Dorjelang/Story
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Dream-Collecting Journey in the Mountains
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This was Dorjelang's fifth year as a hat-making apprentive. On this day, he was inspecting two hat flowers by the window, carefully considering which would better compliment his spring-welcoming hat.
Suddenly, he heard a cry for help from his senior in the courtyard. The dried materials were in dissaray, scattered and blown about by a harsh wind. Amidst thundering steps, Dorjelang rushed back and forth with his colossal form that threatened to blot out the sky, collecting all the pieces in his arms at a moment's notice. His senior, who just so happened to pass by with stacks of new fabric, called on him for help as well. The cook then appeared with two buckets of sweet soup and handed them to him with a smile, asking if he could drop them off at the canteen on the way.
Dorjelang nodded solemnly at all these requests, but his eyes shone with confidence from being trusted with important duties.
Meanwhile, up on the rooftop, Master Sparrok munched on roasted cocoons and clicked her tongue in annoyance as she watched the big fellow busy about the yard. Soon, she finished off her last skewer in one swoop. A skewer was cast, and it struck and bounced off Dorjelang's back. He paused, scratched that spot in confusion, then turned and looked up. On the rooftop, Dorjelang sat obediently by the grill with his feet and hands tucked inward. On the other side, Master Sparrok stood with folded arms, looking down at her student.
"How long have you been my student?" she asked, but before he could answer, she pointed to his nose and continued, "Five years! It's about time for you to graduate!"
Dorjelang dat quietly with a serious face, lost in thought. The awkward silence grew between them as it always did, until Master Sparrok finally hopped off the parapet in frustration. Suddenly, she was a full five heads shorter than him, but her chirping and scolding lent her such a domineering presence. She recounted and lectured him on his acctions from the six wall-breaching incidents across five years to the all-too-tidy yarn pile last night.
"You're a hatmaker! Stop letting trivial matters occupy your time and go think about why we make hats!" she said.
Dorjelang sheepishly scratched his head and nodded, which irritated his master so much that her white feather scarf went askew.
Dorjelang used to be someone weak who needed protection and sheltering from others, but everyone in the workshophad seen him accidentally breaking table legs, crushing teacups, and cracking plates... Therefore, they thought the gentle giant must have been too humble about his strength.
For Dorjelang, he counted his luck among the stars to be able to help the weak with what strength he possesed. It wasn't about meeting anyone's expectations, it was about having the ability to say, "I want to, therefore I can." But Master Sparrok watched Dorjelang as he left and remembered how her bright-eyed student dug her out of a pile of magazines in the basement five years ago... No, scratch that part.
She was standing atop the magazine pile with arms crossed, quizzing him about hats as he answered everything perfectly. Learning on his own in secret? How dare he?! She was so angry that she hopped off the pile and twisted her ankle... No... Scratch that part too.
She was by the magazine pile and saw how Dorjelang recreated every hat on the pages with reeds. The audacity to learn in secret... She turned away with a scowl.
Even so, Dorjelang had earned approval with a "Come to class at 8 AM sharp tomorrow." It evoked a special kind of joy and anticipation in him, one that was quite different from the feeling of helping others.
Five years had passed since Dorjelang became a hat-making apprentice. On this day, he chose a dandelion as the flower for the spring-welcoming hat. Carrying his new hatmaking chest, he set out to journey once more. He still dreampt of the past, of the rocky mountain paths, the snow, the forests, the ever-flowing winds, and the gently swaying foxtails.
A breeze sent the dandelion on his hat toward distant mountains to collect these dreams. He wondered who it would stir awake this time.
The World Outside the Hat
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It was Dorjelang's first day at the Galactic Bazaar. All his life, he felt adrift in a vast sea of people — Without direction, without a place to belong.
After hauling five boxes of goods for a shopkeeper at the street corner, it suddenly occured to him that everyone here was so small, and he was incredibly strong in comparison... [italics] Maybe ... I can actually help them? [end of italics]
The revelation filled him with unprecedented joy and the urge to act, but he must stay calm. A slight turn of his body was enough to send someone flying... Mmmooo? Wasn't someone here just now?
After wight victims, six cracked chairs, four shattered steps, and three flattened billboards, all eyes were trained on him with terror.
He spent all his money making amends, then hurried through every intersection, anxiously avoiding anyone who came too close. Finally, he found a quiet corner to settle in. Crouching down, he took a deep breath and reminded himself to exersize more self-restraint.
When he lifted his head again, he realized the was at a high point in the bazaar. Following the sound of music, he saw cheerful crowds, lively stages, and a shimmering magician's tent below... This place probably isn't right for him... Dorjelang scratched his head nervously and shook it. No, it wasn't about fitting in. He left home to find his buddy and bring him back.
Dorjelang looked at the stage again as another group of laughing performers took their turn. This was the world of dreams and aspirations that his buddy lived in. Would he ever want to return with him at all?
Lost in thought, Dorjelang found himself drawn in closer to the stage. The mesmerizing lights kept shifting, and no one noticed when one of the light poles started to wobble. He instinctively caught the falling pole, but when he turned around, he saw countless fearful, confused eyes staring at him, as if trying to see right through his otherness.
In this world, he could easily destroy everything with a slight movement of his hand. His turquoise beads, horned barbaric hat, towering build, and thunderous voice... everything about him struck fear in others. He realized that being powerful and mighty wasn't something to be proud of after all.
