Weekend Diary: Adjective Decisions

The Weekend I Stopped Keeping Score

1Friday evening — I expected our camping weekend to become a competition. My cousin Tenzin had already packed his bag when I was still searching for socks. During the drive, I silently counted everything he knew that I did not: how to tighten a strap, read a trail marker, and fold a map. I wanted to prove that I could manage without instructions, even though this was my first overnight trip.

2We reached the campsite before sunset. Tenzin carried a green canvas bag to the clearing. I dragged my heavy, awkward backpack behind him. My aunt unfolded a small metal stool beside the tent.

3Saturday morning — The tent zipper caught on its fabric while I was trying to leave quietly. I pulled harder, making the problem worse. Tenzin asked whether I wanted another pair of hands. For a moment, I imagined announcing that I had solved it myself. Instead, I held the fabric flat while he eased the zipper backward. The repair took less time than my argument with myself.

4After breakfast, we followed the marked path to a lookout. I carried the map, but carrying it was not the same as understanding it. At a fork, I pointed left because admitting uncertainty seemed embarrassing. My aunt asked me to match the symbols to the signs. We stayed at the junction until I could explain the route instead of guessing. Nobody mentioned my mistake afterward.

5Sunday afternoon — Before we left, Tenzin asked me to check whether anything remained under the tent. I found his flashlight beneath a folded corner. He thanked me without making a joke about it. On the drive home, I stopped counting which of us had needed more help. I wrote down the zipper trick and the map symbols instead. Those notes seemed more useful than a score, and there was plenty of room on the page for whatever I would learn next time.