New Voices of A Changing Myanmar

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New Voices of a
Changing Myanmar
Short Stories by
Students and Members of the American Center
Edited by Elias Lindert
First Edition, 2016
Published by the community of the American Center, Rangoon.

Copyright 2016 by the individual authors, all rights reserved.
This collection is composed of works of fiction. Names, characters,

organizations, places, and events are either the product of the authors
imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons
living or deadinstitutions, or locales is purely coincidental.
This is a free eBook. You are free to give it away (in unmodified form) to
whomever you wish.
Cover images contributed by Sai Htin Linn Htet for
nonprofit purposes. www.saihtinlinnhtet.com
Table of Contents
Introduction
ix
Mind the Gap
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
The Other Side of the Coin
Than Toe Aung
13
Meditations
Frankie Yarzar Htet
39
Moments of Cruelty
Mei
43
The Reflection of the Moon
Thet Su
49
88
Wint Thu
57
An Unfortunate Wish
Simon Sai
63
Her
Johnathan Thu
69
Letter to a Lost Hated One
Pyone Lei Lei Mon
83
Five Fingers
Yamindra Malla
89
To the Creek
Aung Kaung Myat
95
About the Authors
111
Introduction
There are few countries changing as rapidly as Myanmar. Once one of the
worlds most notorious military dictatorships, the country now has a
parliament dominated by Aung San Suu Kyis National League for
Democracy, an expanding free press, a lively and diverse arts scene, and
one of the fastest growing economies in the world. In Yangon, the rising
towers of luxury hotels overshadow old colonial buildings, immense malls
displace street markets, and international fast food chains spring up where
traditional tea shops once stood. Even in smaller towns and villages, people
everywhere can be seen flipping through Facebook on their smartphone
in a country where, until recently, only the rich could afford a SIM card
and social media could only be accessed through proxy servers.
The authors of the stories in this book are almost entirely from a
generation that was born into one of the most isolated nations on the
planet and came of age in a time when they could watch Gangnam Style on
their phone and dance along with the rest of the world. Its no wonder that
the stories contained herein demonstrate a preoccupation with the horrors
of the past, uncertainty about the present, and trepidation about what may
come. Their generation is one haunted by its nations history even as the
vi
future shines in front of them with an uncomfortable and perhaps artificial
brightness, as so many digital billboards around Yangon do nowadays.
The stories that open and close this collection, Mind the Gap and
To the Creek, are both speculative visions of the countrys future. The
former takes place in a Yangon that is still very recognizable as the city of
today, yet far more developed, and in which there is an even greater disparity
of wealth. The latter is a terrifying imagining of what could happen if the
ultranationalist movement were to gain control of the country, and the
Orwellian nightmare scenario it portrays is disturbingly realistic.
Taking place in the present day, The Other Side of the Coin is a
look inside of an interfaith relationship, where a young couples love is
threatened by institutionalized segregation and bigotry. Meditations gives
the reader a glimpse of the monastic life by following a monk through his
daily routine, showing both the monotony and tranquility contained within
it. In Five Fingers, a calmly narrated trip up the Irrawaddy River becomes
a contemplation of differences in perception, and how what for some is a
deformity is for others a gift.
Looking into the past, Moments of Cruelty is an unflinching
depiction of what happens when human failings and nature conspire to
create a perfect storm, but it is as much about humanitys redeeming qualities
as it is about what destroys us. In The Reflection of the Moon, a classic
noir piece set during the dark years of military rule, the protagonists internal
darkness reveals itself to be just as capable of violence as the greater forces
that made her into who she is. 88 is a succinct and brutal take on one of
the most critical events in the last half century of Myanmars history,
summing up in a few pages what is still a source of both pride and pain for
the national consciousness: the courage, the optimism, and the terrible
loss of life.
vii
Unclassifiable as past, present, or future, Her is a postmodern story
of obsession that plays explicitly with time in the form of its looping
chronology, with results that are at turns humorous and nightmarish. An
Unfortunate Wish begins as a tale of reincarnation and turns into a
whirlwind journey through one mans life and his many trials and
tribulations, including some of Myanmars more recent national tragedies.
Letter to a Lost Hated One puts a clever twist on the epistolary narrative
style, jumping between past and present in order to build tension as the
truth behind the terrible thing that happened in a baby girls bedroom is
slowly revealed.
Each of these diverse stories is an achievement not only of storytelling,
but of the English language, of which none of the authors is a native
speaker. Writing a good story is difficult; writing a good story in a foreign
language is a truly impressive feat indeed. These eleven authors created
their powerful pieces of fiction through hard work and perseverance. In
some cases it took more than ten drafts and countless hours of writing
and rewriting, but they kept at it, and the results speak for themselves.
I am proud to say that the majority of the authors featured in this
collection wrote their first English language story in my creative writing
classes at the American Center. It has been a pleasure to work with them
and read their work over the years, and I am greatly pleased to share this
sampling of their best writing with readers across Myanmar and around
the world.
Elias Lindert
Yangon, Myanmar
Mind the Gap

By Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
The advertisement flashed across the five-story tall screen on the wall of
one of the condos near the Pyay and Inya Road junction. A glittering jetblack car zoomed across the screen, seeming to wink at the people below,
while the silky voice of a man flowed from hidden speakers: The 2027
BMW i20, unveiled at last! With auto hazard avoidance technology, patented
Chameleon System interchangeable body paint in up to thirty colors,
signature world-class leather seats, smart self-driving mode, and full car
air-bag protection bubbleWhen Bad Boys Are Not Always Dangerous! The
car industry was still booming in Myanmar, even though the import rate
had stabilized after skyrocketing for years.
The Inya Lake area was the only place left with many trees in this part
of town. The lake and its surrounding park were protected by strong walls
to prevent the pollution of this tiny urban ecosystem. Even still, the water
seemed to be much lower now than just a few years ago, and it had a
strange color to it, as if it had been dyed a blue too perfect to be natural.
But it mirrored the eighty-story structures of the nearby condos beautifully,
and the trees around Inya were extraordinarily green, which was unusual
1
Mind the Gap
considering the blast furnace temperatures in Yangon. The sun seemed to

be shining brighter these days, and the heat was fierce with no sign of
slowing its ruthless stride, even though December was approaching. The
outlines of objects, moving or still, wavered in the heat as the road surface
seemed to liquefy and evaporate. There was no sense of calm in the air.
Yangon had changed a lot since the first overpass was built over Hledan
Junction twelve years before. The government had been trying to keep up
with the massive influx of cars into the country, and now, a decade and a
half after the importation frenzy had begun, they had finally caught up
with the necessary infrastructure improvements. New speed bumps had
been put here and there on many streets as high-speed racers became more
and more reckless. Reckless or not, it wasnt always entirely the drivers
fault. BMW wasnt the only manufacturer with self-driving sports cars
anymore, though the feature was still flaunted proudly. While impressive,
the feature had yet to be perfected.
The roads were better than ever, yet there was still traffic, like in any
other developed country. Sports cars sped rapidly over the sky-bridge,
sending micro-vibrations through the slower cars below them. The slower
cars, unable to use the sky-bridge speedway, were stuck in the traffic at
Hledan Junction underneath it. The time the traffic light was green went
painfully fast, yet the red seemed to last for ages. The honking of horns
was not the only way for drivers to get the attention of a car in front of
them; interactive screens on the windshield could show messages varying
from Would you mind going faster? to Hurry up, asshole! Most cars had speakers
to broadcast these lines as well, but the audio method had recently been
declared illegal for public safety reasons.
Drivers honked and directed angry messages at one another as they
tried to make it through the junction and anxiously watched the seconds
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Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
of the green light tick down. Some were hungry and on their way to eat,
and others were in a rush to get back to the cool sanctuary of their offices
after their lunch hour. Above all, it was the heat making them uncomfortable
and ill-tempered. Even their cars powerful air-conditioners could hardly
make a dent in the near-boiling-point temperature.
An old woman emerged from the shade of the sky-bridge into the
glaring sun. Her sagging tanned skin matched the faded color of her brown
yaw-gi clothing. Her face read like a map of time, every line and wrinkle
etched like a grim memory upon her skin. Her dull milky grey eyes left her
with a fraction of sight, just enough to allow her to stagger on her way.
The upper part of her body was arched like a bow, and she walked only
with the aid of a frail walking stick.
She hobbled toward the nearest car and stopped to ask for money
from the driver, who immediately rolled up his window, even though his
air-conditioner appeared to be broken. The cars wheels moved several
inches forward, coming as close to the bumper of the car in front of it as
possible to get away from the woman.
She moved on to the next car, her face remaining impassive, since she
had become accustomed to such hostility throughout her elder years. She
got close to a glistening red sports car, her reflection on the polished surface
twisting and curving as she moved slowly alongside the car toward the
window. Inside the vehicle was a beautiful girl with big red sunglasses,
tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel with her blood-red fingernails,
which matched her lipstick. The girl seemed caught up in the music and
didnt notice the old woman until she stood directly beside the car window.
The girl stopped tapping her fingers and quickly reached to press a button
near the gear shift, and she disappeared behind her windows as they were
instantly tinted pitch-black.
3
Mind the Gap
The woman let out a tired sigh, inaudible to everyone but her. All day
she had been coming out from the shade to the cars every time the traffic
light turned red, then returning when it turned green and the cars began to
move. Her legs were stiff and weak, and it took several minutes for her to
return under the bridge. Sometimes, if the light turned red before she
could reach the shade, she would make a painful turn back toward the
road.
Hledan Junction had only become her usual spot a year or so ago
or maybe it had been longer than that. It was hard to keep track of the
days while living on the street, where all of her possessions were the clothes
on her back and a ragged pack. She used to sleep and beg at Myaynigone
Junction until the area was taken by a housing project. Now only high
society lived there, according to the newspapers. Shed seen pictures in a
newspaper her friend had showed to her. The article talked about how fast
the city was developing and how wealthy its inhabitants were becoming.
Back when shed stayed at Myaynigone, her friend had read to her from
days-old newspapers they found on the street. She was another old woman
like her, though her eyes were better, and together they kept each other
company and shared what little food they could afford or scavenge. Now
she didnt know where her friend was. She had met a new friend at Hledan
Junction when she first came there, an old man in a colorless longyi and
frayed shirt, his only set of clothing. He was as fragile as she was, his
cheeks even more hollow and his eyes more lifeless. But he disappeared a
few months later. One night she didnt see him sleeping where he usually
slept, two pillars away from her, and she never saw him again. She hoped
he moved to a place where he was better-off. She stayed at Hledan, frail
and alone, but surviving.
She saw a big black car with enormous wheels and blindingly shiny
4
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
rims, and she thought for a second or two about going up to it and asking
for money. The fat man inside looked wealthy, his precious rings digging
into his sausage-like fingers, his double-chinned face red from the suns
heat and his striped tie tight around his flabby neck. She cautiously
approached the car, hopefully eyeing the packets of money carelessly
scattered on the dashboard; in spite of the improving economy, inflation
remained an issue, and many people still distrusted banks. Before she could
get close to the car, an awful noise began to blare, and the warning,
DANGEROUS PROXIMITY: STAY BACK! flashed across the car
windows. Her exhausted heart skipped a beat and she stepped back
hurriedly. The man squinted at her from behind the flashing window, his
fat fingers rubbing his big red nose in annoyance.
The old woman thought about taking a break from all the chaos, but
she decided she would try one more car before the light turned green.
Stalled in the traffic, she saw a familiar looking vehicle. It was a normal
grey car, a bit small and dusty, an old model. There was nothing special
about it except the little girl inside, smiling and waving at her from its
passenger-side window. Her heart felt light, and her toothless grin lifted
her sagging cheeks. She walked faster toward the car, being careful not to
touch the hood or the side; she couldnt be too sure about what technological
defenses it might possess. The window rolled down hastily.
Good afternoon, Grandmother, the girl greeted her as she poked
her head out the window.
Oh, its my little granddaughter again, the old woman said, still
smiling. Older Burmese people still called each other by family terms even
when they werent related, but for someone so young to do so was a lovely
surprise for the old woman.
I havent seen you for a while. My school was closed for the
5
Mind the Gap
Tazaungdaing holiday. She pushed her two tiny hands out the window
and offered the old woman the money she was clutching.
Thank you very much, dear, the old woman said, and she patted the
car with the money, out of habit. May you be healthy and wealthy in life,
and may you live in safety. May you learn well at school and become a wise,
well-educated woman. May this car travel without any danger. It had always
been a Burmese tradition to bestow good wishes on the person who had
donated to or done a good deed for them, and the old woman still had
enough memory to know what the traditions and culture had once been.
May your wishes come true, the girl replied, smiling brightly.
I lost my husband and my son, and I was left alone. Thats why I am
begging like this. I am too old to do anything else. No one wants me, the
old woman said, giving the girl an apologetic look. She felt ashamed to be
doing this in front of a sweet little girl who actually seemed to care about
her.
The little girl didnt know what to say back to her. Its okay, she
managed to say before the traffic light turned green.
The old woman hobbled back toward the shade as the traffic started
to move. The small grey car drove past her. The little girl kept looking at
the rear-view mirror until the old woman disappeared into the shade. She
felt very sad for the old woman, but she was glad to have met her again.
She and her daddy had driven past this place the day before around noon,
but she hadnt seen the old woman. Shed been very worried and kept
asking her daddy where the old woman could have been.
Daddy, daddy, why is she not here? Where did she go? Do you think
shes okay? she had asked yesterday, her head turning in every direction,
straining her neck to see past the cars in front of her.
Shes all right, Su Su. Shes probably having her lunch or taking a
6
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
nap. Its already noon, you see, so she must be hungry or tired, her daddy
had replied, patting her head.
Do you think she can buy lunch, daddy? What if no one gave her
anything? We werent here early enough for her, she said.
Of course, honey. Other cars will give to her as well. If they didnt,
the world would be a pretty cruel place. And Hledan market has a lot of
cheap places for her to buy rice.
Not as cheap as before, though, isnt that what you told me? the
girl asked, sulking. I hope she can afford a bag of rice. They drove in
silence for a while before she said, I miss Grandma.
She had been one of the very few children who still lived with her
grandparents until they both passed away a year ago. She had loved her
grandparents very much, and had been so glad that she didnt have to go to
a separate house or a nursing home to visit them. She was glad that her
grandparents hadnt become the crazy old people with weird habits
that her friends always talked about every Monday after theyd visited their
own grandparents in nursing homes over the weekend. The hectic lifestyle
of working people nowadays meant that most of them couldnt continue
the tradition of taking care of old relatives anymore, but her mommy and
daddy tried to do their best till the very end. She had been very close with
her grandparents, closer even than her parents, since they could give her
time and attention that her parents couldnt.
Her daddy had to go back to work that afternoon, and he was in a
rush to drop her off at school. Her school was one of the best in Yangon;
it was for privileged kids unlike herself. The only reason she could get into
this school was because her daddy was an old friend of the schools
chairman. When shed first begun going there, her classmates had seemed
to regard her as an entirely different creature from them, until shed finally
7
Mind the Gap
gotten accustomed to their luxurious lifestyles and haughty behavior and

