စိတ်ထဲရှိသမျှ

“We had livestock, a chicken farm,” she said. “We sold them one by one to stave off hunger. Now, we’re down to three chickens, two ducks, and this trishaw, which we’re trying to sell just to buy a bag of rice for the month.” The sun blazed like an angry god that day, sweating me like a pig. We walked across the parched paddy fields, now littered with waste. We were heading towards a cluster of huts. I found a woman there in her early thirties sitting on the doorstep, having her lunch. A few chickens and ducks were roaming near a battered trishaw in her

I heard this thought-provoking idea from a friend about a decade ago. I can’t recall the exact words now, but I believe it went something like, “As we focus on the days we assume we have left, we tend to forget the day we will inevitably leave this world.” I have been reflecting on this for the past few days; the more I think about it, the more I find myself realising, like many others, that I don’t think much about death in my everyday life. And like many others, I also take tomorrow for granted. This, of course, goes without saying how much I love to fill my days with endless plans—

When the question of how to cope with loss arises, it is far easier to offer words of comfort to a friend than to bear the weight of that sorrow yourself. After all, only through personal experience do we truly understand. I knew it was coming and thought I was well-prepared for it, both mentally and physically. But when I heard it spoken aloud, everything I had cherished and owned was gone, it felt like being hit by an enormous crashing wave, leaving me gasping for air. No, I do not think it was sadness

The first time I read "First They Killed My Father" by Loung Ung was many moons ago in a café near the backpacker hostel where I was staying in Siem Reap. Back then, I chose to read the book for no other reason than to educate myself about the Khmer Rouge regime ahead of my upcoming trip to the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, which was just two weeks away. However, despite the heart-wrenching survival story of Loung under the brutal Khmer Rouge, I found myself reading it with the detached mindset of a distant observer, indulging in carrot cake and sipping a hot Americano in the comfort of an air-conditioned room.

Yesterday, my 14-year-old nephew texted me that he would be joining a benevolent community organisation and travelling tomorrow to NPD, the capital, to help the flood victims, without me or his Dad accompanied. As much as I am proud of him for stepping up and wanting to help those in need, I can't help but worry about him. Today, I find myself constantly thinking about all the possible dangers: what if... and what if. I know that I can't always protect him but I hope he would be careful and stay away from anything risky, and those accompanying

History has repeated itself numerous times, but we human beings never learn from it. We witness it, experience it, and yet fail to change or grow from it. Things heated up a day after I booked my flight ticket to Ngapali. The cyclone Komen left Myanmar in disrepair. Most of the cities, along with 10 out of 14 states, went underwater. Up to 150,000 people had been displaced or had their livelihoods affected. Aid workers flooded into the affected zone. In and out of the country, from back streets to main roads, and at every corner of every junction, we saw groups or kind-hearted individuals with an outpouring of compassion

Almost everyone who knows me well enough knows the cricket story. As I always say, it all began on 19th Street in Chinatown. I was in my late teenage years then, out with my mates, enjoying some beers. One of my mates persuaded me to try crickets. I was terrified, especially by the heads of the crickets. Their big compound eyes and sharp legs were quite intimidating. This mate of mine was clever. He started by giving me the abdomen, the lower part of the cricket, then next were the hind legs. He broke them off and hand-fed me. Despite my fear, a part of me was curious

These days, I find myself looking forward to spending time with my nephew. I meet him once a week, specifically on Saturdays. I teach him English, a subject that he shows a keen interest. It will be a matter of time before I end up teaching him Mathematics as well. He is an average student at school, but I am happy as long as he manages to pass his subjects. I do not force him to study hard because I believe that real-life education is far more valuable than what is being taught in schools, especially in Burmese schools.  A week ago, he surprised me with a peculiar request. I do not know how but he learnt the existence

Finding houses in Maungdaw has proven to be more difficult than I anticipated. Before my arrival, I had envisioned a simple elevated house with basic features such as bamboo walls, a thatched roof, a well, an outside toilet, and plenty of shady trees. I was hoping for a rural setting with a peaceful atmosphere. That envision of mine was wishful, unfortunately. Furthermore, things got even more difficult as I was unaware at the time but later found out that being an outsider posed an even greater challenge in finding a place to live, as I had to

