitting quietly for a while.
I smiled.
Not because I was planning a vacation.
Because something much deeper quietly settled inside me.
"I'm really going."
For someone growing up in Nepal, an international journey often feels like something that belongs to another chapter of life.
You imagine it.
You postpone it.
You tell yourself,
"One day."
Without realizing it, that "one day" had finally become today.
The morning of the flight felt different.
Not dramatic.
Just unusually quiet.
My parents wished me well before I left.
My mum smiled and said something beautifully simple.
"Don't think about home too much.
Go and enjoy yourself.
Make every moment memorable.
Take lots of pictures."
Looking back now, I realize parents have a special way of saying goodbye.
They try to make it sound ordinary.
Even when they know it isn't.
Tribhuvan International Airport was full of people.
Families.
Travellers.
Luggage.
Announcements echoing through the terminal.
Everything felt bigger than I had imagined.
I remember looking around and thinking,
"So this is where journeys begin."
There was excitement.
A little nervousness.
A quiet sense that something important was about to happen.
Then came the moment I had imagined without realizing it.
Memory
The Window Seat
Boarding.
Walking through the aircraft door.
Finding my seat.
And somehow...
life smiled at me.
It was a window seat.
The same place I had always hoped for.
The kind of seat every curious traveller secretly wants.
I smiled to myself.
It felt strangely symbolic.
Tribhuvan International Airport, Kathmandu
Outside, light rain rested gently on the airplane window.
Tiny droplets slowly raced each other across the glass.
Inside, my heart was beating much faster than usual.
Not because I was afraid of flying.
Because for the first time in my life...
I was leaving my country.
Leaving the places that had quietly shaped every chapter before this one.
I remember thinking about my mum.
I whispered a small prayer.
I thanked God.
And then...
like almost everyone taking their first international journey...
I took a selfie.
Whenever I look at that photograph today, I don't see someone travelling.
I see someone whose world was quietly becoming larger.
As the aircraft lifted into the sky, Nepal slowly disappeared beneath the clouds.
I kept looking through the window.
Not because there was something extraordinary outside.
Because there was something changing inside.
Perspective.
Sometimes changing countries also changes the way we look at our own lives.
Our first stop was Singapore.
Everything felt surprisingly calm.
People smiled.
The airport seemed impossibly organized.
The internet felt incredibly fast.
Even the coffee somehow tasted different.
I remember thinking how clean everything looked.
Bathrooms.
Walkways.
Signs.
Small details that people often overlook.
It reminded me that excellence is rarely built through one big thing.
It is built through thousands of small decisions made consistently.
That lesson stayed with me long after we left.
Then came Bali.
A place I had only seen in photographs.
The first thing I noticed wasn't the beaches.
It was the atmosphere.
Life seemed slower.
Warmer.
People greeted strangers with kindness.
There was something peaceful about it.
I wasn't just visiting another country.
I was experiencing another way of living.
There were so many firsts waiting there.
My first Starbucks.
The first time I stood beside the sea and let the waves touch my feet.
One afternoon, we spent a surprisingly long time negotiating the price of slippers at Ubud Market.
Yet whenever someone asks me what I remember most about Bali...
I never mention Starbucks.
Or beaches.
Or markets.
I remember the quiet moments.
Looking through the airplane window.
Watching clouds drift beneath us.
Thinking about how unpredictable life had been.
Years earlier, I believed my future would wear an Army uniform.
Instead...
here I was.
Flying across countries with people who had become part of my journey.
Life hadn't followed my plan.
It had quietly written a better one.
Sometimes we spend so much time mourning the doors that close that we fail to notice the windows opening beside them.
That window seat became one of those windows.
Not because it offered the best view.
Because it allowed me to see my own life differently.
For the first time, I wasn't thinking about where I wanted to go next.
I was simply grateful for how far I had already come.
When I returned to Nepal, nothing around me had changed very much.
The roads were familiar.
Home felt the same.
Work continued.
Life resumed.
But something inside me had shifted.
I found myself speaking more gently.
Listening more carefully.
Appreciating ordinary moments more deeply.
Travel hadn't changed who I was.
It had reminded me how much bigger the world is than the version we build inside our own minds.
Looking back today, I don't remember that journey as my first international trip.
I remember it as proof.
Proof that life sometimes rewards years of quiet effort in ways we never expect.
Sometimes success arrives as a promotion.
Sometimes as an opportunity.
Sometimes as a simple boarding pass with your name printed on it.
And sometimes...
life celebrates your progress by giving you a window seat.
That is still my favourite reward.
Because every time I think about it, I'm reminded of one simple truth.
Dreams don't always arrive wearing the clothes we imagined.
Sometimes...
they arrive wearing wings.
You have reached the end of Chapter Eight.
Take a breath.
Continue when you’re ready.