learned to fit in. Her daddy still didnt drive a Lexus LFA like most dads
did, but she had stopped talking to her classmates about how she massaged
her grandmother at night while her grandmother told her stories, or how
she helped her mommy cook her favorite curry. Yes, she had maids at her
house, but not a dozen of them, like her friends had, to sweep up every
dust particle in their houses.
Most of her classmates were Burmese, but there were also some
Korean and Japanese kids. Her best friend was Danish. During their break
time, holographic images projected from the rich kids gadget phones
floated above the tables as they showed off their daddys new car or
mommys new dress to each other. Their teacher needed to use a cell jammer
during their class to get them to put away their phones. Su Su only had an
old smart phone with a simple touch screen and what the other kids
considered an ancient IOS. She was fine with that, though, just as she was
fine with her lifeat least, most of the time. Her family owned two
reasonable cars and they lived in a small but cozy house. She was proud of
her home because houses were becoming increasingly rare, while high-rise
condos were taking over the city.
Her daddy drove past University Avenue Road and turned at the Inya
Road traffic light. These areas had been quite fancy even before she was
born, and had only gotten more developed since then. She gazed out her
car window at all the sky-high buildings and communications towers. She
stared at the big and shiny cars that sped past them. Before they turned
onto Golden Valley Street, she saw a very old man walking on the sidewalk
alone, with his back bent from the big plastic bag he was carrying over his
shoulder. The bag didnt look very heavy; it was filled with tiny packs of
potato chips, fish fries and other snacks, but it was stuffed so full that it
8
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
made the hunched man appear even smaller. In her mind, he looked like a
little ant carrying a huge grain of rice.
Daddy, daddy, lets buy something from him, Su Su said, tugging
his shirt.
All right. Well buy from him if we can catch him before we need to
turn, okay?
But they couldnt catch him in time, mainly because the car behind
them was blasting its horn, forcing them to turn at once without slowing
down. The wrinkled old man was left standing there, and her eyes followed
him in the rear windshield as they drove away.
Daddy, he doesnt have a hat, she said, trying to stand up on her car
seat to see the old man. You said old people like Grandpa can get sick
very easily from heat like this.
Im sorry, Su Su, but theres nothing we can do now. Please sit back
down. Its dangerous, he said, taking her hand and gently pulling her down.
Su Su became silent and crossed her arms, but she obeyed her daddy.
He had always been the nicest person she had ever known, especially
compared to her friends fathers. He might not be able to give her everything
she asked for, but she knew he always tried. Yesterday, shed asked him to
buy her a gadget phone like everyone in her class had. She also asked for a
new brand of headphones sponsored by a pop star, even though she didnt
really like music. She knew that both of these things were very expensive
and her parents couldnt buy them for her, but she had felt frustrated
enough to ask because her best friend had just gotten his second pair of
the headphones, on top of the new phone hed gotten the week before.
She wanted a new pair of Air Jordans, and she wanted new dresses, and
she wanted so many of the other things that her friends already had. But
right now, she wasnt thinking of any those things.
9
Mind the Gap
She thought of an old couple shed seen near the Damazedi traffic
light: a wrinkled, tanned old man with age spots who supported a little old
lady by her arm as the two of them hobbled through the maze of cars,
asking for money. She had cried when shed seen them because she felt so
sorry for them, and also because she thought to herself, What if my
grandparents had to do this? Shed asked her daddy if they could pick them up
and bring them to a nursing home. He told her that all the nursing homes
he knew were expensive, and they couldnt afford to pay the room and
board for beggars. Then he bought her ice-cream to make her stop crying.
She thought of the old man with the floppy hat she always used to
see near her neighborhoods garbage bins, picking through the trash. He
had two dirty cloth bags, one on each side of a long rod on his shoulder.
He used to collect plastic bags, bottles, and cans near the garbage bins
when she was very young. But now garbage collection was more systematic,
there was an official recycling procedure in place, and fewer people were
using plastic bags. It was getting difficult for the old man to find scraps
and recyclables that he could sell. Also, the employees of the newly formed
Environment and Sustainability Department were telling him not to take
anything out of the garbage, warning him not to come near the bins or
else hed be arrested. These days, the old man just sat there on the corner
of the street, a safe distance between him and the bins, his empty bags
sprawled beside him.
Su Su was about to cry, and her daddy knew it. He looked at the car
clock to see whether they still had time before school.
Su Su, would you like some ice cream? Hagen-Dazs is just around
the corner.
She nodded without saying anything, and he drove toward her favorite
ice-cream bar. It was her favorite place in the whole world. All the walls
10
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar
and floors were vanilla-colored, with multicolored chairs and tables in the
shapes of cones and scoops of ice-cream. The dangling crystalline
chandelier made her feel like she was in a castle. Her daddy parked the car
in between a silver sports car and an aggressively yellow 4x4 SUV, and they
went inside.
Everything was just the way she remembered it. Even the customers
looked like princes and princesses. But she didnt feel like she was in a
castle this time. Her visions of the poor would not leave her. They kept
coming back to her with greater and greater strength, until she could no
longer see the wealth all around her.
11
12

By Than Toe Aung
1
Allah is the greatest. Allah is the greatest.
I testify that there is no God except Allah.
I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.
Come to prayer. Come to prayer.
The muezzin from the Bengali Mosque in downtown Sule is broadcasting
azan for the Friday prayer. Nwe Sein Wai stands waiting patiently in front
of the mosque while Thiha prays inside. As she waits for him to finish
praying, she looks up at Sule Pagoda, puts her palms together, closes her
eyes, and pays homage to the Lord Buddha. A few minutes later, the prayer
is finished and people start to come out of the mosque. Soon Thiha
emerges, removing his prayer cap. When he sees Nwe, he glances around,
and taking advantage of the cover granted by the flow of worshippers
from the mosque, he gives her a stealthy kiss on the cheek.
Stop it, Thiha! I hate it when you do that in public, she says, blushing.
13
Dont worry; no one saw, he replies with a mischievous grin. And

Im sorry. I just cant help it. It comes out of habit.
A habit that you picked up with a lot of other girls before me?
Dont be silly. You are the first girl Ive ever been in love with.
Liar! she says with a laugh.
Its okay if you dont believe me, he says just as a noisy bus roars
past.
Sorry. What did you say?
Never mind. Lets go eat something. Im hungry.
All right then.
It was a rainy evening when Thiha first met Nwe Sein Wai at their
English language class. The class had just been dismissed, and he was about
to head back home. He had an important family dinner he had to go to,
but he didnt have an umbrella with him, and the rain was pouring down
heavily. Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw
a girl raising her umbrella.
Do you need a lift? she asked in English.
A lift? He thought. Its an umbrella, not a car. But then he understood
what she meant, and he went along with her. She escorted him to the
nearest bus station. On the way, she spoke to him in English, and he replied
in kind. He sensed that she wanted to practice her English, but he didnt
know why she chose him. It was not as if he was one of the best students
in the class. His spoken English was only so-so, though he was a strong
reader. When they arrived at the bus stop, she said goodbye and walked
away. He didnt get to know her name, nor have a chance to tell her his.
Still, the memory of the encounter stayed with him.
Thiha soon found out that she was a close friend of one of his best
friends, Min Thant, who told him that her name was Nwe Sein Wai. After
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Than Toe Aung
the ride she gave him in the rain, he tried his best to get closer to her.
She spent most of her time in the library, so Thiha began going there too,
even though he had rarely ever gone to the library before hed met her. As
time passed by, they began meeting each other frequently at a coffee shop,
where they would hang out before their class started. They often talked
about their family lives, their experiences at their universities, their crazy
friends. Sometimes theyd giggle over the silly antics of a couple sitting at
another table. Then they would go to class together.
Now that theyve been meeting regularly for several months, some
people in their class think they are a couple, but most do not, since their
appearances are so distinctively opposite. Thiha is brown, Indian-looking,
hairy, and a Muslim. Nwe Sein Wai, on the other hand, is light-skinned,
with the features of a typical Burmese lady, and a Buddhist. They get a lot
of attention when they are together in public because of the racial
segregation and religious tension between Muslims and Buddhists. The
majority of Muslims in Myanmar look Indian, like Thiha, and Buddhists
tend not to like Muslim guys dating Buddhist girls. However, Thiha and
Nwe Sein Wai never explain themselves to others. When they are asked if
they are a couple, they brush off the question and laugh. After their English
class, Nwe attends a painting class nearby while Thiha waits for her at their
regular caf. They usually hang out after Nwes painting class finishes at
eight. Its easier for them to be together in public at night; because it is
darker and there are fewer people on the roads, they dont have to worry
about getting nasty looksor worsefrom strangers. Only under the cover
of night can they truly be themselves with each other. When they go out
together during the daytime, they avoid holding hands or doing anything
that would give the impression that they are a couple.
After class is over and night has fallen, they usually take a walk to the
15
banks of Inya Lake, where there are a lot of couples on dates, strolling
together or sitting and chitchatting. Since the dim lights from lampposts
are the only lights around the lake at night, the couples enjoy a level of
freedom they could not have during the day. When Nwe and Thiha are
tired, they sit side by side on a bench along the shore and enjoy the scenery
of Inya Lake. Sometimes they continue to talk about whatever comes into
their minds. Other times they just sit silently beside each other, doing
nothing but gazing at the lake and the bright lights across the water. Thiha
likes to take out his earphones, put one in Nwes ear and the other in his,
and play their favorite music. Nwe lays her head on Thihas shoulder, closing
her eyes and enjoying the music and the cool breeze coming across the
lake.
Do you love me, Nwe? Thiha asks her out of the blue on one such
night. There follows a long silence. She is resting her head on his shoulder
but doesnt say a word. Then she starts laughing softly.
Hey, why are you laughing?
You know, you are a naughty boy.
Whys that?
Because you dont just ask a girl if she loves you! she says, her cute
smile forming. Youre supposed to tell her that you love her. Thats how it
is.
But thats not how its done in American movies, he protests. They
hardly even say I love you when theyre beginning to date each other.
They start off with I like you. And anyone, boys or girls, can say it first.
Then go to America! This is Myanmar, she replies.
Thiha picks up a small flat rock and throws it at the lake. The rock
skips across the surface of the water three times before it sinks. It doesnt
matter who says it first, does it? But Ill keep that rule in mind for future
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Than Toe Aung
reference.
Why for future reference? she asks. Why not now?
He gazes at the lights shining on the other side of the lake and feels
the breeze rubbing against his face. When people say they love someone,
it always leaves me thinking about what they really mean by that. Or do
you think they even know? Sitting with you right here makes me feel unreal.
Its the same sort of unreality as seeing a light after living in the darkness
for a long time. You might be afraid to hold onto that glimpse of light, but
you also dont want it to fade away.
I think you love me, Nwe whispers.
Why do you think so?
Because I love you too.
Then explain it to me, please.
I cant. Thats the beauty of love. You feel it but its difficult to
explain.
He looks into her eyes, searching for something. Her lips are half
open and half closed; the curve that forms on her lips when she smiles is
perhaps his favorite thing about her. He can feel her slow breathing as his
face nears hers and smell the sweet fragrance of thanaka on her skin. He
gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She has the sweetest scent of anyone
he has ever been close to. A few drops of rain fall, and before they notice,
it begins to pour. The other couples by the lakeside get up and run for the
nearest bus stop, where there is a small roof for waiting passengers.
Do you feel like walking back to the dorms? Thiha asks. He usually
walks her to her dorm, and then he takes a bus and goes back home where
he lives with his parents.
In this rain?
Yeah.
17
Why? I have a class tomorrow. I cant risk getting sick. We dont have
an umbrella. You know I can catch the flu very easily.
I know, but . . . but Ive always loved walking in the rain. I mean, the
world is a noisy place, full of people clamoring for attention or bustling
from one place to the next. But when the rain comes, they all disappear.
Its as if the signal between the outside world and your ears is cut off. As if
the rain is saying, Shut up and listen to me, you lousy people! All you hear
is the sound of the rain falling, and it puts your mind at peace. I always
love to look up at the sky and feel the raindrops coming down on my face.
Its the best feeling in the world. Maybe you should try it, too.
She looks at the couples running toward the bus stop for shelter, and
her brow furrows as she considers her decision. Okay then, she says.
Ill try it. But only this time. And youre responsible for taking care of me
if I get sick. Deal?
Deal. You have my word on that.
As the rain continues to come down, they walk side by side, holding
hands. Soon theyre both soaked through. Nwe looks stunning with her
Burmese traditional dress clinging to her skin, revealing the perfect curves
and edges of her small, beautiful body. Her face is covered in droplets of
water instead of thanaka, and her lips are turning pink in the rain.
I want you to carry me in your arms, Thiha. I have always dreamt of
a day that my boyfriend would carry me in his arms and take me home,
she says as they walk.
No. People will look at us. We will get a lot of attention.
Come on. Its raining so hard that no one is on this entire road
except us. Or is it because maybe you just arent strong enough to carry
me? she teases.
All of a sudden, he takes hold of her and lifts her into his arms.
18
Than Toe Aung
Woah! she says, to her own surprise. Thats my man!

