On Solitude: Untitled (3)
The only time I set foot in Myanmar was to run away from something. After doing nothing but drinking, dancing, sunbathing in Thailand, I decided to leave my friend, who would keep traveling in Thailand, to leave the crowd which mostly consist of Westerners, and boarded my one-hour flight to Yangon. It was a matter of I needed to go somewhere alone, anywhere, so I picked a place right next to it.
We crashed our scooter on our way back from a party in Thailand so the first thing I did in Yangon was trying to get some iodine, gauze and cotton. I did not speak the language and I was mentally exhausted from the travels and being alone in a new city. I walked into a pharmacy after I checked in my hostel. Without thinking too much I showed them my wound and demonstrated the things I would like to have. I got them all within 5 minutes plus a sympathetic look. That’s how I started my journey in Myanmar.
The government stated locals cannot host travelers so I spent most of my time alone in Yangon. Simply wandering through the streets with a bit of sightseeing. I managed to meet a few Burmese boys, how and where I do not remember, but I do remember we had a good time. They took me for food; we talked about Myanmar. Myanmar in young people’s eyes. Not the one we know from the news or textbooks. I ended up making a lot of new friends there, from the girl in a local shop to wonderful travelers to a bunch of kids. They live in a village next to a river in Bagan. I went there every day during my stay there, doing nothing special but just spending some time together. They taught me Burmese. I was actually pretty good at it. I could say mountain, chicken, river, numbers from one to ten and nice to meet you. Through the vocabulary I learned, you get the idea of what are the things in front of us most of the time.
Myanmar ended up being one of those places that hovered on my mind after returning. I sent a postcard back to the village where I met those kids a month later. I will never know if they get it or not. It wasn’t a spectacular place yet it has something authentic about it. I was messing around with a Burmese boy at a party in Thailand. That’s when I learned he’s actually a Burmese instead of a Thai and a lot of Burmese went to Thailand for work and study. He wasn’t partying; he was trying to take a break from life after his twelve-hour shift. I was really naive. I watched his friend being half-drunk shouting fuck you Thailand and how much he wanted to go back home. On Valentine’s morning, my half Burmese and half Thai roommate told us how they tend to pay less to Burmese people compared to Thai. There’s something authentic about it. At the end of the day, we are all very alike.
A few days ago, a coup happened in Myanmar. I thought about the people I’ve met, even some of the faces are blurry already. I was amazed by the solitary of Burmese people yet besides texting a few friends, asking how are they doing, there was not much I can do. Just like many other things in this world, there’s not much I can do. So I ended up scratching through my memories back to the trip four years ago, trying to imprint the scenes in my mind, trying to let my body re-experience the feelings, reflecting on how far I’ve traveled after all these years and how far the Burmese people have come after all these decades. Only then I feel like we will all make it through again.
Because at the end of the day, we are all very alike.
－Written in 2021.02.13, Sofia