I met her at a friend's wedding a few days ago. She was so surprised to see me that she called out my name in excitement. The last time I had seen her was almost a year ago at our makeshift rooftop bar in MUA. She had many questions about me and wanted to know what I had been up to since I left work. However, the music was too loud to hold a conversation.  “Learning German,” I told her over the loud music but of course, she didn’t catch it. She asked me again for confirmation. I repeated myself but to no avail. She suggested we walk to a corner, out of the reception hall. “Learning German,” I told her

Walking in the pitch black, with each step taken cautiously, unsure of the path ahead. Shadows play tricks on the senses, amplifying the feeling of uncertainty. The absence of light obscures landmarks, leaving one to navigate through the darkness, relying on instinct and perseverance. In this challenging situation, it becomes an exploration of trust, both in oneself and in the unseen possibilities that lie beyond the shadows. It is in these moments that the true strength of the human spirit is tested, as one finds resilience and the determination to forge ahead, even when the destination remains unknown.

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,

Today, I would like to dedicate the following French poem to Ce. L’Adieu The farewell by Poet Guillaume Apollinaire. J’ai cueilli ce brin de bruyère L’automne est morte souviens-t’en Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre Odeur du temps brin de bruyère Et souviens-toi que je t’attends The last time I saw Ce was five years ago today. Of course, neither of us anticipated it would be the last time we saw each other. Even as the years have passed, the memory of our

The following translated quote in French is from the book: how stars are born, written by two Chinese nobles, Ye-Zu and Mai-Li. Both were forced into exile, fled across Mongolia to Jerusalem. Et de temps en temps tu vivras des instants si beaux, qu’ils continueront de briller même quand le soleil se couchera, pour t’éclairer les soirs de doutes. It encourages us that such beautiful moments (des instants si beaux) we experience from time to time will continue to shine after sunset (quand le soleil se couchera) and on our

I do not know his name but we became friends today.  He brought me a cup of hot tea to my table. He is a tea boy at the teashop that I've been visiting regularly for the past two months.  "I like your english handwriting. It is beautiful," was what he told me as he put the tea cup down on my table.  I was shocked. I did not know how to respond to him. I brought no stationery items except my phone today. He must have seen me writing in

One life. Just one. Why aren't we running like we are on fire towards our wildest dreams? There comes a time when we all have to make a difficult choice. Though the choice is yours, sacrifice is unavoidable. I received a job offer via phone call earlier today. While my calculated brain says "yes", my passionated heart which yearns for fulfilling a long-neglected dream, whispers "no". Believe me, I've never felt this level of confusion before. There is no denying the fact that this job offer at a reputable organisation

He was my schoolmate. We did not go to the same primary school, but we met in high school and became pals. He was really clever, often came second or third in our class. His mum was a teacher and taught at a different school, and his dad was the headteacher at another, so smarts ran in their family. After high school, we went our separate ways. He studied electrical engineering, while I somehow miraculously ended up in the computer science field. Years later, I ran into him in the

I had the pleasure of meeting him, a quite cheerful bloke radiates only positive vibes, and becoming his friends in America, a country well known for its statue of liberty, and freedom. Our connection was instant, formed just a day after his arrival. On a fine evening after dinner, we delved into a discussion about the important roles of the economy and education in a country. He came from a digital marketing background but had also spent years in the hotelier industry.  He had a deep passion for tattoos

Blue 1 We passed a coffee plantation and he said it was a pity that the people didn’t drink the coffee that was growing right there on their own hillsides, rather had to drink bloody horrible Nestlé coffee instead. The Swiss looked at me. After a moment he said, well that’s the world goes. The fucking Swiss. They spoke perfect English to me and perfect Spanish to the guide. They could properly say “well that’s the way the world goes” in French, Italian and German too.  So geht es. C’est

Think of all those times you spend waiting for something in the day: the rain to stop, the bus to arrive, traffic to clear, entertainments to start, a kettle to boil, the job interview offer to come. And what about people, the wait at the doctor's office, the optician, the dentist, the supermarket check-out operator, the post office clerk, the waiter at restaurant, and last but not least that someone you hold dear? All these things and people keep you waiting.. the individual slices of time may not be long