She closes her eyes and leans back in his arms, feeling the gentle
touch of the rain as it pours over her face. Now I know why you like this
so much, she says. She parts her lips, and he lowers his head and kisses
her. Under the cold raindrops, she holds onto his neck, kissing him back
while he carries her slowly through the rain. The rain does not stop falling
all night long.
2
At the age of sixteen, Thiha had joined the Myanmar Maritime University,
hoping he would one day become the captain of a ship and travel around
the world. His dream collapsed when he finally realized that his high school
marks were insufficient to get into the major necessary to become a captain.
He ended up studying electrical engineering, but he was never interested in
it. It was just the result of the backward educational system forced on him
by the countrys military rulers. They couldnt care less about anyone, he
thought to himself, let alone students and their dreams. He would have
liked to study abroad, but he didnt have the resources, and even if he did,
he wouldnt have known what to study. So he continued studying
engineering. Oftentimes, he would skip his classes and play soccer or
computer games with his friends. Thats when he met Min Thant, on a day
both of them were cutting class. They were in the same major, they had
similar views, and they were similarly dissatisfied with school. It was Min
Thant who introduced him to English novels, and soon Thiha had a true
passion in his life.
Thiha loved and enjoyed English to the same degree that he hated
and was bored by engineering. Though his English wasnt great, the desire
19
to be able to read more difficult books and to speak and write fluently
pushed him to study the language harder and harder. English might just be
the door to his dreams, he thought.
Soon after he started reading books in English, the urge to try out
writing his own stories made him create an online blog. He started writing
poems and short stories and posting them on his blog, and soon he was
getting messages from strangers who told him they really liked his work.
Some of his poems and short stories were chosen for his university
magazine. He won prizes in a few small local contests. Still, he didnt feel
that he was a good writer.
Sir, here is your black coffee.
He is lost in his thoughts when the waitress arrives at his table. Oh,
thank you, he says.
The radio in the caf is playing Once Upon A Time by Percy Faith at a
low volume. Its funny, he thinks. If he hadnt met Min Thant, he might
never have gotten into English language literature, and then he never would
have realized that he had a passion for writing. He takes a sip of the coffee
and feels the warmth along his throat. The subtle savor of the coffee gives
him a quiet sense of joy. He comes often to this small caf. The theme of
its decor is that of Rangoon in the early 20th century. The walls are full of
paintings and photographs, a dim yellow light above each of them. One of
the photos shows a group of Indian men posing outside of an old colonial
building. Some are standing, some are sitting, some are facing each other,
but they all have a common facial expression indicating neither happiness
nor sadness; they are simply blank. The painting to his right shows the
eyes of an Indian girl peeking through her sari, just like in Bollywood movies.
Below the painting, it reads, Welcome to Rangoon, 1906.
Next to his table there sits a white man wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
20
Than Toe Aung
An American, maybe. Beside him is a small black suitcase with airline tags
still tied to its handle. The man is totally absorbed in a newspaper and
doesnt seem to care whats going on around him. He is reading an article
with the title More Dead in Rakhine State Sectarian Violence. The article is not
very long, but it seems like he is reading some parts of it twice, word by
word, in order to grasp it fully.
Caught up in observing the man and reading over his shoulder, Thiha
suddenly remembers he has to pick up Nwe from her painting class. He
checks the clock on the wall; its almost eight. He takes one last sip of his
black coffee, grabs his jacket, and leaves in a hurry.
Nwe is sitting at the bottom of the stairway that leads to her classroom,
absorbed in one of her textbooks. When she notices Thiha approaching,
she looks up at him and narrows her eyes. He puts his palms together, as if
praying for mercy.
No. That wont do, Thiha. You are latedont expect forgiveness so
easily, she says.
What can I do to make it up to you?
Hmm, let me see. You deserve a serious punishment. She thinks
for a while. Finally, she scratches her head and says, Well, todays your
lucky day. I cant think of anything. Just buy me an ice-cream.
I will buy you two ice-creams.
Deal, she says.
You know, you are such a childish girl.
Its your fault you love a childish girl.
Youre right, he says. My bad.
As they walk down the street together, they notice a man coming
toward them from the opposite direction. He is walking three puppies:
two black barbets and one brown bulldog. They are not walking in sync;
21
the two barbets walk from the right and the bulldog from the left. The way
the bulldog walks is clumsily cute. Sometimes he walks ahead of the other
two, and other times he falls behind, then looks confused when the other
two change their lane and block his way.
Thiha? says Nwe.
Yes?
I know its not part of Islam, but do you maybe think reincarnation
might be real?
He smiles and shrugs. Why do you ask?
I was imagining that in another life I could have been a puppy. Do
you think thats possible?
Nwe, if you were a puppy, Id want to be a puppy too.
Thats sweet, she laughs. But you wouldnt have to become a puppy.
Id just want you to buy me and keep me with you forever.
I would do that, he says, watching the little bulldog hurrying along
after the other two puppies. Id be happy to.
3
Theres something that happened before I met you that Ive never told
you about, Min Thant says. You never met my elder sister, did you?
No, but I saw her once. It was before you and I were friends, at the
beginning of our first year. She came to our class to bring you something.
I remember how beautiful she was; all the guys stared at her. Didnt you
tell me she went abroad to get her PhD?
I did. But listenthats not what really happened.
What do you mean? asks Thiha.
Min Thant lights a cigarette. Its a long story, he says.
22
Than Toe Aung
Im listening.
For a while Min Thant is silent, staring out into the darkness. The
two of them are sitting beside a highway road on a large, flat rock they use
as their personal couch. They come here often late at night and enjoy
watching the occasional highway bus passing by, leaving an echo in its
wake, and then the tranquility of the highway when there are no vehicles
running. The light from the lampposts makes the road and its surroundings
a stuttering yellow. The highway is mostly empty at this time of night.
Now and then, a few cars pass by at high speed, their engines roaring like
hungry monsters before they vanish and their noise gradually fades away.
It was a Sunday evening, Min Thant says finally, puffing on his
cigarette. I still remember it clearly. I was studying in my room after a
long shower, listening to jazz. Percy Faith and His Orchestra is my favorite
from the 1960s. If Im not mistaken, My Coloring Book was playing. My
sister came to my room and had a long conversation with me, not like any
wed had before.
We had always been close to each other. People say that two siblings
who are a boy and a girl cannot be as close as siblings of the same sex.
Wrong. I was closer to her than anyone else in my family, even my parents.
She was the closest person I had in my life. We shared a lot of secrets. The
conversation we had that Sunday was just the longest and deepest of many
wed shared over the years.
There was nothing we didnt talk about. Love, our crushes, books,
music, sex. You name it. There were no secrets between us. She used to tell
me about the boys she had sex with. And taught me how to take care of a
girl during sex. Which positions girls likemostly which positions she
liked, of course. And she told me those stories of hers with such candid
intensity that I could feel what she was feeling. I could see what was going
23
on inside them vividly. She was that good at telling stories. She also told
me about the girls she had sexual relationships with.
Hold on a second, Thiha says, She also had sexual relationships
with girls?
Thats right, Min Thant replies. She was bisexual.
I never knew that.
Nobody knew that, except for me and the girls she had sex with. She
had never come out to anyone else. Mind you, its not because she was
ashamed of being bisexual. Its just that sexual orientation, just like religion,
was a private matter to her. And she felt that people couldnt understand
her, except for me. Thats why we were so close. Thats why she kept no
secrets from me. Thats why I was the one she came to that Sunday night.
He pauses, staring at the cigarette between his fingertips.
So what happened?
It was around seven in the evening when she knocked on my door,
Min Thant says. She asked if she could talk to me. I had a few class
assignments to finish before the deadline, but I said yes. I had a strange
feeling when she came into my room. I cant describe it precisely. She
brought a bottle of wine and two glasses, and a mixtape of all of her
favorite music. She asked if I could play her CD, which I did. The first keys
of Yirumas Kiss the Rain came on. Then River Flows in You. Then Fairy Tale.
Then Kevin Kerns After the Rain. Then Pastel Reflections. The music kept
changing as we kept talking. I dont remember what we talked about
exactlythe music is clearer in my memory, for some reasonbut we
were deeply absorbed in our conversation. We were sitting on the balcony
in front of my room, dangling our legs over the edge, holding our wine
glasses in our hands, talking endlessly. When we remembered to check the
time, it was already half past four in the morning. She said she had to wake
24
Than Toe Aung
up early and didnt want to bother me anymore. Then she said she loved
me. I was a bit surprised. I mean, we both knew that we loved each other.
But we never really said it out loud. It was like the only secret we kept from
each other. But now she was revealing it, like all of a sudden she was
saying, Hey, I give up. I love you, brother. I didnt know how to react. I
just smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. I told her to wait for a second
and I would take out her mixtape and give it back. But she told me to keep
it. She said she was going to make a new mixtape, so shed like me to keep
this one. Then she said goodnight to me and left my room.
Min Thant finishes his cigarette and throws it away. I woke up around
half past nine that morning. I took a quick shower and then I went to the
kitchen to make some breakfast. Then I wondered if my sister was home
or if she had left already for class. I wanted to know if I should make
breakfast for her as well, so I went up to her room to check. The door was
open and I saw her sitting in her chair. I could only see her back. She was
sitting down facing toward the window as if she was looking at something
outside. I said her name, but she didnt respond. I took a few steps closer.
And I realized she was not breathing anymore. Her wrists had several deep
cuts and her arms were covered in blood. There was a pool of blood
below the chair. A razorblade lay on the floor nearby. I looked at her face,
and her expression was peaceful. She was smiling slightly, as if she was
having a pleasant dream. I held her tight in my arms and cried, and I couldnt
stop crying for a long time.
I am so sorry, Thiha says.
No, its all right. I am sad that I lost my sister. But I dont feel sorry
for her. I am glad she was brave enough to choose the decision she wanted.
Im not sure if I understand what you mean by that.
You know, I see suicide as a natural way of choosing ones fate. We
25
all have to make choices in life. If we cannot choose where we were born,
in which family we were born and in which era we were born, we should at
least have the right to decide when and where we should die when we dont
think its worth living anymore. Its about taking control of your own life.
Death will happen to all of us whether we like it or not. You choose death
when you want. Or death will choose you when it wants. It can be up to
you, if you want it to be.
Thats an interesting way to approach it. A lot of people think that
suicide is just the ultimate symptom of depression.
I used to think so, too. But hey, when life throws you in different
directions, you gain different perspectives. Min Thant takes out another
cigarette and lights it. To be completely honest with you, I have a plan to
kill myself when I hit a certain age and have done all the things on my list.
Just like my sister, I dont really care about living. I live just because there
are things I havent finished yet, and death hasnt come to me before Ive
chosen it.
Thiha is quiet for a while, then he says, There is a quote I really like.
Not that its related to our conversation here. But want to hear it anyway?
Sure. Go ahead.
Life is unfair. Thats why we watch movies, why we read novels. The only place
we can find justice is in our own imagination.
I like it. Write it down for me when we get home.
Sure thing. By the way, can I ask you something?
Shoot, says Min Thant.
How come you and Nwe are such close friends? From what Ive
noticed, she doesnt have many male friends, except you. And you two are
so close.
Min Thant looks at Thiha with a frown. Shes never told you before?
26
Than Toe Aung
No.
Weve known each other since we were five. We were neighbors, and
our parents were close friends. We played together. We went to school
together. We did almost everything together. When our parents bought
something, they always bought a pair. When my parents bought shoes for
me, they also bought a pair for Nwea girls version, but the same design.
Nwes parents did the same. Even my sister was in on it. When she was
only twelve, she made us wear a pair of matching wedding clothes shed
made for us and took pictures. My sister could use a sewing machine with
great skill, even at that age. She wanted to be a designer back then. And of
course, we looked very cute in her wedding clothes. She would invite her
friends home and make a mock wedding for us. I think everyone expected
we would grow up loving each other, become a couple and get married
eventually.
Min Thant pauses and looks at Thiha. Does what I said bother you?
Im sorry if it does.
No. Not at all. Dont worry about that, Thiha replies.
Since it was what everyone expected of us, Min Thant continues,
we did try dating each other when we got to high school. Since we saw
each other every day and we were together most of the time, normal goto-the-cinema-and-have-dinner-afterwards dates were nothing special for
us. If that could be called dating, we had been dating since we were little.
So, we tried something different. We would go to my room when my parents
were not homeor her room when her parents were outthen we would
cuddle and make out on the bed. We never had sex, though. We never even
took off our clothes when we made out.
Then how did you break up?
We never broke up. Because we were never in a relationship. We
27
were just trying to see if what other people believed was true for us. Two
months after dating like this, we realized it wouldnt work. We could never
think of each other as more than a close friend, or a brother and sister. It
was just a weird feeling. Even when we made out, she would giggle when I
kissed her. When she started touching me, my whole body would get all
ticklish and I would jump out of the bed, laughing so hard I couldnt
breathe. We always ended up going out to eat street food at the night
market or lying down next to each other and watching the movies we liked.
Thiha is quiet for a moment before he says, Thanks for telling me all
this.
No, Im glad you asked me. I dont think she would be comfortable
telling you about all this. Its better to have this kind of conversation guyto-guy, you know?
Yeah, it makes sense.
Hey, do you want to drink something? Ive got a six-pack of beer I
havent touched at my house, and Ill make a juice for you. What do you
say?
Sounds good to me.
The lampposts scatter yellowish light dimly along the road as they set
off toward home. The whole environment looks like an abstract painting.
A highway bus passes occasionally by, but otherwise the night is silent.
4
It is not too crowded at the caf where they are sitting. They have been
here since their evening English class finished. Since there are only a few
customers, the waitresses are sitting at an empty table at the back, giggling
and chattering as if they will never run out of things to talk about.
28
Than Toe Aung
Thiha, can you promise me one thing? Nwe asks.

If its a promise I can keep, I will, Thiha replies.
I just want you to promise me that you wont turn into one of those
broken-hearted alcoholic drama kings who cant get over a girl like me if
we ever break up. I dont think I would be able to handle seeing you like
that.
I wont. Trust me. I know I will have far more important things to
deal with.
All right. I believe you, she says, and gives him a smile.
Do your parents know we are dating? he asks.
No, not at all.
Do you think they would approve of it if they knew?
No, I dont think so. You know how things are. Youre a Muslim.
What about your parents?
They dont know, and I dont think they would approve of it either.
Theyd rather see me dating a Muslim girl that theyd arranged for me.
They might even kick me out of the house if they found out.
Buddha! Sounds like Im big trouble for you.
Sweet trouble, Id say.
Shut up! she cries, laughing. Then she goes suddenly quiet. Thiha,
she says. There is something I want you to know. I know weve been
dating a long time, but I cant have sex with you. Its not that I dont want
to do it with you. I mean, I love you. But we Burmese people see having
sex before marriage as something immoral, something disgusting.
Thiha picks up the coffee cup in front of him. His mouth moves as if
he is about to say something, but he hesitates and takes a sip of coffee
instead. Finally he says, Its all right. I grew up here, you know, Im Burmese
too. I know how it is. I just want you to know that I dont love you just
29
because I want to have sex with you. To me, sex doesnt always have to be
part of love. We dont have to do it if you dont want to. I love you and I
know you love me too. Thats all I need.
Im glad you put it that way. And of course, by saying Burmese I
didnt mean that you are not Burmese. Its just when we use this term, we
always see the majority Burman people who are Buddhist and light-skinned.
I dont like this about our society and its people, she says, playing with the
coffee cup in front of her. Theyand by they I mean the majority of
Burman Buddhiststend to perpetuate this notion that being Burmese
means being Buddhist, Burman and light-skinned. A Muslim person who
looks Indian like you will be conveniently put into the category of foreigner,
even though you, your parents, and your grandparents were born here and
you all are as Burmese as the rest of us.
And whats worse, she continues, is that people take pride in being
born Burman and Buddhist. Since I was young, I was always told how
precious and glorious our Burmese culture is, and that we Burmese girls
have the responsibility to conserve and protect it. Whether I agree with it
or not is a different subject. But I definitely dont want society to point at
me and treat me as a disgrace because I choose to have sex with my boyfriend
before marriage. Maybe Im too institutionalized. I dont know.
I know how you feel, Thiha replies. We have the same way of
thinking about sex in Muslim society, too. I wont touch even an inch of
you if you dont want me to.
Except for kissing me in public when we meet? No, I dont want you
to stop that. She giggles, then becomes serious again and looks at him
intently. Can I tell you a secret?
Please do.
I love it when you look me straight in the eye and start kissing me
30
Than Toe Aung
softly. I love it when you put your arms around me when I feel cold. I love
the feeling of warmth and sense of protection. I love hearing your steady
heartbeat.
The feeling is mutual, Nwe. I love holding you tightly in my arms,
the silken feeling of your skin against mine, the curves of your body under
my hands.
Oh, were just a pair of hopeless romantics, arent we? But maybe
wed better cool ourselves down just a bit before we get carried away. Why
dont you tell me about the taboos in Islam regarding sex?
Ah well, if you insist, my proper Burmese lady. But seriously, in
Islam both sex before marriage and sex with someone who is not your
spouse is considered sinful. So most true followers of Islam wouldnt have
sex before marriage or outside of marriage. And mind you, I am a virgin,
too. I have never slept with a woman.
Nwe squints her eyes at him. Really?
Never once, not with anyone.
Now that is a surprise! I thought youd have some sort of experience
with sex. Is it because of religion? Is it because youre being religious?
No. Its not that I am following religious rules or something, he
says. Its just that it doesnt matter to me whether I am a virgin or not, or
when I should lose my virginity. If Im in a situation to have sex with
someone I like before I get married, I might sleep with her. Or if something
like that doesnt happen, I might not have sex with a woman until I get
married. I just dont care too much about virginity the way some men do.
But one thing I am certain of for sure is that I would never go to a
prostitute just to have sex. To me, love doesnt have to include sex but sex
has to include love, an emotional attachment along with the physical. Thats
why they call it making love. There is a big difference between making love
31
and just fucking.

Nwe takes a sip of her coffee. The music inside the caf fills the gap.
Now it is playing You and Me by Ben Rector.
I love this song, he says, singing along quietly. I have all of Ben
Rectors work. And this is my favorite song.
She smiles. You are such a music geek. There are so many musicians
whose songs you know by heart and Ive never even heard of them. I bet
you were a musician in a previous life.
I bet I was. Maybe a famous one who always got kisses from fangirls
wherever he went.
Whatever! She laughs, then goes quiet again for a while. You know,
Ive been thinking about something a lot. But Ive never had a chance to
ask you about it.
You can ask me anything, Nwe.
Ive heard some Buddhist monks, especially the ones from the
Association for the Protection of Race and Religion, saying that Islam
allows Muslim men to marry up to four wives. And using that strategically,
Muslims are trying to increase their own population by marrying four wives
and having a lot of babies with each of them. They call it Islamization.
And they are saying that Muslims are using that tactic to outnumber the
Buddhists and to turn Myanmar into an Islamic country. They say all those
tactics are taught in mosques secretly. Is there any truth to that?
Thiha laughs softly. If that were true, there would be no Buddhists
left in Myanmar today. We would have Islamized it already by now. How
many Muslim men here have you seen marrying four wives and having
tons of children? Ive been going to mosques for my whole life, and never
once have I heard Muslim leaders say any of the nasty things those Buddhist
monks are claiming. The only thing that I hear them say is to be devoted to
32
Than Toe Aung
God, to pray five times a day, to take care of the poor. They say how
Prophet Muhammad taught us to love othersbelievers and non-believers
alike. I am not saying that there are no extremists among Muslims. Of
course there are. Just like in every religion. But those extremists who are
killing people in the name of Islam do not represent Islam. There are
more Muslims than you could imagine out there who are so peaceful and
humane that they put your mind at peace and make you heart melt when
you talk to them. Sometimes we choose to see only what we want to see.
Nwe rests her head on his shoulder as she listens.
I dont know why people make up stories and spread hatred toward
others. And it really irritates me when people keep themselves segregated
from each other because of insignificant things like religion, skin color,
and race. I mean, we are all human beings, after all. Whats the good in
spreading hatred and distrust toward each other? I just dont get it.
I know what you mean, Nwe says. And I feel you. There are some
people who hold so fervently to their extreme beliefs that they would do
anything or say anything to enforce themeven if it means hurting or
killing an innocent soul in the name of a religion or god. We all have such
extremists in every religion. If the Buddha were alive, he wouldnt approve
of what those monks are doing in the name of Buddhism. I just want you
to know that just like there are those extremists doing things that are totally
opposed to Buddhism, there are also good Buddhists who are totally
opposed to those extremists. They might be less visible, especially these
days, but I want you to know that there are also true followers of Buddhism.
And Im glad that at least the two of us can talk about these things
rationally.
So am I. Im glad I had a chance to explain this to you. So many
people are nave, and they believe whatever their so-called religious leaders
33
say. Its very sad.

For a while, they dont say a word. They both stare at the paintings
hanging on the wall, lost in their own thoughts.
5
Nwe doesnt learn of Thihas death until three months after it happens.
Its not that she has forgotten him, only that she has cut off all her
connections to the past and tries hard not to remember it. After they broke
up, she got a job at an NGO in Mandalay and moved there, leaving her
family in Yangon. I am a different person now, she told herself. Since then,
she has tried hard to fit into her new world. She gets along with everyone
at work. There are a few guys who like her and have tried to approach her,
but she never accepts any of their overtures. When they ask her why, she
just tells them that she is not interested in relationships, and that she is, in
fact, asexual. Think about it, she says. If we dated, you would want to
hold my hand, kiss me, and eventually have sex with me. But I am not
interested in any such activities. I prefer my hands free to move as I please.
I like letting my lips have their solitude. I want my sexual organ to enjoy its
privacy without being invaded. So lets not ruin our friendship, and just
enjoy it, huh? Some of them back off, some of them keep trying and
failing, and some of them give her a weird look and never talk to her again.
Then one day, out of the blue, she receives a call from Min Thant. I
have got something to tell you, he says on the other end.
How did you get my number? I didnt give my new number to anyone
in Yangon, she replies.
This is a small world we live in.
Look, I dont want to talk to you. Tell me what you want right now,
34
Than Toe Aung
or Im hanging up.
Just hold on a minute. Dont act like a stranger, okay? I was as good
of a friend to you as I was to Thiha.
Go on then, what is it that you want to tell me?
I am now in Mandalay, Min Thant replies. And I want to meet you
and talk to you, if thats possible. Its important.
Fine. Give me a time and a place.
Shweli restaurant near Mandalay Palace. Does tomorrow night at
eight work for you?
Ill be there, she says and hangs up. She goes to her bed and lies
down. She knows that it is too early to fall asleep, but she is not interested
in doing anything else. She looks at the sky through the window beside her
bed. There are no stars. No moon either. The sky is completely dark. Maybe
the sky wants to shut out everyone else for a night, she thinks.
It all seems strange and incomprehensible to start, Min Thant says
when they meet. I mean, of course he was devastated when you two
broke up. But that didnt last long. Soon he started to recover and before
long he seemed to be enjoying life again. He began writing more and
published his short stories. His stories were successful, and he started to
get some real attention in literary circles, even the beginnings of a fan
base. We hung out often, and he would ask me to proofread his short
stories. He never dated again, though. When he felt he needed physical
contact with a girl, he would go to a brothel. He would ask the prostitute
to cuddle or make out with him. But he never had sex with the girl, which
left them with a lot of questions. Since I sometimes accompanied him to
the brothel, the girls would come to me for answers. Is your friend mentally
ill or something? they would ask. Why is he here if he doesnt want to
have sex? I tried to reply as best I could, but I couldnt give them a
35
satisfactory answer.
He saved the money he made from publishing his short stories, and
when one of them won a prestigious American contest, he used the prize
money and his savings to travel to Europe. I lost touch with him after he
left. I sent him e-mails but I never got any reply. I couldnt contact you
because I didnt even know where you were. It was like I was left all alone
in the world.
Im sorry, Nwe says.
Could you tell me how you two broke up? Thiha never told me.
Nwe holds her breath and releases a sigh. It all happened suddenly.
My aunt, who spied on me, told my parents that I was in a relationship
with a Muslim. Their reaction was even worse than Id have expected.
They told me to break up with him immediately or they would disown me.
For a while Id felt that our relationship would have to end one day, so I
decided I might as well end it then. I met him one last time, but I didnt tell
him we were going to break up. That night, before I left, I gave him a kiss
on his forehead. And I never met him again after that. She pauses for a
while. I never told him why, although I think he knew.
How could he know if you never told him?
We had had those kinds of conversations about our future before.
We came from different backgrounds, different religions. Of course, its
not that I broke up with him because I didnt love him anymore. I did, but
no matter how much we loved each other, if wed have continued the
relationship, both of our families and all of society would have ostracized
us. I couldnt risk that, not only for my sake, but also for his.
Min Thant doesnt reply. Nwe looks out the window. A few drops of
rain patter on the glass, and soon it begins to pour. Slowly, she says,
Sometimes in life you can love someone, and thats all you can do. You
36
Than Toe Aung
can love them, but you can never be together.

