အနီရောင်သောက
By the time I found out that wearing red clothes today should be avoided, I was in a classroom, wearing a bright red football jersey both the inside and outside of which are red, so turning it inside out wasn’t an option either. Even the raincoat I have got is half red. The craziness did not stop with the red jersey and raincoat. The handle grips of my bicycle are red too. I was in a place where military personnel were swarmed and highly active. I thought I was doomed and couldn’t stop thinking about how to make it back home.
The colour definition, or let's say symbolism, varies from country to country, right? Burma is not an exception. Here, the colour red represents courage, bravery, self-sacrifice, and decisiveness. So, as someone who wanted to embody bravery, I have been intentionally choosing red for all my personal belongings after the coup d’état.
Over the past years, the memories associated with this colour have been growing significantly. Among them, the one that has stayed with me the most until today happened on the day I travelled from Buthidaung to Sittwe by water. About three months after I arrived in Maungdaw, clashes broke out between the AA and the military. As a result, we were helplessly trapped in Maungdaw for almost another three months, unable to leave.
However, a miracle happened as the organisation I was working for somehow managed to wave a magic wand and arrange a speedboat for us to leave Maungdaw via Buthidaung one day. It was my first time travelling by water, and I still remember how beautiful the scenery was, and how empty the river looked, as there were hardly any boats in sight apart from ours, mainly due to the travel restrictions imposed by the military.
When we approached Rathedaung township, we came upon two navy ships docked side by side, where we had to stop by for the security check. They had our list and called our names out one by one. They also checked our bags carefully. It was somewhat obvious to me that they had some kind of paranoia about the colour red and black because they paid extra attention to the bags in those colours, checking them more thoroughly than the rest.
At one point, an armed man, not in uniform but in football shorts, walked straight up to me and asked me to open the red plastic box next to me, which was actually the fuel tank for our speedboat. I found the whole thing so absurd that I almost laughed, but of course, I dared not, so I hid it and secretly judged his cluelessness and stupidity. Once I explained to him that it was just a fuel box, he walked away with a long, sour face, probably embarrassed.
Living in Burma is full of excitment, and there is never a dull moment.