မောင်တော နေ့ရက်များ ၂
I am a great believer in equality and treating people with dignity regardless of their racial, religious, and socioeconomic backgrounds. I have always been proud to say that I was brought up to treat people around me this way, and I have held pride in saying that. However, there was this particular time that shook my long-held beliefs, questioned me, and even cast a shadow of doubt on me.
Before I tell you the story, I must explain where and how this happened so that you can fully comprehend it.
Two weeks after my arrival in Maungdaw, I found a house through a friend and rented it. If I have to be completely honest, it was a bit charitable for me to call it a house; it was an unfinished bricked block with a makeshift roof behind the township municipal office, and not too far from my office. But the landlady and her son were super nice, kind, and friendly. More importantly, the rent was within my budget, and they allowed me to pay the rent monthly, while others were asking me to pay six months upfront.
This so called rectangular-shaped house that I called home for 4 months was built at the back of the compound, leaving a spacious front yard where I often relaxed the day after work, sitting out in a plastic chair, smoking, and making daily entries in my journal while enjoying green tea. The house sat between my colleague’s house on the left, whom I never saw during my stay there, and an unoccupied plot of land on the right. Right next to this land lived a family who ran the cookery and sold locally brewed liquor, beers, and whiskey. I interviewed them about their experiences during the time of crisis in 2017 every time I visited them for my cop-out dinners.
During my stay there, my weekends began with a long walk to the city centre. I walked through the field once occupied by local Muslim families before the crisis, the abandoned land filled with overgrown tall grass, rubbish dumps, and a creek that ran along the edge. Off this land lived a Hindu community, which marked the start of the town boundary. In the city centre., I would sit at a teashop named Nokia, spending the whole morning there reading, writing more in my journal, and sometimes eavesdropping on the conversations at nearby tables. After that, I would buy my weekly supplies at the town market and walk back home in the blazing midday sun.
One weekend in early May, I made acquaintance with a local teenager. I believe he was either Hindu or perhaps Muslim, but I am just taking a wild guess here. He was working as a day labourer at a construction site across the street. I smiled at him that day before I left home for my weekend ritual of tea in the city centre. I saw him again when I came back at midday. He was sitting in front of the entrance gate to my house, there were two low concrete blocks on either side serving as stools for passersby. I said hello to him, left my gate unlocked, and walked in.
That day, I was quite in a hurry to prepare a quick lunch, just frying an egg, before the power went out at 1 PM. By the time I noticed, he was standing at the main door to the house without me realising he had come into the compound. He struck me as an inquisitive young man, as he was looking through all my personal things and walking around the house as if he was looking for something valuable. I was shocked by his audacity and obviously not happy with it.
Personally, I value privacy, keep my nose out of other people's business and expect the same consideration in return. Frankly speaking, I do not like nosy people. Obviously, I was quite upset by his behaviour, so I asked him to leave and wait for me by the concrete blocks outside the compound. He left without saying a word. Then, a sense of guilt hit me. I felt like, 'What the heck had happened to me?’ and I was quite shocked at my own behaviour as well.
By the time I had finished frying the egg, he was out of sight. I felt sorry, guilt-filled, and ashamed of my own shocking reaction. All I wanted to do was to apologise, so I took a bottle of Pepsi that I bought from the market and a cup and walked up to the concrete blocks where I asked him to wait for me. I sat there and tried to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. I sat there for more or less half an hour, and was about to give up when I saw him coming out of a house that ran a betel nut business. I waved at him with the bottle of Pepsi and the cup, signalling him to come. He did, and sat next to me. I offered him a cup of Pepsi and told him that I was rude and apologised.
I felt quite satisfied afterwards. However, I learnt that day that a sudden rush of emotion can shatter the foundation of lifelong beliefs.
Before I tell you the story, I must explain where and how this happened so that you can fully comprehend it.
Two weeks after my arrival in Maungdaw, I found a house through a friend and rented it. If I have to be completely honest, it was a bit charitable for me to call it a house; it was an unfinished bricked block with a makeshift roof behind the township municipal office, and not too far from my office. But the landlady and her son were super nice, kind, and friendly. More importantly, the rent was within my budget, and they allowed me to pay the rent monthly, while others were asking me to pay six months upfront.
This so called rectangular-shaped house that I called home for 4 months was built at the back of the compound, leaving a spacious front yard where I often relaxed the day after work, sitting out in a plastic chair, smoking, and making daily entries in my journal while enjoying green tea. The house sat between my colleague’s house on the left, whom I never saw during my stay there, and an unoccupied plot of land on the right. Right next to this land lived a family who ran the cookery and sold locally brewed liquor, beers, and whiskey. I interviewed them about their experiences during the time of crisis in 2017 every time I visited them for my cop-out dinners.
During my stay there, my weekends began with a long walk to the city centre. I walked through the field once occupied by local Muslim families before the crisis, the abandoned land filled with overgrown tall grass, rubbish dumps, and a creek that ran along the edge. Off this land lived a Hindu community, which marked the start of the town boundary. In the city centre., I would sit at a teashop named Nokia, spending the whole morning there reading, writing more in my journal, and sometimes eavesdropping on the conversations at nearby tables. After that, I would buy my weekly supplies at the town market and walk back home in the blazing midday sun.
One weekend in early May, I made acquaintance with a local teenager. I believe he was either Hindu or perhaps Muslim, but I am just taking a wild guess here. He was working as a day labourer at a construction site across the street. I smiled at him that day before I left home for my weekend ritual of tea in the city centre. I saw him again when I came back at midday. He was sitting in front of the entrance gate to my house, there were two low concrete blocks on either side serving as stools for passersby. I said hello to him, left my gate unlocked, and walked in.
That day, I was quite in a hurry to prepare a quick lunch, just frying an egg, before the power went out at 1 PM. By the time I noticed, he was standing at the main door to the house without me realising he had come into the compound. He struck me as an inquisitive young man, as he was looking through all my personal things and walking around the house as if he was looking for something valuable. I was shocked by his audacity and obviously not happy with it.
Personally, I value privacy, keep my nose out of other people's business and expect the same consideration in return. Frankly speaking, I do not like nosy people. Obviously, I was quite upset by his behaviour, so I asked him to leave and wait for me by the concrete blocks outside the compound. He left without saying a word. Then, a sense of guilt hit me. I felt like, 'What the heck had happened to me?’ and I was quite shocked at my own behaviour as well.
By the time I had finished frying the egg, he was out of sight. I felt sorry, guilt-filled, and ashamed of my own shocking reaction. All I wanted to do was to apologise, so I took a bottle of Pepsi that I bought from the market and a cup and walked up to the concrete blocks where I asked him to wait for me. I sat there and tried to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. I sat there for more or less half an hour, and was about to give up when I saw him coming out of a house that ran a betel nut business. I waved at him with the bottle of Pepsi and the cup, signalling him to come. He did, and sat next to me. I offered him a cup of Pepsi and told him that I was rude and apologised.
I felt quite satisfied afterwards. However, I learnt that day that a sudden rush of emotion can shatter the foundation of lifelong beliefs.