After a while, Min Thant clears his throat and says, Three months
after he went to Europe, his family got a phone call from the German
Embassy. They told his family that he was found dead. He hung himself in
a hotel room in Berlin. Through some diplomatic procedures, the German
government delivered the body to his family. They held a funeral and buried
him. A week later, I received a letter. Min Thant puts the envelope on the
table and pushes it toward Nwe. I brought it here for you.
Nwe takes the letter and sees the familiar handwriting on the envelope.
Please give this note to Nwe Sein Wai, it says. The letter is slightly crumpled,
but otherwise in good shape.
Isnt it weird? Min Thant murmurs. He sent the letter to my address,
but it wasnt for me. And it was the only letter. After being so close for so
long, didnt he have anything to tell me? I would like to think that maybe
he wrote something for me in this letter. I thought about opening it and
reading it. I tried to, but I just couldnt do it. And the more I see the letter
in front of me, the more I feel suffocated. This is why I searched for you
and came to Mandalay as soon as I learned you were here. To give this to
you. He pauses. Now that I have given it to you, I think I should be
leaving. Contact me if you ever come back to Yangon. Dont be a stranger.
I wont be, Nwe replies.
They both stand up. Min Thant gives Nwe a hug, then walks out the
door.
Holding the envelope, Nwe sits back down. For a long time, she
remains there on her chair, like a statue. Then she slowly tears open the
envelope and takes out the letter. The small and rounded handwriting of
Thiha appears: Buy a black puppy with raccoon eyes if you ever see one. When I am
done going through hell and heaven, I will ask God to reincarnate me as a puppy.
37
Tears well up in her eyes, and soon she cant control herself; she begins
to weep. An elderly woman comes over to her and asks if she is okay, but
she doesnt hear a word the woman says; she doesnt even notice her; it is
as if the rope tethering her to humanity has been cut, and she has been set
adrift in space. Her whole body is trembling and tears fall from her eyes.
Outside, the rain comes crashing down harder; she can feel the vibration
of the downpour in her bones, in her very marrow. She runs out of the
restaurant into the rain, and she looks up into the black sky, the raindrops
falling on her face, stinging her eyes. At this moment, she, the rain, and her
tears are all linked throughout her body and soul. She shouts into the rain
as loudly as she can, unable even to hear herself, unsure even of what she
is shouting: a curse, a prayer, a question, a plea. She yells at the top of her
lungs until her throat is raw and her voice is hoarse, and still she continues,
though she knows now it no longer matters, because there is nobody in
this world of hers to hear her.
Back inside the restaurant, Distance by Christina Perri plays on.
38
Meditations
By Frankie Yarzar Htet
As I gently hung my brown towel on the rope just beside the bed, the
metal bucket was beaten three times. I tried to put on the robe in a hurry,
yet slowly enough to mark my bodys movements. Walking out of my room,
I began marking my steps in my mind, left and right. Right when my right
foot went forward and left when my left foot went forward. When I walked
down the stairs, Ashin Rawainda greeted me with his smile. Hows the
meditation going, Ashin Yarzathiri? he said. Being a monk is quite
peaceful, eh?
Meditation is indeed peaceful, especially at three in the morning when
the mind is at its freshest state. When I got to the temple, the other monks
were already sitting in an orderly fashion, their eyes closed, seated upright
and doing nothing but maintaining awareness of their bodies movements.
I chose to sit in the spot where Id sat for the past two days, walking
through the yogis and monks, trying to be quieter than the still air itself. I
placed my square of red wool, my naykahtine, on the ground, and I tried to
sit without making waves in the fabric. As I sat, I closed my eyes and
39
Meditations
crossed my legs, doing nothing but noting my breaths while breathing in

and breathing out.
After an hour had passed, some monks rose and moved around the
room, and other monks went outside. I got up slowly, still carefully marking
all the movements I made. I folded my naykahtine, put it on my shoulder,
and headed toward the perfectly black lane. On the lane, I walked back and
forth, noting my right and left footsteps, each footstep repeated minute by
minute, again and again, for an hour.
After another hour of sitting meditation, monks appeared to compete
with each other to get to their rooms. I stayed in my room and sat on the
chair, concentrating on my movements. Buddhism says that true monks
always note their physical movement and their mental activity every living
second without missing a note, even when they are unconscious.
The metal bucket was beaten five times now. I grabbed my naykahtine
and went to assemble myself in the line with the other monks. After five
minutes, the head monks started to lead the way to the dining room to eat
breakfast. The special menu was fried rice with beans in it and some chicken.
The naykahtine was in its position and I sat there for my meal. I ate quickly,
yet also slowly enough for me to note my every action. After I had consumed
enough food, I went straight back to my room so that I could again note
my thoughts and movements in peace.
Resting and meditation routines are strenuous in the monastery,
enough to make a normal person tired and bored after just ten minutes
spent meditating. After another four hours of meditation, it was time for
lunch. The same procedures applied to this as the breakfast line-up. As
always, monks were served more food than a normal person could ever
afford. Bowls of rice, chicken, beef, prawns, vegetables, and soup were
brought to the table. I dropped my naykhahtine and opened my tabait, a
40
Frankie Yarzar Htet
monks bowl for eating. I waited for other monks to fill their own bowls,
then I began eating, fast yet slow.
The day continued on with nothing but hours of meditation until
nine. As anyone would after an exhausting day, I walked straight to my
room to get enough sleep so that I could continue the next day. My steps,
as always, were fast yet slow.
41
42
Moments of Cruelty
By Mei
May 2nd, 2008: the day the nightmare came alive, its dark immensity swirling
toward the Irrawaddy Delta from the Bay of Bengal. The storm was called
Nargis, but those who were to die in it would never learn that name.
Just after midnight, the stars in the night sky above the small town of
Bogale were tarred over with black clouds. The mild breeze slowly turned
into a howling gale as the storm approached, whistling through the trees,
carrying raindrops horizontally through the air. The residents of Bogale
who were awake looked nervously outside, but they thought it was only an
early monsoon storm, not knowing the wild forces bearing down on them.
Several hours beforehand, the military post twenty kilometers away
from Bogale was also running wild. There was a fierce dispute between the
commander and his men. The orders he issued were to evacuate
immediately, salvaging as much military equipment as they could carry in
their trucks, while making no provisions for the citizens of Bogale. This
is what the upper ranks have decided, he declared. Their command is my
command.
Roughly one third of the soldiers obeyed the commander without
43
Moments of Cruelty
hesitating and set about filling the trucks, but the dissenting mensome
of whom had family in Bogalewanted to help the residents evacuate.
The arguing continued until the commander could not stand it any longer
and unholstered his weapon, leveling it at the disobedient troops. If there
is anyone who dares to oppose my orders, then go ahead! But youll be of
no use to anyone in Bogale or anywhere else, since youll be
A shot rang out as a soldier pulled the trigger of his pistol. The bullet
went straight into the commanders forehead, and he fell instantly to the
floor. The soldier whod shot him shakily stood where the commander
had been. He pulled himself together and addressed the stunned troops.
For those of you who want to abandon the people of Bogale: you
are free to leave! he shouted. The soldiers loyal to the dead commander
and those who cherished their lives above all else fled without hesitation.
Only a quarter of the soldiers remained. The brave soldier did his best to
motivate them. This is the only right thing to do, he said. Weve got no
time to waste; lets get moving.
Soon the soldiers arrived in Bogale and went down the streets shouting
warnings through megaphones about the approaching cyclone and telling
everyone to assemble immediately in the school. When the school was
packed, the soldiers told the residents that they were there to evacuate
them, and that their only chance of survival depended on them following
the soldiers.
The residents were unbelieving at first, even though they could hear
the wind outside whipping through the town at an ever faster speed. Was
this some sort of a nightmare, or an illusion? They were as silent as a
cemetery for a little while, determining whether they were just seeing things
or not. They looked at their fellow townspeople in confusion. No talking.
No discussion. Not the slightest sound was made even by naughty little
44
Mei
children. Then there was a crash as a tree branch smashed through a window,
and all at once, everyone panicked, realizing the inevitable future waiting
for them.
The soldiers shouted for calm, announcing that they had already made
a plan to rescue everyone, and if they followed their lead, they would
certainly survive. At first, the soldiers intended to take as many people as
possible by truck, but the cowardly soldiers had made off with most of
the vehicles, and other trucks had been rendered inoperable due to reckless
driving along the rough, muddy road. There was no option but to go with
their backup plan, which was to lead people on foot to their base, which
was built on high ground.
The majority of the residents obeyed the soldiers instructions, praying
and reciting mantras to allay their fear. But others refused to go, insisting
on staying in Bogale. Rich men who could not take even one step away
from their vast acres of land. Old people who cherished their memories
more than their lives. Others were simply more afraid to walk out into the
storm than to remain at home. Some of those who insisted on staying
hung longyis on bamboo or wooden poles to prevent the storm from
heading toward the village, an old superstition that people who believed in
ancient folktales and legends still held.
A short lady with a dark complexion in a nurses uniform could not
stand to see such craziness, and while the others prepared to evacuate, she
tried to persuade those whod made up their minds to stay to abandon
their foolishness and come with them. However much she tried, though,
she could not convince them. Still, she did not give up; she begged them to
come and save their own lives. These were her neighbors; this was her
duty. In the middle of her pleas, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned
around.
45
Moments of Cruelty
There is no time for this crap, Ma Nyein! It was Dr. Thiha. He was
a tall, smart and handsome man wearing a white duty coat.
Isnt this our job, to save people? she replied in a soft but firm
voice. If not, whats the meaning of me being a nurse and you a doctor?
She met his eyes with a fierce gaze.
The two of them had never been on good terms. They worked together
at the same hospital, yet theyd never seemed to understand each other.
Dr. Thiha shook his head. Theres no use in trying to save those
who have given up their lives. Abandon them. Help save the ones making
the right choice. This way, we can save more. Just come with us now!
Ma Nyein considered it. He was right. But she was not able to turn a
blind eye to those who would die in Bogale. She would have kept arguing,
but other colleagues from the hospital requested that she accompany them
so that they could treat those who might be injured in the storm.
She could not turn them down. Finally, she agreed, and she and the
other hospital staff joined the line of evacuees following the soldiers out
of the town. As they walked on, the storm became increasingly fierce. The
brutal wind scoured the land. A huge branch was ripped off a tree and
flung toward the fleeing men and women, striking a man in front of Dr.
Thiha.
The man collapsed into the mud. Ma Nyein hurried toward him, but
the doctor shook his head. Hes dead. That flying branch snapped his
upper cervical vertebrae. Dont waste your time on him. Its hopeless. Try
to pretend he never existed. Just keep on going.
A woman who seemed to be the deceaseds wife was behind Ma Nyein.
When she saw her husband lying motionless and heard the doctors words,
she too fell to the ground. Ma Nyein took her pulse but felt no sign of life.
Dr. Thiha pulled Ma Nyein up. Thats my patientshes suffered three
46
Mei
major heart attacks before. This is no surprise. We need to keep moving.

Two more people were killed by flying debris within a minute. Those
who witnessed their deaths were terrified. Some shook in fear and broke
into tears. Others were injured and had to be supported by the soldiers or
their fellow townspeople. By now the storm was so loud it was like the
engine of an airplane.
Soon a dozen more people lost their lives. Some were sliced in half
by flying corrugated metal roofs; some were smashed like insects by falling
trees. The witnesses vomited with disgust and fear at first, but as they saw
more and more carnage and death, the look in their eyes changed, as if
part of them had died as well, and they continued onward
On the way, they had to trudge up hills whose muddy slopes were
slippery. Ma Nyein was near the middle of the line, to the left of Dr.
Thiha, surrounded by several children. A five-year-old boy by her side
tripped and nearly fell. Ma Nyein lunged and caught him, pushing him
upright, but as she did, she lost her own balance and felt herself falling
backward.
Her head took the brunt of the impact with the ground. Her vision
was clouded by blood and rain and mud as she toppled down the hill. Dr.
Thiha pretended to see nothing, and erased her existence entirely from his
memory. The other townspeople watched her roll downward with blank
expressions and dead eyes, even those whom Ma Nyein had cared for in
the hospital. They only trudged onward, their minds on nothing but survival,
leaving her broken body behind them at the bottom of the hill.
As they proceeded, the storm grew stronger yet. Huge palm trees
were bent over in the shrieking wind and snapped like toothpicks, and
smaller trees were ripped out by their roots. Their way was blocked by
rising water, and the soldiers had to change their planned route. The
47
Moments of Cruelty
residents of Bogale were faint with weakness and their strength was all but
gone. The only thing that remained was their will to survive.
Though they moved for higher ground as quickly as possible, it was
of little use. The flood rose up all around them, consuming and digesting
everything on land without regard to the difference between living beings
and objects. To escape the tsunami-like storm surge, people swam to the
nearest trees, climbed up as high as they could, and held tight. Those who
lost strength were devoured by the flood. Others had the trees they clung
to wrenched out from the earth and carried away in the current. Some
sank and some floated, tossed about on the churning surface of the water
along with the wreckage of homes and trees and everything else that was
ripped apart by the storm.
Dr. Thiha was among the lucky few to remain alive and uninjured.
The tree he clung to stayed firm, and he had a strong grip. Then, close to
him, he saw his own little sister struggling helplessly to keep her head
above water. Before her head went under, she cried out for help. Her scream
cracked the stone inside his heart. He reached out as far as he could toward
her, and just as he felt her hand in his own, he lost his grip on the tree and
was dragged into the current of the flood, along with his sister. He intended
to rescue her, though. He had to.
48

