tea party and a bad poem

Around the table they sat,
A rabbit with a hat.
Pouring whiskey into tea,
Turning it into a parchiee !!

They held their drinks,
Mighty as they stand,
But fell over all,
For none could stand...
From the drink in their hand.

long, gone and moved on...

...

dandies...

Hey, so this is some work from last year that i completely forgot i had. Anyway it was a group project and i had a lot of fun. The project took inspiration from the Dandies and their lifestyle with us turning the dandies into cravat loving beautiful wo-'men'.

Models: Nina, Anna-mi

Make-up & Hair: Kelsang, Leena, Mathilde

Photography: Kelsang

tick tock..

Conversations with a father...

K Leckdup Dongsar... That was my father's name. He was 46 when he passed away. He was an amazing man, a man whom i wish i knew better.

My father was a very warm person who always put other people before him. He loved my mother and worshiped her. He doted on my brother and was always his favourite without a question of a doubt. My brother followed my father everywhere, to his factory, his office, his client meetings..everywhere. I was more of a mother's son but at the same time, there was never a time where i did not feel the urge to prove my worthiness to my father which mostly ended up in relentless laughter at the dinner table ( at least i made them smile).

Bro, Mom, Dad and dad's friend


My father left us at the age of 9 when i just began to understand what puberty was and where babies came from (something my mother would like to forget..). It was a traumatic year for us but what surprised me was that i never saw the cracks in my parents marriage or maybe i was too young to even understand or comprehend what was happening.
We saw him twice between the age of 9-13. The awkward hello's would be greeted with the tearful goodbye's of innocence and memories that made everything alright. It made everything feel normal for those few seconds that we were in his arms, it made it alright for us to love him again.

My father passed away before i could say my goodbyes (i was 13). I never got to tell him how much i loved him and how sorry i was for telling him that he was dead to me. As a child at the tender age of 10, what does one comprehend when one is asked to tell their parent that they are dead to them. Does the child really understand the battle of words and the hurtful exchanges that would affect everyone within the conversation.

I dreamt of my father a couple of nights back.He was as real as the touch of the cold irish breeze. I spoke to him, i remember everything i said to him. I remember telling him of what we did in school later on, or about how Tseten (my brother) has gotten so fat, about mom missing him and how we do not talk about him at all.
I told him i was angry at him for not having seen us, and i was angry that he wasn't there for my graduation, nor for my first fashion show or my frist prize in school for painting.
I was angry that i havent said the word "DAD" and not have got a response from it.
I was angry that i could not remember his voice...
But i was angry because i loved him and i missed him terribly.
He said he knew and he was sorry but that he was watching us grow up and couldn't be happier.
Suddenly he began to fade, he had to go. I refused and desperation got me to hold onto his hand for dear life. I asked him why he had to leave.
He said " because your waking up...but i love you." and i woke up. I woke up crying, my eyes swollen from the ordeal that i seemed to have carried for the past sixteen odd years in my life.

This dream wasn't a dream, it was real. Many may contest that but who am i to convince them.
Iam just a son who wishes to speak to his father again.


...