It's been thirteen years since I traveled across the ocean with a small plastic carry-on bag. Also, in the period of thirteen years, I myself have gathered thirteen hundred experiences on American soil. Those feelings are interesting, attractive, new and surprising, bringing a smile to the face.

The 20-year-old man had a growing thin beard, a moustache, which had been shaved twice or four times, and cheeky cheeks. A thin man – 5 feet 6 inches tall I am standing – carrying that plastic white bag 22x18 inches in hand, on which is written – IOM. The logo was printed in blue color in the center of the bag. Above and below the logo is printed in English letters – IOM i.e. International Organization for Migration. People who carry such bags are usually refugees, when we left Nepal, we had the same identity - refugees. That is, I am a complete Bhutanese refugee!

In the process of IOM, first there was a 'photo and interview'. After that, 'DHS' and 'Medical' took turns in the fire brigade office. What to do on American soil? What doesn't happen? The date of our flight was fixed only after receiving orientation training. As per the IOM procedure, we had a pre-medical i.e. health check-up the day before the flight. At that time, only after these five steps were completed before leaving the camp, the refugees could fly from their refugee camps in Jhapa or Morang with IOM bags. Yes, I mean we got to go through this process and land on American soil.

A long, white colored bus used to take those who wanted to be resettled in the third country to the camp and take them back to the camp in the evening. Each time, where the resettlement process had reached, his family's NP number was attached to a tree near the camp. After four bus rides, the pre-medical, i.e. the fifth stage process was completed at the IOM office in Damak, and only then were we allowed to fly. The memory is fresh, the day after pre-medical was a flight from Jhapa, when we were leaving Goldhap camp we had two large, lamcha-sized luggage bags on the bus, which were written NP number – double one etzero fib naen.

Welcomed by rain on the 5th of June, the two bags that went to Hut on the IOM bus did not contain 5 kg 600 grams of rice, 500 grams of lentils and 50 grams of salt per person given to the refugees like yesterday. There was a pressure cooker from an Indian company, some clothes, shoes, slippers and a new halunge that father had bought with his own labor. Apart from that he had some religious books, sandalwood like Shaligram, Pancha Patra and Tilak Sri. In simple language, I can say this - the weight of the bag that can be carried up to 20 kg was not even 15 kg. On that rainy day, we were sitting on the bus seat in confusion and waved to our relatives. 

IOM's white bus first takes Jhapa's Chandragarhi Airport. It was then that I felt the first pleasure of boarding a small plane of Yeti Airlines. There is something new and also a strange feeling, we refugees who have not seen the plane properly are now squirming in the seat of the plane.

I think that hour is well written in fate. However, there are separate stories of the lucky and the unlucky - where does someone get the opportunity to carry the bag of IOM? How many months did we go on hunger strike after being chased out of Bhutan and staying in refugee camps for over a decade and a half? How many times did we march to Mechi bridge? However, the dream of repatriation never materialized. Every time India doesn't give way, Bhutan doesn't respect its citizens. Due to various political reasons such as mutual differences among the refugee leadership side, the result has been and continues to be zero.

is after that, about a million Bhutanese like me filled the bags of this IOM for third country resettlement as refugees. At that time it was compulsory for us to fill the bag of IOM. Choosing the third door was a constraint. Organizations like WFP i.e. World Food Programme, UNHCR, Lutheran gave us food and clothes, so we could stand in the camps of Jhapa and Morang.

How much our parents struggled in those days of scarcity from their camps in the camp, is incalculable. They used to plant some paddy, carry manure, pick tea leaves, pick some sand, carry bricks, cut paddy, teach boarding etc. according to their skills. With these words, I remember and salute the parental responsibility they perform at minimum wage than the local laborers, hiding their identities.

While shaking in the clouds, we descend to Kathmandu shortly after receiving the lollipop given by the air hostess of Yeti Airlines. While the eyes are moving around towards the planes there, the same white IOM vehicle comes to pick us up again inside the Tribhuvan airport.

I feel happy staying at a hostel for three days in Kathmandu Bansbari. Eating the food provided in the morning, getting to know other campers, basking in the sun in the afternoon and then joining the queue in the evening to eat the food on a steel plate. This is the daily routine. On the last day of the stay in Baasbari, we again board the white bus of IOM. At that time it was given - this small hand bag with IOM written on it.

The trip to America is on June 8, 2010. At that time, the IOM staff told me not to open the bag myself and not to give it to anyone unknown. Following the same rules, I carried the bag even when I was sitting in the terminal of Tribhuvan International Airport. I have my three boarding passes in my hand. They are written in English, Kathmandu to Delhi, Delhi to Brussels (Belgium) and Brussels to New York. From the

terminal, we slowly board the Jet Airways large-winged Indian plane. The plane was long, wide and unlike any other airline. On the plane I rolled myself over and carefully placed the IOM bag in the overhead holder. The plane took off at dusk. A large plane will not shake as much when flying. After about five minutes, he jumped on the runway and took off. While flying in the sky, Goldhap's 18x12 feet bamboo and bamboo enclosure caught my eye. However, it is not visible in the glass of the plane. 

Eighteen years of difficult and risky life in the camp before flying to the countries of America, Australia, and Europe is scarce. It is not counted how many days were spent living there with the risk of fire, river flooding when it rains, and stormy weather. Looking back at the camp today, I am amazed to remember how those struggling and difficult days passed and how we parted.

Since leaving Tribhuvan International Airport, Bhandari, Baniyan, Ghale and Dahal have been together on this journey on Jet Airways. Everyone has a TV screen in front of them, I am sitting on the shawl provided on the plane. Food was served thirty minutes after the flight from Kathmandu. In a small aluminum tray were food, vegetables, gulab jamun, creamer, bukke plastic spawn. Ah, I stopped to watch the movie on the screen and remembered that the taste of food on a new trip was also new.

As soon as the plane door closes with the gate, passengers rush to grab their bags. I also drag my hand bag. As soon as I left the gate of the plane with my bag, it was written on the front, Indira Gandhi International Airport. In the view outside the glass near the airport terminal, large aircraft such as Nepal Airlines, Jet Air and British Airlines could be seen.

That's how we flew from Delhi on Jet Airways at two in the morning. The plane has changed, but the Indian food is the same and the TV screen is the same. The airport staff give directions as they exit the gate. We went through the security gates at the airport in Brussels. There are shoes, socks, belts to open. The bangles worn by the mother and sister had to be taken off if they were grandchildren.

After a three-hour wait, we boarded another plane from Brussels to America. On a big plane, the same feeling was felt - somewhere white clouds were visible, sometimes it felt like we were flying close to sea water. Before landing, the air hostess brought a hot steaming cloth. We didn't know what it was for. Nearby travelers wiped their faces, I learned the same.

We land in New York America. The Ghale, Bhandari, Dahal and Baniyan families took turns handing over the bags to the airport of entry staff of that IOM. The white employee looked at the bag as he was told not to open it himself and not to give it to anyone unknown. Scanned the necessary documents.

Children, old people, young men, young women took turns taking photos together. Ten finger prints were also taken on a glass scale. When he opened the IOM bag, he realized that there were family details, travel documents, chest X-ray and some other health check-up documents.

The immigration officer in New York stamped our legal documents and returned the travel document i.e. I-94. I looked at it carefully – it had written our photo, name, date of birth and citizen of Bhutan. The travel document is valid for one year and was stamped at the port of entry New York on June 9, 2010.