By Thet Su
She took out the single cigarette from her bag and put it between her thin
lips. She ignored the disapproving looks of two women sitting nearby, lit
the cigarette, breathed slowly in, and held it for a moment. She exhaled
gradually, and the green grass field and old yellow city hall blurred with the
grey smoke and the tears in her eyes. She thought she was like that cigarette
on the inside, burning slowly and silently.
Hey girl, are you okay?
She looked up to see her best friend, Khin Sandar, and smashed her
cigarette into the grass.
Does your mom know youre smoking? Khin Sandar asked.
I dont think so, she replied.
She never brought even one cigarette home, and she always chewed
gum after she smoked. Even if her family could smell cigarettes on her,
she would say that many boys smoked in the canteen.
What did your mom say about your future plans?
She didnt say anything. She destroyed them. But I dont want to talk
about how, not now. Thinking about it would only give me a heart attack.
49
It was a mistake to discuss this kind of thing with her. Im over eighteen. I
know that I can do anything without her help. She just doesnt understand
that its my life. Not hers. How can I explain to her that were not the same
person? Yes, we are similar, but she doesnt understand. Theres no way to
explain it to her. And Dad, well, I dont even want to talk about him. He is
having an affair with that whore! He broke the whole family into pieces.
But still he wants to tell me what to do and make me behave like some sort
of saint.
The long and emotional speech made her even more tired. She did
not usually speak like this. She was the kind of person who would say,
Fine, rather than, Im okay, when she was asked how she was, because
the former was shorter.
She shook her head in an attempt to drive away her miserable thoughts
and looked around. Everything was beautiful under the lurid sky. Why was
this beauty unlike that of the dawn? The beauty of the sunset had a kind
of poison to it, a warning that the dark would soon take everything from
you.
She started to laugh. Her friend looked at her like she was a crazy
person.
Whats up? Khin Sandar asked.
No! Isnt it funny? Look! We are sitting in the shadowthe shadow
of independence obelisk. And here I am talking about how my lifes trapped
and how I dont even have the freedom to make my own decisions.
Shh! My god! Lower your voice! What the hell are you talking about?
Her friend looked around, shocked and mortified. They wont think youre
talking about your stupid life. If anybody hears, theyll think youre talking
about politics. I dont really feel like spending time in prison with you,
okay?
50
Thet Su
She was reminded of her cousin, an activist. She thought he was

nothing but a useless person who only cared about his feelings. He couldnt
change anything about the people around him, so he spent his time trying
to change the country. Nonsense!
Khin Sandar sighed. If nothing was wrong in any way, she said
softly, life would be very boring. Life is things going wrong. Were just
spending our time making mistakes and fixing them.
They sat there in silence for a long time, until finally they said goodbye
to each other, and she went to her karate class. It was the only place she
felt comfortable.
*
By the time the class finished, darkness had fallen. She began walking home,
making her way through narrow alleyways she used as shortcuts. The moon
was shining, but it was not a clear night. The streets were eerily quiet except
for the howling of a few dogs. They growled at her as she passed them,
but she wasnt at all afraid, because anger overwhelmed her just as completely
as the darkness of the night had swallowed the day. Some said that anger
was a form of fear, that someone could not be angry and afraid at the
same time. The reflection of the moon on the water of the old canal
beside the street was like a monster, pale and menacing.
Earlier that day, shed attended a wedding, and her father had been
there. It was his right to decide who he would bring when he went to a
wedding or a funeral, but how could he do this to her and Mom? The
newlyweds and some guests were acquaintances of her family, and he came
to the wedding with that woman. She hated going to these stupid ceremonies
now. She never knew when she might be made to face that shame her
51
father had brought upon their family. It was lucky that her mom hadnt
been there; at least that night she wouldnt hear Moms sobbing, which
always drove her crazy. But she wouldnt forget the way other people had
looked at her.
Walking home that night, her heart was crying so loudly inside of her
that she didnt hear the footsteps behind her. When she sensed someone
approaching, she quickened her pace. He quickened his. She was about to
run when he lunged forward and grabbed her. She could feel the toughness
of the hand that closed her mouth. Its thick, rough palm. She bit it as hard
as she could, struggled out of his grasp, and punched him in the face. He
lost his balance and fell. But she didnt run away; she began kicking him
furiously, as if he were a sandbag. After she was satisfied, she left him lying
there and walked away slowly, trying to catch her breath. She didnt notice
that hed stood back up behind her until it was too late. He slammed a fist
into the back of her neck and pain flashed through her. While she was
stunned, he grabbed her and pinned her to the wall of an old building. She
could smell the alcohol on his breath. The disgusting sneer on his face was
full of satisfaction. No, this wouldnt last long. She wouldnt let it. She put
her free hand into her jean pocket and took something out. And she was
right; it didnt last long. That disgusting look of his faded away. It was
replaced by shock, then pain and panic. The razor-sharp knife slid ever
deeper into his neck, until she pulled the blade forward, severing his jugular.
Blood spilled out over her hand in thick spurts. His eyes went blank, and
he fell to the ground.
She collapsed near him, panting. His body jerked slightly for a few
seconds. Then everything was still and silent, and she sighed with relief.
She smiled coldly, but her face was strangely emotionless, and she felt
suddenly sad. I suppose we were both looking for a victim, werent we?
52
Thet Su
she murmured.
She put on her gloves and picked up the knife. She was lucky shed
brought them. Lucky that it was not an April night but a cold December
night. Lucky that she didnt leave her gloves at home. She checked his hand
where she bit it. She was glad to see the skin was unbroken; there were
only teeth marks, and those wouldnt last for long. With all her strength,
she grabbed the mans legs and began dragging the body before anybody
could come along. She went as fast as she could, but it was exhausting. She
was aching all over by the time she managed to drag the body to the edge
of the canal. She pushed it into the water and watched it floating along
with big black plastic garbage bags and other trash. In a nearby apartment,
she heard a drunkard swearing and beating his wife and their baby crying
while she washed her hands and face under the water pipe on the exterior
wall of a dirty building. She didnt throw away the knife. Maybe she would
need it again. Once shed cleaned off as much of the blood as she could,
she left without looking back
When she got home, she had a hot bath. She wouldnt need to think
about Dad that night. After she was in bed, she comforted herself by
thinking that nobody had seen or heard anything, and nobody would care
about this kind of persons death. And the body was now in the water. If
somebody discovered it somewhere, it would be difficult for the police to
figure it out. Or they wouldnt even take the time to try. She remembered
what Khin Sandar had said: Were just spending our time making mistakes
and fixing them. Yes. Shed made a mistake, a very big mistake, but she
did not know how to fix it. Maybe it was too late to fix it. She felt very far
away from where she had been just hours before. She couldnt sleep all
night.
53
*
A month passed. Everything went easily, everything was normal. Except
that it didnt, and it wasnt, not for her. Then one night, while she was
getting ready for bed, her whole family heard an unfamiliar knock at the
door. Her sister called out, Whos there?
Police! Open the door!
Oh no, she thought. Oh god. They must have found the corpse floating
along the canal; someone must have seen what happened that night and
reported it. And now they had found her. She heard the thump of boots
approaching. She stood frozen beside her bed in her own little room. She
heard the police say that they needed to search the entire apartment. She
was shaking with fear and trying to figure out what she had that could
incriminate her. As the police searched other rooms, she worked quickly.
She gathered it allthe knife, the gloves, the clothes shed been wearing
and stuffed it into a sack before dropping it out the window. If she was not
arrested, if she didnt spend the rest of her life in prison, she would pick it
up later to dispose of it properly. Shed just finished when her door swung
open. Her sister stood there, looking at her strangely, and she realized she
was covered in sweat and breathing hard.
Whats the matter with you? her sister asked. The police arrested
Ko Lay for being involved in a protest against the government, and they
think he might have hidden illegal items here.
What? Theyre here because of him? They want Ko Lay, not me? Her
mind was a flurry of questions, but she pretended to be outraged. What?
He did it again?
Yes. Againthat idiot! Now hurry up, her sister snapped. We need
to get out of our rooms. They will search everywhere.
54
Thet Su
So she stood up, looked into the mirror, and tried to steel herself. She
resolved to face everything with courage if they found her out. Still, she
went out to the balcony because she didnt want the police to see how
nervous she was. A cool wind was blowing, but she wouldnt stop sweating.
She looked at the moon and remembered the moon on that night a month
before. You are the only witness, she whispered. Please, dont tell them
anything. But the moon just shone on in silence.
From the doorway of the balcony, she could see the plainclothes
officers searching the living room. They looked high and low in the closets,
showcases, and especially the bookshelf. There was a James Dean poster
on the living room wall beside the bookshelf. She knew there were some
telephone numbers that her cousin had jotted on the back of the poster.
But the police were so eager to flip through the books on the bookshelf
that they hardly glanced at James Dean. After two hours, the police carried
away everything they thought to be evidence. Files, books, photos, even
some love letters of her sisters. The letters were in English and her sister
had tucked them away in a pile of books. Their mom hadnt known she
had a boyfriend, and her sister tried to explain, while at the same time
begging the police to leave the letters alone. But the police said that they
needed to analyze them to see if they were from a foreign country and had
ciphers. Her aunt was crying and Mom was comforting her, or trying to.
They spent all night and the next day cleaning everything the police
had messed up. Her aunt couldnt stop crying; she couldnt even hold a
cup of tea, her hands were shaking so badly. Her son, Ko Lay, was probably
being interrogated right that moment, and nobody knew how he would be
sentenced. He had said that he wasnt afraid of the government, that he
was ready for life in prison if it came down to that. She wondered what he
thought now. When she got back to her room, she reached for her bag to
55
get out a book, but it was empty. Theyd taken everything. Then, at the
bottom of the empty bag, she saw something: a cigarette. She looked at
that cigarette as if she had never seen it before. She must have forgotten to
throw it away before she came back home, but that didnt matter now.
Her sister entered the room and groaned. Those police are the
stupidest people in the world.
They really are, she replied, smirking. She knew now that aside from
herself, the only one who knew about the thing she had done was the
moon, the moon and its reflection on the canal, the reflection that looked
like a monster.
She took the single cigarette and put it between her thin lips. She
ignored her sisters disapproving look, lit the cigarette, breathed slowly in,
and held it for a moment. She exhaled gradually, and all the mess in front
of her, her sister included, blurred with the grey smoke.
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88
By Wint Thu
The sky looked like an auburn sea with the setting sun floating toward the
far west. Min had spent the whole day marching and chanting with the
crowd of demonstrators. It was time to rest his legs. He fell out of step
with the marching throngs of young people and walked along the pavement
toward a small tea shop near the entrance of Yangon University.
This is pretty big, he murmured as he watched the crowd march by,
the huge stream of protestors shaking their fists and waving banners,
chanting their slogans and letting out their long-suppressed rage at last.
Yes, it is big, he heard someone say behind him.
He turned his head and saw a man in his mid-twenties sitting across
the table. He was smiling at him.
Taking some rest, eh? the man asked.
Min smiled back and replied, Ive been going for more than five
hours straight and I dont think my legs can do much more without a little
break. If Id have known this was coming, I would have been exercising
every day.
The man seemed curious. So youre a student?
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A sophomore.
RIT?
Yes, Im majoring in electrical engineering. Howd you know?
Its not that hard, the man laughed. I can read your face.
Min grinned, then became suddenly serious. How do you think this
will end? This really is big. Much bigger than I thought it would be. I dont
think Ne Win will be able to take it much longer, do you?
Oh, that bastard. I dont think hell give up so easily. And thats what
I fear most, that hell go even crazier trying to hold onto power thats
already slipping away from him.
Min remained silent for a while, then he said, Do you think hell
really do that? I mean, look at this, there are so many people. Most of us
are just students, young people. Hes a bastard, but you dont think hed
dare do anything to all of us out here in the open, do you?
I dont know, but things are getting wilder. Who can predict what
will happen next?
Min bit his lip. Ive been marching all day, but really Im as confused
as anyone about the situation. I just want things to change. Ive lived under
this regime my whole life. Ive had enough of it. We all have.
Dont you worry too much, said the man, his voice taking on a
firm, soothing tone. I believe we can make real change happen, no matter
what, as long as we are united. Trust me, if we stay strong then this goddamn
government will fall, and even if that bastard wont give up power, well
take it from him.
Min nodded and looked admiringly at him, studying his face; his eyes
were sharp, his expression determined. Hopefully, Min replied, though
with a hint of doubt. He was not entirely sure about it himself.
The man turned to watch the steady stream of demonstrators march
58
Wint Thu
by. Look at them. Theyre the future. We are the future.

Youre right, Min said. He began to get up. Lets get back out there
and
Min couldnt finish his sentence. A sudden blast shook the tea shop
and he ducked under the table. He could hear shouts and cries from the
road, and then the sharp cracks of rifle shots.
He saw the man had taken cover as well. Wh-where is that coming
from? he stuttered, but the man didnt answer; he was watching the road.
Min stuck his head up and saw a crowd of demonstrators running
toward the tea shop, while others scattered in complete pandemonium.
Some were covered in blood and shouting in pain and fear. Others seemed
dazed and walked in circles, or collapsed where they stood. Some of those
who ran jolted as if hit by an invisible fist and fell to the ground.
They are shooting! There at the white bridge! a man shouted as he
ran toward a building across the road. Min watched him run until all of a
sudden he fell, twisting through the air before he landed unmoving on the
pavement. Min put his hand to his mouth to keep from screaming and
turned to look at the university entrance.
There he saw men in dark green uniforms carrying rifles: soldiers. He
froze and stared at them. The bastard was doing it. The order must have
come for the army to put a stop to thisto put a stop to them. He watched
as the soldiers jogged into a formation and held their guns up and ready
toward the running crowd.
And then they fired. Min watched them shoot into the helpless crowd;
he watched the bodies fall, watched the wounded crawl and moan and beg
for help, until he heard bullets whiz over his head and he ducked back
under the small table, unable to decide what to do.
Lying on his stomach so he could see, he watched the hellish vision
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88
unfold. People on the road were gunned down as they ran. Bodies fell
everywhere. Blood flowed as water would in the rainy season. The unarmed
crowd of brave students and dissidents had now turned into a heap of
dead and dying bodies on the blood-soaked road.
More soldiers kept coming, kept shooting, as more people ran into
the deathtrap. Min saw two little girls in their school uniforms, wearing
backpacks and holding hands, sprinting as fast as they could. As they passed
by the tea shop he could see their eyes, filled with panic and tears. All
around them people were falling, the hail of bullets bringing them down
like easy prey, but the girls didnt seem to fully recognize the scene of
inhumanity right before them; they focused only on each other as they ran.
One was slightly younger than the other, and they looked so similar that
Min realized they must be sisters.
He saw a soldier raise his gun toward the girls, and Min gasped in
horror. Oh my God, he whispered. Then the soldier pulled the trigger
and the younger girl fell face-first onto the street, her small body skidding
along before it came to a stop. The other girl shrieked and knelt beside her.
Min was paralyzed, but he saw the man hed been talking to run out
of the tea shop toward the surviving girl. He took the hand of the girl,
who allowed herself to be led through the carnage, her backpack sliding
from her shoulders as she shook with sobs, her books scattering over the
bloody street. When the girl fainted, he carried her and ran toward the
teashop where Min watched them, trying to will them back to safety. Come
on, he said through gritted teeth. Hurry!
Just before the man stepped onto the sidewalk, there was a volley of
gunfire and he fell, his unmoving body covering the girls, until she climbed
out, covered in blood, and stood as if in a dream.
Min stared at the girl as a bullet went through her chest, and she
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Wint Thu
twirled in a strangely graceful way as she fell backwards onto the body of
the man whod had the sharpest eyes of anyone hed ever met. At that
moment, something was decided.
With his heart pounding in his ears, he grabbed a brick from the
ground and rose to his feet. His blood boiled inside of him as he walked
through the bloody street toward the soldiers at the universitys entrance.
He walked without feeling his legs, without feeling his feet touch the ground.
He stopped right in front of the soldier whod shot the girls, whod shot
the man, and who now held his rifle pointed at Mins chest. The soldier
paused, confused, and looked at him for a moment. Min met the eyes of
the armed man and stared into themtwo spots of black pupil inlaid in
whitesearching for something inside them, but the eyes were as dead as
stones. The air was filled with smoke and screams.
He raised the brick, and a sudden flash blinded him. He fell to his
knees. When his sight returned, he saw black boots splattered with mud or
blood or both, then his vision blurred and went black. For a moment
longer, he remained on his knees, and then his lifeless body collapsed to
the ground.
The medals on the soldiers uniform shone in the light of the setting
sun, as if in celebration.
61
62
An Unfortunate Wish
By Simon Sai
An old crow sat silently on a rough tree branch high above Mandalay Hill,
overlooking the noisy city below. The hot summer breeze brought the
sounds of human activity from far below.
My life is so miserable, the old bird thought.
He saw with his own eyes his mother getting run over by a car while
he flapped his wings helplessly, unable to do anything to save her. He saw
flashes of his beloved sister killed by a cruel cat, which humans called
cute, and he could still feel the pain of the loss in his heart as if it had
happened yesterday. He could still hear the sweet caw his little brother had
made, before he was killed by eating meat that had been poisoned by humans
to kill stray dogs.
He wished he could have power over those hateful things that killed
his family. The only ones who could do that were the humans.
Humans are strong and happy, he thought. Their lives are flourishing. They
can do what they want and take what they need.
He remembered all his hungry days, his exhausting hunts for food,
the countless windy storms hed endured with no shelter. He wished more
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An Unfortunate Wish
than anything that he was a human.

Soon, the old crows last days were over, and the rough branch stood
empty under the hot sun of the great summer of Mandalay.
*
It was a special day. An adorable new being had joined the family seconds
ago. The whole house exploded with joy when a lovely cry sounded from
inside Tin Mays bedroom.
Your little baby boy is healthy, said the midwife with a smile, gently
closing the door behind her. And so is his mother.
Thank you very much. Thank you so very much, Sett Aung said as
he rose from where he had been sitting nervously for hours.
Wait! You can see your son later! said the midwife, catching the
overly excited father who had already begun turning the doorknob. For
now, allow some time for the mother and the baby boy to settle.
A half hour later, the whole family was gathered at the bedside,
admiring the beautiful mother and the cute little boy in his fathers arms.
We will name him Swan Aung, Sett Aung said, and he kissed the
little boy on the forehead, tears of joy flooding his eyes.
The baby smiled and laughed, onyx-black eyes shining into the sky of
his new world.
*
Swan Aungs early years were filled with happiness. The family would spend
every night together for leisurely dinners and beautiful bedtime stories.
Swan Aung learned to walk and speak as time progressed, and he enjoyed
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Simon Sai
evening playtimes with his parents.

