Seema Chhetri

A journey to becoming: A Pelsung Reflection Seema Chhetri, Cohort 2 Is "integration" even the right word for what happens when you return to your own country after years abroad? Or have you changed so much that settling back into what you've always known feels less like adapting and more like simply being yourself again? When I decided to leave Melbourne after eight years to join the Pelsung programme, I was drawn by something I couldn't quite name - a pull to contribute, to be part of my country's development in a way that felt meaningful. But that pull is rarely straightforward. If I map out my Pelsung journey, it begins with a mix of confusion, second-guessing, and a persistent question: what am I doing here? That question doesn't disappear, but over time, it gives way to a kind of clarity - not perfect, but steady. The kind that settles. The first month was the hardest. Not physically, but mentally. The three-week De-suung programme tested my limits, but more than that, it reframed how I understood resilience. Pushing through physical strain, I realised it was never really about the body. The same goes for self-discipline. It isn't something you either have or don't; it's a choice you make, repeatedly, especially when every part of you wants to stop. The next two months felt like an exhale. The intensity gave way to a quieter rhythm - classes, conversations, and the slow work of identifying problems worth solving. It was space, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself sit in it. But space has a way of surfacing what you've been carrying. I began to notice what I can only call the "slow days." After years abroad, I had internalised a belief that being busy meant being productive, that stillness meant falling behind. That mindset showed up in how I worked - impatience, restlessness, a quiet frustration that wasn't always fair to the people around me. Unlearning that was its own process. I had to relearn what it means to work collectively, to respect a pace and a culture I had, somewhere along the way, forgotten I belonged to. Slowing down wasn't a failure of productivity; it was a reset. A way to think more clearly, and with more intention. One of the most defining moments during this time came from a session with Mr. Rabsel Dorji, where he spoke about "romanticising poverty" and "path dependency" as Bhutanese. I recognised myself in both. How often had I limited a vision before it had the chance to grow? How often had I unconsciously set a ceiling on what felt possible? Seeing that pattern clearly was uncomfortable, but necessary. It was also the beginning of breaking it. Those two months gave me something I hadn't expected: clarity on a vision I had long dismissed as unrealistic. They also connected me to people within my own industry - conversations and relationships I would never have encountered otherwise. The real moment of reckoning came when I had to present our project, the Gyensum Learning Hub, in front of His Majesty. I was terrified. I believed in the idea, but standing there, I questioned whether it was worthy of being spoken aloud. It's a feeling many Bhutanese will recognise - that quiet erosion of self-confidence that makes even our biggest ideas feel too bold to share. But Pelsung shifted something. Through the people I met and the platform it offered, I began to see that it is okay to think bigger. That we are capable of contributing to something far more ambitious than we often allow ourselves to imagine. It is, after all, what His Majesty asks of us - to build, to try, to fail, and to seek guidance so we can try again. And it left me with a difficult question: would I have pursued this at all if not for Pelsung? Or would I have stayed where I was, comfortable, carrying the quiet weight of what could have been? Pelsung gave me more than I expected. There is now the possibility of a partnership with a key stakeholder in education - something I wouldn't have known how to pursue a year ago. More importantly, it gave me an understanding that passion alone isn't enough. It needs conviction. And conviction needs the right people, the right support, and the right platform to take shape. That is what Pelsung was for me. And perhaps, this is where the real journey begins.