Frightened by their fear, Dorjelang fled in panic, accidentally bumping into something as he ran... Amidst the rising dust,dizzy and disoriented, Dorjelang saw a massive figure approaching. He could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of meeting someone like himself. The dust settled, but Dorjelang didn't see anyone. "Tsk! Tsk tsk! Who?! Who broke down the walls of my workshop?..." Dorjelang looked down and saw a little one wearing a white feather scarf. She looked up at him judgingly. "You again?"
Dorjelang kept his serious face as he pondered how someone so little could exude such immense presence. The lengthy silence between them irritated the smaller one, and she jumped up and smacked Dorjelang right on his head.
"Who are you trying to bluff with that hat? I'll give you credit for helping with the light pole, but now you've got to pay for my walls!"
The smack snapped Dorjelang out of it. He adjusted his hat and bowed humbly as he patted his chest.
"This is my fault, and I'll take responsibility!" he said.
This was Dorjelang's first day at the Galactic Bazaar. It was also the day he first met Master Sparrok, and Surprisingly, he didn't need to become stronger. He just needed to appear more approachable. That's when he took off the fierce looking hat of his and changed how he interacted with and saw the world around him, starting with working to pay off the damage he'd caused. He came here for a reason... but he couldn't remember what.
Dandelions on the Snowy Mountain
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Over the Mountain Far From Home
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This was Dorjelang’s sixteenth year living on the highland pastures. Back then, he knew nothing of the world beyond.
Dorjelang was seen as someone who needed protection in his tribe. He thought if he could be a little stronger and a little tougher, put on a stern face and look a little fiercer… then maybe he would actually become more capable. Perhaps due to his frailty, there were many things off-limits to him, like going down to the river, wrestling, or herding alone. Concerned gazes followed him around whenever he tried to get involved. The old herder who tutored him said that his body wasn’t as strong because he carried all the good fortune of the highlands on his head, that he was a child blessed by their deity. Whenever they took him out to herd, the wolves would scatter, snowstorms would cease, and blood-sucking insects would disperse.
Dorjelang wanted to believe in it. During the ceremonial wrestling match held to honor their deity, Dorjelang sat by the lakeside and watched the spectacle of fervor and power. Out of place and even slightly dissonant with the scene was low, chanted verses from the herder next to him:
When chaos gave birth to earth and sky, White yak from the lotus did arise, With ears that hear all earthly things, Nose that scents far and wide, Wings to soar o’er mountains and rivers, Hooves to race across plains and fissures, He is the mighty mountain high, He is the gentle flowing stream, He is the father working hard, He is the mother’s loving heart, He tames the strong and lifts the meek, His righteous name through ages speak, His legend in our hearts engraved, Through song we sing his ageless praise.
The song spoke of the highland deity. Legend has it that “he” looked just like everyone else in the tribe, with long flowing hair, a strong athletic build, and mighty long horns, that “he” danced to the heavens and sang for the earth. “Behold, it brings success. Beyond it’s filled with fortune. And behold, it possesses the eternal…” Dorjelang caught himself humming along. He glanced at his own reflection in the emerald lake… Me? I look nothing like the deity, moo.
A buddy from the neighboring tribe came over. Dorjelang could see his messy hair and his beautiful, sturdy horns that put his own feeble ones to shame. His buddy stroked his chin in deep thought.
“They say not to mind what others think, but that’s easier said than done.’Hearing’ is a way for us to feel the world,” he said. A hat with solid long horns was then placed on Dorjelang’s head. “HAHMM! Now you look like a tough guy! Put on the hat, and you can become whoever you want to be. Come on, show us your angry face!” In the lake’s reflection, Dorjelang did look quite mighty! And just like that, the kid was fooled by his buddy. The first among them to think of leaving was his buddy. Pulling Dorjelang along, he made grand plans of how he would conquer the endless mountains and see the world beyond in pursuit of his dreams.
Dreams? What are… Dreams? Brothers stick together till the end, so you’re coming too, Dorjelang.
Dorjelang was worried that he’d hold his buddy back, being as frail as he was. But his friend had unwavering faith in him.
Before they left, his buddy got caught “loaning” a couple of barley buns from an old herder. Dorjelang went for the rescue, but froze at the doorway. “HAHMM? You have no right to keep him on the pastures forever…” On the glimmering highlands where heaven is just a few steps away, too many struggle to make the journey because of a weighted heart. “You’ve never believed in him. You just think he’s weak, and needs protection…” Outside the house, Dorjelang listened as Doggie came over. As always, it sat beside him, panting with a lolling tongue, as if saying, “Eavestropping too, huh?” “How long will you deceive him with these words? Are you going to keep sheltering him his whole life?”
Dorjelang gazed up at the sunset’s glow, at the deity watching over the highlands.
“There is no divine blessing. He has the same horns and fur on his head as us, plus a yak horn hat that I traded with barley buns…”
Please let all my good fortune rest upon my buddy’s head–
“I have my own dreams and my own path to follow, so I won't stay… but save half the barely bun for him. I’m leaving this place…”
May he be safe, free, and prosperous on the journey of his dreams.
This was Dorjelang’s sixteenth year living on the highland pastures.
In the empty house his buddy left behind, the old herder threw him a bundle of supplies, his mustache bristling with anger. He told Dorjelang to get out there and bring back his good-for-nothing buddy.
Finally, he understood there was a kind of longing in this world that words cannot capture. He wanted to cross this mountain, and the next one beyond, and countless more after.