However, by the time Swan Aung had reached the age of four, the
family evenings were a thing of the past. Sett Aung no longer got home in
time for dinner; he claimed to be occupied with his job, and soon he began
coming home drunk. The son and mother passed the nights alone or
accompanied by the now aggressive and drunk father. Their nights were
no longer sweet, and Swan Aung missed the way things used to be.
Dont worry, Swan, Tin May comforted him. Its just because your
father is too stressed. He will be fine when his current project is over.
Swan Aung, five years old by then, nodded and hugged his mother
tight. He believed her.
The time came for Swan Aung to go to school. Swan Aung found
school fascinating and enjoyed his time there. He got first prize in class
contests for four consecutive years. He sank himself into his studies, partly
to keep himself from feeling bad about lonely or sad nights.
When he was in the fifth grade, his father left one day and didnt
come back.
Desperately, Swan Aung asked his mother why, and she calmly
answered, Your father is on a trip abroad. He might be gone a long time.
He saw his mother bite her lip and blink away tears.
A month later, Swan Aung found out that his father had left the family
for good. He did not know what to do and bothered his mother with
thousands of questions. Most of the time, he was ignored.
Your father has left us, was the only answer he ever got.
Swan Aung felt very bad and his performance deteriorated as a result.
Left unsupported, his mother could not keep up the familys finances, and
Swan Aung fell into a depression so deep he could no longer study his
lessons. He failed many tests and eventually he had to drop out of school.
65
An Unfortunate Wish
Crying alone in the yard around the corner of his neighbors house,
he looked up to the hills above Mandalay and absentmindedly fixed his
gaze on an old tree high up on a hillside.
Why is life so miserable? he asked, tears welling up in his shiny
black eyes. Gritting his teeth, he challenged life. Lets see who will win.
He fought by working as hard as he could at a job he got in a factory.
He carried the heaviest loads and worked the longest hours to earn enough
to support his mother and accumulate some savings. Through his
undeviating will, he managed to get promoted and earn a higher salary,
until eventually he was able to start his own business shipping rice and fish
from the Irrawaddy Delta region. Still, he did not feel that he had won the
challenge he had made to life.
He expanded his business, moving to Laputta in the Delta to work
more efficiently. His business was thriving, but it required all his time and
effort, sixteen hours a day, every day.
When will this end? he wondered, but he already knew the answer. I
must not give up, he told himself. I must win.
His business continued to grow. Then, while he was on a trip to
Mandalay, Cyclone Nargis struck the Irrawaddy Delta. His home and
business were destroyed by the ferocious storm. His best employees were
killed or gravely injured, and nearly everything he owned was washed away.
Swan Aung felt as if he would break down on the spot, but he did
not. Instead, he clenched his fists tighter and steeled himself to fight even
harder.
He went back to his old house where his mother lived and started
taking steps toward rebuilding his assets. His hard work paid off and he
was able to establish another business, which sold Buddhist religious objects.
His business was successful and he set up new branches in other cities up
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Simon Sai
and down the Yangon-Mandalay highway, with the new headquarters in

Meiktila. His business flowed smoothly and he was able to smile for the
first time in what seemed like a century.
He moved to Meiktila with his mother to be near his headquarters.
They had a good time, partly due to their stable business and partly due to
the warmth of the locals. He rented his companys warehouse from a
Muslim family, and they became friends.
He was happier than he had been since childhood, until religious
conflict broke out in Meiktila. Dozens were massacred, and parts of the
city were burned to the ground while he and his mother hid in their house,
holding each other, terrified.
When he ventured outside, Swan Aung discovered his warehouse was
now nothing but ashes. The neighborhood where his friend had lived was
a smoking ruin. His friend and his family were gone.
In a quiet late night talk with his mother, he asked, Why is life so
miserable? It is not fair.
This is the way life is, son. You cant run away from life, can you?
the old lady replied.
From other parts of the city, he could hear the distant shouting from
rioting mobs as they continued on their rampage. Life is terrible, he said,
and he walked out of the room.
In bed, as he lay still, he recalled his life and all that he had faced.
Before he fell asleep, he saw a black crow sitting on a branch above Mandalay
Hill, frail and weary, wishing for a human life. He was not sure if it was a
dream or not, but he felt tears sliding down his cheeks.
He fell back asleep, and when he woke next, his room was filled with
smoke. He felt heat rising up around him and he heard the crackling of
flames, the screams of his mother, and the panicked shouts of his neighbors.
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An Unfortunate Wish
They are here. They have come for me, and this time I give up.
You win, life. I should not have chosen you.
Then there was only darkness.
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Her
By Johnathan Thu
Preface and Timeline
This story encompasses several years of writing and development. I
apologize for any inconsistencies in the plot and/or tone and/or writing
and/or general direction of the story, which will begin as inexplicably as it
will end. I have tried my best to fit the story into a contiguous logical
timeline. However, if issues are to arise, I ask you, the reader, to kindly
ignore them, or refer to the handy diagram below.
In Jean-Luc Goddards words:
A story should have a beginning, a middle and an end, but not necessarily in that
order.
Act 1
Act 2
Act 4
Act 3
Act 1
My apologies for any confusion, dear reader.
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Her
Act 1
I remember first seeing her staring out of a window of the old clock tower.
Even when all the students on campus were constantly occupied by a
dilemma of some sort, she was always in a permanent state of tranquility.
Her smile was one of the graceful variety you see only on the faces of
nobility. She always carried herself with poise and elegance, but not
haughtiness, like a gentle flower that danced elegantly with the rhythm of
the wind. However, I found it strange that she had little contact with other
people. Something about her screamed friendliness, acceptance, and joy.
Yet there she was, within the tallest structure on the campus staring intently
out the window, alone.
I approached her the following day. I did not want to assert perversion,
so I patiently waited for her at the bottom of the staircases of the clock
tower. Before long, at her usual time, she arrived at the clock tower. Eerily,
she did not even question my presence, but instead subtly gestured that I
was welcome.
Surprised and befuddled, I followed her up the clock tower. The steps
creaked with incessant groans as I treaded lightly over the ancient
floorboards. Oddly, the stairs were much more generous in covering the
sounds of her walking on the floorboards. Like the eternal grace of a swan,
she carried an aura of impenetrable dignity and composure. When I reached
the top floor, I winced against the blinding light that poured in from the
open window. For the rest of the day, we sat at opposite corners of the
windowsill and stared into the vast expanse of the sunset.
*
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Johnathan Thu
Days flew by as our silent communication morphed into bouts of generous

conversation. Every day, we walked up the tower, stared out into the
distance, and talked. I worried it would be a repetitive, unproductive routine
for her to sit through, but she did not seem to mind. As our conversations
slowly evolved from passionate rants about school to our personal lives,
we soon developed a mutual consensus to establish a relationship. And so
the date was set, and that day, we did not meet at the clock tower, but in the
blossoming flower fields nearby.
The flowers were the color of her hair, and it was her hair which, in
spite of the blossoms beauty, was the thing I only noticed when she ran
into the fields and twirled gracefully. The environment complemented her
charisma immensely, and she was teeming with happiness. I plucked a flower
to give to her. She wrapped her hands around mine and quickly leaned in for
a peck on my lips. Prior to that moment, my brain had only turned off on
me twice, and both times were during history exams. This event made my
own personal history: my first kiss. I inadvertently jerked back in shock
and looked at her with eyes of amazement. She just smiled at me and laughed.
A date and a kiss from a vivacious woman would be my most
prominent achievement for years to come, I thought, an achievement that
would be one of the defining moments of my life.
Then it struck me. The kiss was passionate, but it contradicted my
instincts. My brain told me to succumb to the rush of endorphins that
made my knees weak, but my gut warned me of something sinister, though
I could not understand why.
In the following days, I avoided contact with her. Whenever I looked
at her, no longer could I see the lively person she once had been, but a
diluted aura of ominousness. No longer could I see the innocent joys of
the world, but only a menace that pervaded my vision. I could see
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Her
creaturesliteral creaturesthat crowded the world around me. As the

days passed by, I had more and more intense hallucinations, hallucinations
so vivid I couldnt differentiate between them and reality. I was alone,
helpless, and suffering from a psychic ailment that I could not even begin
to comprehend.
I stayed at school long after classes had finished one day. Out of the
blue, a hand reached for me: her hand.
Ive given you the appetizer, she whispered. Now its time for the
main course.
She ushered me up the clock tower. The very tower I had been avoiding
to prevent those thoughts from invading my head. She gently hugged me
and pressed me onto the floor. For the first time since my mental attacks,
I was temporarily at peace. Her warm embrace was soothing. However, at
the same time, adrenaline had taken over my body, prepared for a fight or
flight response. She noticed my tense posture and grabbed my hand, this
time forcefully, and before long she led me back inside the school building.
Wait here, do not wander alone, she urged, and ran off into the
dark corridors of the school.
Despite her warnings, I proceeded to drift away to find a place to clear
my thoughts. One particular room felt unaccountably serene, so I decided
to walk into it.
As soon as I did, I realized immediately that I should never have set
foot inside. I should have read her expression better; it was so pure and
honest. The familiar unsettling feeling came back, wrapping its tentacles
around me. A cold shiver raced down my spine. I tried to speak, but my
words disappeared as they left my mouthand then so did the room,
which seemed to crumble and vanish before my eyes. It was as though I
were in a horror movie, except the silver screen was much, much closer to
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Johnathan Thu
my face. I tried to jolt myself awake, only to realize I wasnt dreaming. The
floor disappeared into nothingness, leaving no other portion but the place
in which I stood, until the last piece of floor collapsed under my weight,
dropping me down into the seemingly endless abyss below.
I had fallen before from high places, more times than I would like to
admit, and judging from the length of time it took me to fall, I expected to
be crushed on impact. However, I was not.
I was just there: motionless and speechless. I wished I could call out to
her, but I was paralyzed and strung in place like an abandoned puppet. I
could hear strange, monstrous noises around me, and I cringed as I lay
there waiting for the growling menace that circled me in the shadows to
strike.
What are you doing? yelled a voice, audibly angry: her voice. She
held my arm tightly and waved my hallucinations out of existence. I was
trembling with fear and regret. I tried to apologize, but my words were lost
as soon as they left my mouth.
Get him out, yelled a voice.
He is impure at heart; he is not suitable, added another distinct voice.
He rejected our reality and substituted his own, berated the first voice.
He betrayed the rules of our world, and he will betray you too, scolded the
second voice.
She tightened the grip on my arm and pushed me into a wall. Her
once innocent smile was now replaced with a sneer of anger and mistrust.
I-I dont understand, I gasped when I could finally speak.
Its not you. Its you, she retorted and slammed my hand against my
head.
My vision slowly faded away as I saw her leave.
I was awakened by the old caretaker poking his broom in my face.
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Her
Lets get you home, he said in a heavy accent. My wife is making

me curry and I dont want to be late.
The caretaker hoisted me up and continued to check the remaining
rooms. The ring of keys jingled as he walked.
So, the caretaker started with a raspy voice. You two together?
Umuh, I stuttered. Thatum
Shes a keeper, interrupted the senile caretaker. Ah, young love.
I groaned as I followed the caretaker out of the school gates.
*
Weeks went by. I had locked myself in my room, having not seen her since
the incident. I did not know the true consequences of my inadvertent
actions, nor did I fully understand what supernatural forces had been
brought upon me. I held a knife to my heart and gripped it tighter.
No, I thought. No, no, no.
Tears fell down my cheeks. My knuckles whitened with every passing
minute.
As my will wavered, I dropped the knife.
Soaked in my own tears, I curled up on the ground as I let my pent-up
feelings trickle out. I recovered slightly soon afterwards, no longer
experiencing hallucinations. I did, however, remain in my house, defeated.
Act 2
Late one night there was a knock on my door, followed by a long rumble
of thunder. I did not know who to expect at such an hour; I had hardly any
visitors even during the day.
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Johnathan Thu
I limped unwillingly across the floor, then proceeded to crawl. I had

been sitting for so long that my legs had gone to sleep and now felt like the
static on the channel I was watching. I stopped to remove popcorn that
had lodged in my knee. Just like most every Saturday night, I was not in a
presentable state. There was an array of different kinds of empty soda
cans and bags of potato chips from the movie marathon the night before.
My shirt was stained with a ridiculous amount of dipping sauce from takeout. The couch now had the shape of my back embedded into it. The
remotes were wedged between the cushions of the couch, causing them to
randomly flip through channels and static. My television subscription had
the nations most popular channels, everything from boring talk shows
about gardening to the ever popular static. Before I opened the door, I
brushed off the crumbs clinging to my shirt and retied my longyi, adjusting
the cloth to hide the stains underneath the folds of the fabric.
My door sounded like it had not been used in a long time; it squealed
and stuttered as I forced it open through the rust caused by the steady
rain. Despite being an apartment complex, the stairways were not shielded
from the elements, save for the tarp held in place by several bamboo poles.
Admittedly an ingenious solution, if it werent for the rips and tears in the
middle.
When I realized who was on the other side of the door, the loud
crackle of thunder only heightened my surprise. My shadow, which was
cast onto the visitor, dimmed with a flash of lightning. The thunder seemed
to break the immediate tension between us. I guessed that the visitor
expected an apology of some sort, but I was not completely sure what she
wanted at all.
The water droplets from the rain ran down the side of her face and
onto her lips. I could not read the expression on her face but I assumed they
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Her
were tears, just like those falling from my own sore, red eyes, which I
locked onto hers hoping to understand her. She took my hand, and I did
not expect her to suddenly jolt and run off into the rain, but thats what she
did. My hand reflexively reached for an umbrella while the other held onto
her hand. Her hand trembled with some strong emotion, but I could not
identify it. She mumbled inaudible words that were further muted by the
rain. She turned her face around as I looked at herand then, without a
warning, a sharp blade pierced my chest.
I did not know which was worse, the physical pain in my chest or the
feeling of betrayal. Blood seeped from the wound and stained my clothes
the same color of the flower Id given to her. My vision blurred and faded
away while rain clouds rolled by and thunder rumbled overhead.
Act 3
Excruciating pain.
Blank memories.
Every attempted movement cursed my body with agony. The
extremities of my limbs were painfully difficult to move and felt like static
from an untuned television channel.
I tried to stand up, but all I did was slip and fall back down on the
cold, hard concrete floor.
I could not recollect the events that had occurred. Strangely, the colors
of the sunset in my window seemed to provide a sense of belonging and
serenity. I kept hearing a faint, distant voice calling my name, but it quickly
faded as I noticed the pain slowly leaving my body. The numbness receded
and I attempted to get up again. As I tried to stand up, my vision blurred
and spun wildly, and it was not long before I collapsed once more. The
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Johnathan Thu
warmth of the evening sun contrasted with the cool flooring gave me a
strange sense of calm.
The sky was strangely lit; it looked as if the sun and moon were in
equilibrium with neither seemingly having the edge over the other. The
atmosphere was colored with both the hues of day and night, just as my
mind was in a limbo state of confusion and serenity. I felt as if my own
body was attacking me, waging a constant war against my mind and depleting
me of my humanity. I felt myself on the brink of insanity, but something
was keeping it at bay. I tried to dig into my own mind to find out what was
causing the war within myself, but all I could manage to muster was a
color: dark red.
Maybe it was the numbness that distracted my attention away from
the gaping hole in my chest, or the eerie fact that time did not seem to
flow; the sun remained there for God knows how long, and the birds,
which I had just noticed, seemed to be frozen in midflight.
God? I asked myself. Crows?
Of all the species of birds that could illustrate the situation I was in,
it had to be a crow.
God? I thought again.
The thought seemed to be hardwired into my head. I do not know
why, but I was angry with myself for thinking it. Furious, in fact, and my
muscles tensed and joints cracked as I flailed at the flooring, kneeling and
pounding it. I looked down at my chest and saw the dark blood covering
the wound. The sight of it stirred up more emotions. My thoughts made
no sense, and I was so overcome by confusion that I rolled around, tearing
at my hair.
I felt as if my sanity had abandoned me in this lawless state of entropy.
God. The word entered my mind again, and this time, my anger was directed
77
Her
at God. Insults spewed out like confetti, like punches thrown by a madman,
until I forced myself to be still.
Is this really me? I asked myself. I thought of myself as a man of
logic, not swayed by my emotions. I realized at last that I was truly losing
my sanity. The once clearly defined border between logic, emotions and
actions was blurred, and my body seemed to be conducted by mere impulses
of irrationality.
I proceeded to get up and run, my legs jelly-like under me. The path
I took was seemingly endless and led to nowhere in particular. Only after I
proceeded to look around did I realize I had not moved a single inch away
from where I had begun.
Insanity had poisoned my reality. I was scared of myself; even my
thoughts frightened me to no end.
From that point on, I gave up fighting.
Lightning flashed. Everything came back to me.
Now I knew; her alluring yet poisonous nature had deluded me. She
had hair the color of the blood seeping from my wound. Time resumed
ticking and the sun resumed setting. Another jab of pain reentered my
chest as she pulled the blade out of me. The clouds passed over the vibrant
evening sky and glowed with the colors of the sunset as she walked away.
I was not sure if I should forgive her. My body was weakening every
second as more blood seeped out of the wound. She was tense and I could
see it in her face. Angelic beauty radiated around her. Her hair flowed with
the elegance of her footsteps. The blade she thrust was covered in blood,
dark red: the color of her lips, in addition to her hair, and it so happened to
be her favorite color as well.
How do I know that? I asked myself.
No matter; I rolled over and faced the now sinking sun, grunting with
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Johnathan Thu
pain. I wanted my last thoughts to be of her gleaming innocent smile, of

