WAssup Community Services (WAssup) is the story of one man, his best mate and a ute.

I wasn’t born in Bhutan. I have no Bhutanese blood in my veins. My ancestors were European. I grew up in Australia—sunburnt, raw, hard-edged. A land that teaches resilience but often forgets tenderness. I’m 51 now, and I’ve lived through storms that never made the evening news. Childhood trauma. PTSD. Invisible wounds. The kind of pain that lingers in the bones, long after the moment has passed. In a society that rewards silence and strength, I’ve often been forced to wear masks while quietly falling apart.

But I survived. I still do.

And in that survival, something unexpected bloomed—a longing for purpose. Not just for myself, but for others. A yearning to believe that this world, as fractured as it is, still holds beauty. That even broken pieces can still create something whole.

That’s when Bhutan came into my life—not as a destination, but as a revelation.

I remember the first time I read about Gross National Happiness (GNH). It was like a cool wind through my soul. A system of governance where the wellbeing of the people and the environment matter more than economic growth? Where development is measured in joy, in connection, in meaning?

Bhutan’s values feel like home. Even if I was born thousands of kilometres away, I realised: to be Bhutanese in spirit is to live with compassion as a compass.

And then came the vision of Gelephu Mindfulness City. A city not just designed for profit or prestige—but for peace. Where architecture meets meditation. Where forests are part of the economy. Where a city breathes. It sounded like something from the future. But it’s happening now. In Bhutan. And it planted a thought that hasn't left me since:

If Bhutan can do it, why can’t we?

So, I began. Not with money. Not with a committee. Just with what I had:

• An old Holden Rodeo ute

• My dog, Bali—a Tibetan Spaniel who seems to know when my heart is aching

• And a lot of discarded cans and bottles

WAssup Community Services was born.

Those 10-cent containers may seem small. But they’ve already done so much. They’ve paid for two JBL Partybox On-The-Go speakers. One has gone to the kids in Fitzroy Crossing, where music now fills spaces that were once silent. The other waits for its destination—maybe in Meekatharra, or maybe across the ocean, in a village in Bhutan.

And that’s not all. Through cans and bottles, we’ve supported SAVA (Saving Avon Valley Animals), helping cover the cost of feeding and caring for animals in need. We’ve joined the Shitbox Rally, raising money for cancer research by driving across the country in cars that barely make it. We’ve turned trash into triumph. Discarded things into dignity.

And then there's the name: WAssup.

It sounds like a laugh. Aussie. Irreverent. But it’s layered with meaning. A greeting, yes—like “G’day” or “kuzu zangpo la”. But it’s also a nod to something far deeper: Bhutan’s De-suung Program, the Guardians of Peace.

In Bhutan, De-suups are everyday people trained to serve—selflessly, joyfully. They wear bright orange, the colour of compassion and spirit. And they show up. Whether it's natural disasters or national events, they are there—shovels in hand, hearts open. Recently, the world watched in awe as His Majesty the Druk Gyalpo, alongside Druk Gyalsung and their children, broke ground on the Gelephu International Airport, not from a throne—but from the soil. Surrounded by thousands of orange-clad volunteers. That wasn’t just symbolism—it was leadership through service.

And it hit me: WAssup is the Aussie De-suung. Western Australia’s Guardians of Peace. Born not in a palace, but in a paddock. Not in gold, but in orange vests and dog hair and petrol fumes.

It’s De-suup, reimagined. WAssup = WA + De-suup + What’s up, mate? It’s how we say: I’ve got your back. It’s service, with a grin. It’s Bhutanese soul, with Aussie swagger.

The goal is to grow. Not as an empire—but as a movement. A ripple of orange. More cans. More communities banding together—not for credit, not for cash, but because it feels good to care.

Imagine this model across Australia:

• Music programs funded entirely through recycling

• Mental health retreats born from bottle drives

• And, eventually, international support—sending aid and creative tools to Bhutanese schools, De-suung outposts, and Gelephu’s evolving city of mindfulness

What started in the bin could end up changing the world.

This is not just charity. It’s spiritual resistance. A refusal to accept that broken means useless. A way to say: You matter. I matter. We all do.

So when you hear WAssup, smile. Laugh, even. But know this:

It’s not just what’s up. It’s who’s rising up. It’s why we rise. It’s the cloud-borne dream of one man, one dog, one ute. And a thousand little acts of love.

One can at a time. One kid at a time. One world, made better—not by money, but by music, compassion, and shared humanity.

That’s WAssup. And that’s what it means to be Bhutanese. In spirit. In service. In solidarity.