her voice saying:
Lets talk again.
These words were embedded in my mind before my eyelids fell heavily
shut.
Act 4
A voice called to me; it told me to come toward the light. It felt peaceful
and exuded all the bliss it was possible to experience. Alas, it was too
warm, too unjustifiably warm. Warm with the acceptance I could not allow
myself to deserve. The inviting voice, despite its serenity, felt hollow, as if
I was draining it of its essence just with my very presence. I found myself
unable to walk toward it.
Perhaps this is God, I thought to myself, but I shrugged it off. I had
already lost faith in any deity that could have prevented my suffering and
endless state of limbo.
A watchmaker, a voice whispered. He does not interfere for he cannot.
So now you tell me? I yelled at the light. Were you there when I
was lost? Were you there when she was lost?
The light disappeared.
I felt no remorse.
No remorse, I assured myself. Right?
Right, I thought, scowling as I stared into the blank abyss.
I gripped my chest as every muscle in my body tensed. Falling to my
knees, I lay my head on the floor, my eyes clenched shut and fingernails
digging into my palms. Darkness crept up from the corners of my vision
as I slipped into unconsciousness.
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Her
*
I awoke to the rhythm of my heartbeat, each thump amplified by the
reverberant room. I felt a tug in the back of my mind, compelling me to
move. The harder I tried to push the mental tug away, the stronger the
compulsion felt. Emerging from my fetal position, I stood sluggishly up. I
stared at the dim wall where the light had been, compelled to venture toward
it. Unthinkingly, I reached toward the wall as I shuffled closer.
I stopped, jerking my hand back and clenching my fist. Fighting the
compulsion, I swiftly turned from the wall and walked away from it. My
footsteps echoed eerily as I trudged into the darkness. A dim corridor
slowly bloomed into existence in front of me. At the end of the corridor
was a familiar setting. Curiosity took hold of me, and I decided to walk
toward it.
Have I been here before? I wondered. As I walked down the corridor,
I felt my memories being forcibly stripped from my mind. I hobbled
mindlessly forward as white light began to envelop my eyes. The last thought
that remained was the ever-present static.
*
Late one night there was a knock on my door, followed by a long rumble
of thunder.
Act 5
I had to break the cycle of this perpetual madness. With every repetition
of the torturous cycle of events, I gradually became aware of all I had
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Johnathan Thu
been put through. I met the light again, but this time I tried a more
diplomatic approach.
A watchmaker, the voice whispered. He does not interfere for he cannot.
I understand now, I told the voice, but it yielded no reply.
Can I break the cycle? I asked, but there still was no reply.
Can I start over? I asked again, increasingly desperate.
He does not interfere, repeated the voice, fading ominously away with
every word.
I closed my eyes as I felt a gentle pull leading me into the light, into
my personal salvation.
*
I remember first seeing her staring out of a window of the old clock tower,
but now only feelings of guilt and regret surround her. No matter how
hard I try to persuade my own mind, I cannot see her bright, innocent
smile.
I can never see her the way I first saw her, not ever again.
81
82

By Pyone Lei Lei Mon
Dear Lay,
Five years isnt enough to dull the memories of your tiny fingers, your laughter,
your innocent face, how sweet you looked when you smiled, and it is nowhere near enough
time to dull the memory of that tragic night. Although you are out of reach of my
arms, your existence still fills up all of my heart and my head. Nothing can ever erase
my everlasting memory of you, Lay.
*
No ones home except the two girls, one seven years old and the other a
baby of nine months. Darkness fills every corner of the street. Lightning
flashes every few minutes, filling the house with light and sound and fear.
The tin roof above their heads makes the sound of the pouring rain louder.
The disgusting smell of the gutter sometimes reaches their noses. Nine at
night. The gloominess of the weather hasnt changed a bit since evening.
The girls Mama and Dada wont be home for another hour.
83
Both the girls are in the babys bedroom. Theres a cradle and stuffed
animals, a chair, and on the table beside the cradle, a pink lamp that does
no good on a night like this when the powers out. The smell of talc from
baby powder is in the air. The older girl is sitting still in the chair by the
open window, from which the rain and wind are welcomed into the house.
She is looking at the shadow of her sister in the cradle. Their eyes meet
somewhere in the darkness.
*
What I feel most sorry about your exit is that you left without knowing how much you
were loved, cared for and nurtured by us. Nine months in Moms womb and nine
months in our hands wasnt enough. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to you.
Oh, Lay, how much I miss you.
*
A year before, her life had been so different. The girl used to receive toys
and snacks every evening when her father came back from work. She was
the top priority for the whole family. She was the princess. She was the
queen, until the baby girl in the cradle came out of her mothers womb.
Everything she valued in life had been cut off by the cry of her sister.
Now shes no longer the priority of the household. The girl heard from a
Christian playmate that Christians believe Hell is the absence of God. She
didnt understand it at the time, but over the past nine months, shes felt
the absence of the love and attention she has known her whole life. She
understands now. These nine months have been a living hell for her.
She discovered the truth of how little she mattered one evening not
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Pyone Lei Lei Mon
long after her sister was born. Shed been asking her father for something
for so long. One fine evening, her father passed her door with something
in his hand. Something shed been wishing for for months. Uplifting her
hands, she was ready to receive it. To her surprise, what she received was
merely the slight gust of air as her father passed her on his way to the
bedroom where the baby girl slept. That something was a beautiful bedside
lamp. And it was her favorite color, pink.
*
Our letters to you every six months arent enough to show how terribly we are tormented
inside. Do you know what I do whenever I miss you? I guess you remember the lamp
that Dad bought for you. The pink bedside lamp. Your most favorite thing, which you
adored more than all the toys. You stopped crying when we turned on that lamp. You
loved it so much. Whenever you come into my mind and the sadness overwhelms me, I
turn on that lamp, and I feel like youre right there in the room with me.
*
The baby girl jumps and cries out every time the lightning brightens the
room. The cradle swings from side to side with her weight. The poor girl is
searching for her Mama and Dada. They arent back yet. Its a quarter past
nine. The girl in the chair hasnt moved. She sits there with her arms folded.
The movement of her eyelashes and her steady breathing are the only
signs that shes alive.
Lightning strikes with such great force that it rocks the house and the
cradle, and the roar of the thunder is the loudest sound the baby has ever
heard in her life. She starts to grab the bars of the cradle, hoping to escape,
85
like a prisoner in a cell. Her eyes fill with tears and she starts to scream,
while her big sister sits still, breathing comfortably, keeping her eyes locked
on the baby.
Under the eyes of her big sister, the baby girl drags herself upright
and pushes forcefully against the side of the cradle. The cradle inclines to
one side. The pulse racing in the older girls veins beats with the sound of
the rain. The terrified baby climbs the inclining bars and grabs the cord of
the lamp hanging from the side of the table.
*
While you were with me, I never got tired of spending time with you. I was there beside
you before I left for school. I left my heart behind beside you while my physical body was
in class. I ran home after school as fast as I could just so I could play with you until it
was your bedtime and Mom separated us. But Mom didnt know that we met again in
dreams.
Lay, I love you with all my heart and soul. You are my one and only little sister,
you always have been, and always will be. Mom and Dad and I will always pray for
your next life from the morning until night.
*
The last scene: the baby girl lying unmoving on the cold floor. Her
terrified heartbeat is silent now. The lamp lies on its side next to her. The
older girl removes herself from the chair, moves slowly across the room,
and kneels down. The baby girls body is still warm, and the usual sweet
powder smell of her is still in the air. Without touching her sister, she picks
up the lamp with her clammy hands and puts it on the table. Blood seeps
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Pyone Lei Lei Mon
from the wound on the babys head. Leaving her little sister behind, the
girl returns to her own bedroom, lies in bed, and closes her eyes, as if the
scene in the next room is of no concern to her.
*
I will always regret how I left you alone that night. You mustve been so afraid by
yourself in the dark and the storm. I shouldve stayed with you all night. You mustve
been so terrified and desperate that you jumped from your cradle, and I was not there to
stop you. I failed in my duty as a sister, and I can only beg your forgiveness, though I will
never be able to forgive myself.
I was so lucky to have you as my sister. No achievement of mine can exceed the
honor of that. Ive been blessed. We were all blessed to live every moment that we did
with you, even though it was only nine months.
My greatest hope is that in the next life, we will be sisters again, and that we will
live long and happy lives together.
With all the love in my heart,
Your Sister
*
The girl dips her fingers into the glass beside her. The water dribbles from
her fingertips and lands on the words of the letter, and the fresh ink of
those words spreads. Fake tears. The letter is now ready to be read at the
memorial tomorrow.
87
88
Five Fingers
By Yamindra Malla
I go up and down the Irrawaddy River between Yangon and Mandalay

several times each year. Recently, I took a trip with Mary to a village named
Myale. The village lies on the bank of the Irrawaddy up the river from
Mandalay. Mary is from America and lives in a place called Pennsylvania
with her family. Many tourists coming to Myanmar prefer to travel by air
or by bus, but she loves to travel on the river. We were going to Myale to
offer donation money for the village school.
After spending a day in Mandalay, we took a boat from Mayan Gyan
Jetty at the western end of the city. Far on the other side of the river is
Sagaing. Mandalay and Sagaing both were capital cities at one time in history.
Meandering through branches of the Irrawaddy River, our boatman guided
the craft to the other bank and started sailing up the stream.
After half an hour, we reached Mingun and stopped there for some
time. First we went to see Pahtodawgyi. Had it been finished, this pagoda
would have been the largest of its kind in the world. We climbed the steep
stairs to the top. It was almost like hiking up a small hill. As we climbed, I
explained to Mary the history behind the pagoda, how a king named
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Five Fingers
Bodawpaya had it constructed in 1790.

Its a very nice view from here, Mary said when we reached the top.
I felt tired and sat down. There were no railings and the ground was
more than 100 meters below.
Be careful, I warned her. Dont go toward the edge. Theres no
hope if you slip and fall down.
Mary took out her camera and started going around taking pictures
of the landscape. She expressed her fascination at the shift of perspective.
Just before we were on the road below looking up at the pagoda, now we
are at the top looking down. I had never made such an observation.
After we climbed down from the pagoda, we went to see Mingun
bell, the largest ringing bell in the world.
If you make a wish and ring this bell, your wish becomes fulfilled,
I said, trying to encourage Mary to ring the bell.
May I be well and happy, she said and pulled the tongue, striking
the bell.
Three times! I reminded her.
She smiled and struck the bell two more times. The giant bell vibrated,
emitting deep low-octave sound waves permeating everything around. Some
people within its proximity might have taken it for some sort of spiritual
experience. After the sound faded, I took a deep breath and pulled the
tongue three times after making the same wish.
The noise of the motor sounded louder as the boat left Mingun,
leaving behind the noisy bustle of the city for the quiet of nature. As the
boat started to move up steadily along the riverbank, Mary told me about
her family and her hometown. At one point, she told me about funds that
she was carrying that were earmarked for a boy named Min San in Myale.
Her husband John had helped raise the money and sent it with her
90
Yamindra Malla
specifically for the boy. She asked me to talk to Min San and his parents
when we arrived. There was a small finger-like outgrowth sprouting from
the base of his thumb. The funds were for the surgery to remove it.
Life can be difficult sometimes if you are different, Mary said.
Especially if you live with people who cant embrace differences.
This became the theme of our conversation for some time. She told
me about an incident that had happened a few days before. One morning
as she was walking around, she heard some dogs barking behind her. When
she turned around in fear, she noticed that the dogs were barking at a man
who was walking backwards. I found it funny and laughed. That guy was
probably doing some sort of exercise! I told her.
In my career, I meet different types of people from different countries.
I find Mary very different from all of them. She thinks logically and her
views are based upon reason. Sometimes she challenges my own views. I
dont get angry about it. I like the way she can express her critiques without
offending me. She says that without criticism well never know if our views
are correct. My favorite thing shes told me is this: One should not hate
anyone for the views they hold. People cannot be wrong. Its their views
that are wrong sometimes. Even then, how you can know they are wrong?
What you think is right may be so only from your perspective! Ive thought
about it for a long time, and I agree with her.
Mary enjoyed the ride and the scenery. Along the journey, she would
often exclaim, Look! Isnt it beautiful? There was only one thing that
kept bothering her: the boats that carry local passengers and goods blasting
loud music through their speakers. Its not pleasant even to my ears. Every
time a boat went by, Mary would grumble about it.
Why do they blast their music like that?
Its a signal, I kept telling her, People can know the boat is coming
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Five Fingers
and they can wait at the bank of the river.

After sailing up the river for about three more hours, we finally made
ground and disembarked at a hamlet in one of the northern branches of
the river, only a few miles from Kyauk Myaung. We had to take a bullock
cart from there to reach Myale. After half an hour, we arrived at the village.
We were put up in the Great Forest, a meditation monastery on the outskirts
of Myale.
In the evening, I saw Min San playing with his friends in front of the
monastery. I called to him.
John, the American, wants to send you to Mandalay for surgery. You
probably remember him, I told Min San, pointing to his right hand.
Yes, I know him. He built the library at our school, he said with a
sense of gratitude.
Will you go to Mandalay?
I dont want to go.
Why?
I dont want to have the surgery, he said without any hint of
reservation, and he ran back to his friends.
Tell your mother! I shouted after him.
The next day morning, monks and novices left the monastery in a
line to go for an alms round in the village. There were five young boys
going with them. Mary and I went too. The boys come from remote villages
and live there temporarily to study at the village school. Every morning,
one of themusually the youngest onewalks at the front of the line
ringing a small bell, reminding the villagers to come out and offer food if
they want to. Other boys are there to sort the foods into different bowls
and carriers. It becomes very messy if you put rice and curries and sweets
and cakes into the same bowl.
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Yamindra Malla
Min San was one of those boys. He looked happy and all his friends
seemed to be fond of him. Many boys staying at the monastery want to
become monks when they grow up. But Min San wanted to go to college.
When he grew up he wanted to look after his mother.
Last year, the village Abbot had told him, You can study at the
monastery. And you can help your mother even as a monk.
He said, A monks life is not easy. Besides, my mother is alone. I
must help her.
On the alms round, I helped the boys while Mary went around taking
pictures. News had already circulated that Johns wife had arrived in the
village. The villagers came out to greet her. Some offered her cakes they
had cooked themselves. Small children gathered around her and wanted to
hold her hand.
After returning from the alms round, Mary and I were sitting under a
huge tamarind tree beside the path that linked the monastery and the village.
Resting her back on the trunk of the tree, she expressed her joy and pride
that she felt thinking about her husbands kindness and generosity.
The boys had eaten their lunch and were on the way to go to school.
As they passed by, Mary asked me to call Min San over to us.
Did you tell your mother about the surgery? I asked him.
Yes. But she doesnt want to send me to Mandalay.
Dont worry about anything. Everything will be taken care of, Mary
promised.
He became more assertive. Thank you, but I dont want to have the
surgery.
Other boys were waiting for him. I let him go.
That afternoon we went to the village school. Mary donated the money
to the school board. The school principal, teachers, and other village elders
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Five Fingers
were also present for the occasion. John had sent the donation for the
construction of new rooms. Some students had applied for uppersecondary level but there werent enough rooms available to run the classes.
After two days at the village, I started to feel bored. There was no
electricity and the silence you had to maintain at the Great Forest was
becoming uncomfortable. I told Mary I wanted to return to Mandalay. I
had other trips to make. She said I could go. She would remain at the Great
Forest. The day before I returned, Mary and I went to see Min Sans mother.
I explained everything all over again to her.
Its not a big surgery, and its absolutely safe, Mary tried to comfort
her.
Its not about that, Min Sans mother said, as if she were making an
apology.
You dont have to worry about anything, I reassured her.
Hes the only boy with six fingers in the whole village
Doesnt anybody tease him? I mean, isnt he harassed at school?
Mary interrupted.
Is Min San comfortable? I asked, trying to put Mary in the boys
shoes.
Mary and I realized that his mother clearly did not want Min San to
have the surgery, and we wondered why.
Hes a special kid. Everybody loves him, Min Sans mother said
proudly. Having six fingers is a good omen. My son will bring good luck
to the whole village.
I could tell Mary was confused, but there was nothing more to be
done. I bid her farewell and got on a boat back to Mandalay.
94
To the Creek
By Aung Kaung Myat
1
The torrents of rain transformed the foot of the mountain into a wet and
verdant landscape. Raindrops danced on the leaves of the trees as if
celebrating the first rains of the year. The streams and creeks were
overburdened and running furiously. As the rain erased the existence of
the old, the useless, and the unfit, the new emerged in its place, the energetic
and the lively. Every change was maneuvered by the Order of Karma, or
so we were to believe. Karma triggered events, and I was awake with my
hands soaked in blood. I prayed to the Buddha, I prayed to the Dear
Bhante and the Manifesto of Myo Chit he protected. I remembered, as I was
taught, that anyone who kills in the name of Buddhism will go to the
realm of the gods. And before the white light took me, I realized that I,
Okkar, had become a Myo Chit, holy defender of race and religion.
*
95
To the Creek
It all started when I was serving time at a peace camp.

Every morning, the Special Sermon of Saddha, conducted by Buddhist
monks, blared from speakers everywhere. Id wake up with the sermon
invading my ears, all of it about how to protect my religion and race from
the kalars and their foreign allies, who threatened to bring about an
apocalyptic future and sought the complete annihilation of Buddhism and
its defenders, the Burmese race. Then Id start the daily routine of hard
labor, working for the Buddha in order to cleanse my sins. There would be
lamentation and weeping while we toiled under the merciless sunlight. There
would be weak cries for help from the sinners whose pain or hunger or
dehydration had passed beyond all tolerance. Some of them fell to the
ground and rolled in agony, moaning hoarsely with all the strength they
had left. But the growing whirlwind of silence never failed to overwhelm
all the wailing, as the work site was constantly monitored by the Knights
of Buddhism. One noise; the Knights approached; silence engulfed us; we
returned to our toiling. Silence became another punishment for sinners
like us.
So I ran. I ran to flee from the suffering and the lethal silence. I ran to
find the world Id dreamed of for myself. I ran with a friend who had
planned an escape route. We ran with all the energy in our bodies, as stealthily
as we could, pushing through the bushes behind the refectory, keeping our
heads at the same level as the wild grass so that the Knights in the
watchtowers wouldnt spot us. I even tried to hold my breath, as though it
would be loud enough for the Knights to hear, until we made it to the
jungle at the camps perimeter.
How much farther do we have to keep running? I asked Kyaw
Thura, panting and gasping.
Im not sure, he said. If we run north for perhaps ten hours straight,
96
Aung Kaung Myat
we will see the creek.

A nod was the only reply I could manage. When I looked back, I saw
no sign that they knew wed escaped. There was no movement behind us
or in the distant watchtowers. The camp appeared to be going about its
daily schedule as usual. On the wall of the central building hung the
enormous banner of the Buddhist Republic of the Fifth Myanmar Empire
with the three lions sitting back to back, rippling slightly in the breeze, as
imposing as ever.
I breathed the air of freedom as we ran away from the peace camp. It
was an immense relief that we would finally be going home after all the
nightmares wed endured in that horrible place.
I had been serving a life sentence after being convicted of blasphemy.
I read books in my leisure time, and it turned out that reading certain
books was a blasphemous activity according to the Fourth Amendment of
the Race and Religion Protection Laws, or Amyobathar Law, as it was known.
The path we were running down narrowed and the jungle thickened
with shrubs and trees. It was not even wide enough for the two of us to
squeeze side by side, so he went first and I followed. My tongue was dry
and a violent thirst burned in my throat. In the sweltering heat of May, our
foremost worry was dehydration, potentially far more lethal than any of
the dangers of the jungle. But there was no sign of water. The trees were
as parched as the skin of an old witch. There was no trace of any animals
as far as my eyes could see. Even birds, rodents, and insects seemed to hide
from our sight.
Lets rest for a couple of minutes over there. Kyaw Thura pointed
to the shade under a big tree.
I hoped that he had studied the map carefully. Wed become
acquaintances because we were in the same work detail, but he had only
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To the Creek
asked me to come with him the day before, when I saw him clandestinely
filling a bottle with water. My reply was prompt.
I could see that he was as exhausted as I was. The consumption of
our meager rations of rice and peas for months had weakened our bodies
terribly. We slumped down next to each other. The leaves of the tree
fluttered through the air as they drifted to the ground.
How long have we been running? I asked him.
I dont know exactly. Weve made it farther than I expected we would.
We ran too fast. We should not do that. It uses up our energy too quickly.
After wed rested a while, I realized that I was starving. We had run
off during breakfast time at the peace camp, the busiest time of day. I
looked around where we were sitting, searching for food, but there was no
trace of anything edible. Kyaw Thura reached into his bag and took out a
water bottle. He took a few sips from it, then passed it to me.
Only small sips, Okkar. Dont gulp it down or we will die of
dehydration. We dont know how long we will be without any source of
clean water.
I thanked him for bringing along the water bottle and sharing it with
me. I took great care as I drank; not a drop of water was wasted. I had to
resist the urge to take huge swallows or pour it over my overheated head,
which was covered with sweat and dust.
Kyaw Thura lay on the ground with his head on his bag. He closed
his eyes and murmured to me, Lets rest for a while longer. Then we will
walk steadily to the creek and go home.
2
Before I was sent to the peace camp, going home was what I did every
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Aung Kaung Myat
evening of my life; it was the part of the workday I most enjoyed. I closed
the front door of my copy shop, made sure all the windows and the back
door were closed, checked the income and expenses of the shop in the
ledger book, locked the front door, and then headed home. On the way, Id
greet some of my neighbors, and theyd greet me back. When I got home,
Id make myself dinner, read a book or watch television, and then go to
bed. If I encountered the Knights of Buddhism on my way home, I would
arrive later than usual, sometimes the worse for wear.
The Knights of Buddhism were the armed wing of a special
organization founded by the Fifth Myanmar Empire. They regularly
patrolled my neighborhood because it was near the edge of a kalar
containment zone. Theyd ask people to show their identity card to make
sure they were Buddhist and of pure Burmese race. According to Amyobathar
Law, people of the minor races, especially kalars, were not allowed to go
beyond the areas to which they were officially assigned.
Where are you going? the Knights would ask.
Are you a Buddhist Sakiyan Blood? Show me your identity card,
theyd demand.
But you look a little like a kalar, theyd say. They meant it as a threat;
if I were relegated to the status of kalar it would deprive me of the rights
I held as a Sakiyan Blood, one descended from the Buddhas own bloodline.
Of course, there was little possibility that could happen to me, given that
I could show my true Sakiyan Blood in many ways. But I had heard that
one of my old schoolmates was identified as a kalar by the authorities and
his rights were stripped away. They had him and his family registered
as kalars and their religion as Islam, and they were moved to a special
protected area for Muslims. According to the law, they could not go beyond
the perimeter arbitrated by the Special Administration Committee. Whats
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To the Creek
more, he and his wife were investigated and sent to the jail for the crime of
interfaith marriage. They disappeared into oblivion; people did not talk
about them; it was as if they had never been born onto this earth.
The monk who was the commanding officer of the unit in my
neighborhood would yell at me, You must stay inside your house after
7PM, and all the women in your house are not to go outside without male
company, understand? He had a 969 tattoo on his arm, and he was the
most imposing of the Knights in the unit.
If you see anyone who might be a kalar, report it immediately to
us, theyd order. They could be terrorists. They could be jihadists. We
must protect our nation from them.
Id nod in deference to everything they said, with my hands joined in
the shape of a lotus flower. Since I was young, I had been taught to treat
monks with respect and obedience. And ever since the introduction
of Amyobathar Law, I was taught I also had to treat the Knights of Buddhism
with total submission. They were, as the Sacca Section of Dhamma Media
claimed, the ones defending Buddhism, which was on the verge of
extinction due to the Muslim invasion and the spreading disease of Western
culture, which together threatened to annihilate Buddhism and Sakiyan
Blood.
Home was what I loved and where I was safe, until a letter from the
Ministry of Amyobathar arrived. It stated that I had reached the age at which
marriage with a girl arranged by the Ministry was mandatory. The Ministry
of Amyobathar had a grand strategic plan to arrange the marriages of all
unmarried people over twenty-five and pressure them to have as many
children as possible. One of the objectives of the Manifesto of Myo Chit was
to focus on procreation in order to swell the ranks of young Buddhists,
who would be the future defenders of their religion.
100
Aung Kaung Myat
I was not happy. I had been in love with the girl working at the grocery
store next to my copy shop. The mere thought of living with a girl sent by
the Ministry for the sole purpose of reproduction made my heart sink.
Although I hadnt confessed my feelings to her, I believed they were mutual.
I could see the love and affection she had for me in her eyes when I talked
to her. What would I live for if my dreams of building a beautiful life with
a beautiful wifea wife I lovedwere crushed?
Like everyone who wanted to marry the one they loved, I made an
appeal to the Tribunal of Amyobathar.
3
Although the water was muddy and murky, I found it drinkable after I
filtered it through my fingers. I could make out my image only hazily in the
water of the puddle, but I could still tell that my body had shrunk from the
months of hunger and hard labor to the point that I was dumbfounded to
see my own skeletal reflection. I refreshed my neck and face with splashes
of water. Then we left for the northfor the creek.
Our slippers were not fit for the rough jungle path, but we were lucky;
the path was completely dry and there werent many major obstacles in the
way. Tropical shrubs with pointy branches that scratched our skin were
our only nuisance as we trod on the soil of dry leaves and twigs.
The heat became ever more extreme, and it felt as though the
surrounding air was squeezing us in its hot, tight grasp. Sweat was pouring
down my face, stinging my eyes.
The walking path ended abruptly, and we had to set out through the
thick shrubbery, vines, and trees. I did not know how long we would have
to continue this arduous trek. I looked up at the canopy of the jungle. My
101
To the Creek
mind leapt up through trees, following a curved line through the air until it
reached the place beyond this endless trail. There would be enough food,
enough water, and we would be secure and safe when we reached the place
where we belonged.
In this particular place I imagined, where freedom was guaranteed, I
would find a girl. She would not need to resemble her exactly. I would
work hard every day to save up and buy a house for us. Perhaps I would
even start a photocopy shop again in this new and better place. It would
grant us the financial support to raise children. Maybe even a chain of
shops, and we would raise several children who would be healthy and strong
and playful and free.
Kyaw Thura was walking steadily in front of me, examining the
territory, thwacking apart the brush with a rod hed made out of a tree
branch. The sun was baking everything below it. The dry brush was howling
in pain; it seemed to be saying that it was about to set itself alight and
conflagrate into a huge wildfire any moment now.
I think I need to take a rest, I said to Kyaw Thura.
He said nothing, only nodded. We found a large tree and sat side by
side beneath it, leaning against its trunk, the dry leaves like a crackling
cushion under us.
What was your crime, Kyaw Thura? I asked him.
He was looking at the sky. I glanced up to see what he was staring at,
but there was only the blistering sun. He didnt seem to hear my question.
What was your crime? I asked him again.
He didnt move his head an inch. I made some mistakes that offended
the Ministry of Amyobathar, he said.
Like what?
Doesnt matter. Its not hard to offend them, is it?
102
Aung Kaung Myat
I shook my head and chuckled. I was in the peace camp because I

didnt marry the woman they arranged me with. I tried to get out of the
marriage arrangement through the Ministry. There was someone I wanted
to marry but we were not a couple yet. The Ministry interpreted my actions
as a betrayal and they raided my house. They found a book that was not on
the mandatory reading list for Buddhists. One thing leads to another, you
know.
He nodded. Ive heard a lot of stories like that. They always find
something when they raid houses. My best friend was found possessing
anti-Buddhist pamphlets. And he disappeared.
Why did they raid his house?
He worked for the Liberation Party.
It was the main opposition to the Fifth Myanmar Empire. There were
only two political parties in Burma, with the Fifth Myanmar Empire holding
power since time immemorial. As far as I knew, the Liberation Party had
never come into power, and their leadership had always been anemic and
brutally persecutedraids, assassinations, arrests and life sentences to peace
camps throughout the countryall administered by the Knights of
Buddhism. They were, as the Dear Bhante of the Ministry of Amyobathar said,
internal enemies to Buddhism, and they needed to learn what peace was in
the camps.
We got up and marched for the creek again. We had been on the run
for two days now and had not eaten anything since we escaped. I would
have collapsed to the ground and waited for the Knights of Buddhism to
take me back to the camp if it was not for the constant encouragement
from Kyaw Thura.
Of course we will, Kyaw Thura told me when I asked him if we
would ever reach the creek. We just need a little patience and endurance.
103
To the Creek
We cant be wrong. I studied the map for a long time; I know where we
are.
I kept trudging along, trying to hide my own fears about what would
happen if we did not make it to the creek.
What books did you read? Kyaw Thura asked, breaking the silence.
I read all kinds of books.
No, I mean what books did they find to charge you with blasphemy?
A book that was not on the mandatory reading list for Buddhists. It
explains how to live as a Buddhist. Of course, I do not trust the book. It
contains lies about how one needs to lead a peaceful life of loving-kindness
while working toward mindfulness. The Sacca Section of Dhamma Media
has told us that this is a lie. As they say: Our duty as Buddhists is to
protect our race and religion, not to attain mindfulness. I just wanted to
read it because its lies are interesting. But my beliefs have always rested in
the teachings of the Ministry. Like the Dear Bhante says: We have to love
our race and religion first above all else, including mindfulness.
He nodded at what I said as he walked. Our pace had slowed; we were
both exhausted, and I felt the beginnings of a pounding headache. I shouted
to Kyaw Thura, who was far ahead of me, to ask him to give me a few
minutes of rest. I was about to fall to the ground with fatigue when I
heard him let out a shout of joy and saw him leap into the air.
The creek is over there! he yelled back at me. I can see it! Come
here and take a look!
I ran to the spot where he was standing. We were almost there.
Suddenly he cocked his head and a look of terror came over his face.
He dove behind the nearest bush, and I followed. He put a finger to his
lips and peered over the bush. I followed his gaze. There was a horde of
armed Knights of Buddhism on our side of the creek, fanned out in a
104
Aung Kaung Myat
search formation. They had come all the way to the creek to hunt us down.
Kyaw Thura whispered, I dont think we should try anything for
now. We must wait until the sun is down.
I nodded my head in agreement. Carefully, we hid ourselves deeper
within the foliage of the bushes and prepared to wait out the day. The
water in the bottle was gone, and the sound of water running in the creek
seemed to mock the burning thirst in my throat.
The voices of the Knights trailed off. Silence fell. Every now and
then I checked to see if there were any Knights approaching us, but they
were nowhere to be seen. It seemed the Knights had moved on. I wanted
to ask Kyaw Thura what we would do when the sun set, but he was already
asleep. I tried to sleep as well, settling my body amongst the prickly branches
of the bush.
When I woke up, everything was blanketed in darkness. There was
some moonlight, but not enough to see clearly. I saw that Kyaw Thura was
awake, but we remained silent and still.
A few minutes later, thunder crackled in the sky, and we were able to
check out our surroundings in the intermittent flashes of lightning. There
were no Knights in sight.
We disentangled ourselves from the bush and moved toward the creek.
I saw only shapes in the dark, none of them human, which reassured me.
I dipped my face in the creek to drink. The cool water was beyond delicious;
it was miraculous, soothing my aching throat and seeming to flow into my
veins, recharging my energy in an instant. I wished I could immerse myself
in the shallow water of the creek for all my life. I could be happy in its
cool, soothing flow. The water was freedom; it was safety; it was life.
Quickly now, my friend! hissed Kyaw Thura. We must cross the
creek, and then we can go home.
105
To the Creek
Although I still wanted to indulge in the water of the creek, I stood

up. The creek was just five meters wide. I was no longer afraid.
What will you do when you get home? I asked him as we waded
across.
I want to see my wife, he replied. It was dark and I could hardly see
his face. But I was pretty sure he was smiling.
Ah, Kyaw Thura! You didnt mention her before. I bet she is very
beautiful.
She is not very beautiful, but shes the love of my life. We have
passed through many troubles in order to be together.
We reached the other side of the creek. He took out the water bottle
and knelt to fill it. I stood beside him and he looked up at me, smiling.
We have different religions, said Kyaw Thura. The Ministry of
Amyobathar didnt approve of our marriage. Thats how I ended up in the
peace camp. She has been hiding out at an aunts house. Now I will meet
her and we will move somewhere far away, where no one knows us or our
religions.
For a brief moment, a flash of lightning lit up the sky and the earth,
and a great roar of thunder tore through the air. Then the darkness fell
again, and it began to rain. My body felt as though it were crumbling into
pieces.
Okkar, are you okay?
I dont know.
Whats the matter?
Arent youarent you a Buddhist? My voice was trembling.
No, I am a Muslim. But I truly love her.
There was another flash of lightning and a roll of thunderor was I
hearing the words of the Dear Bhante in the storm? The rain fell in a furious
106
Aung Kaung Myat
torrent; everything blurred. I could barely see Kyaw Thura in the rain. I
could barely see anything. There were obligations that a Buddhist must
keep. And now, I had become a traitor to my own race and religion. Here
was a marriage between a woman of Sakiyan Blood, a daughter of the
Buddhas own blood, and a Muslim kalar, standing right before my eyes. My
hands clenched into fists.
Listen to me, Okkar, he said.
Suddenly I was charging him, tackling him into the mud. He tried to
get up and I tripped him, crawled onto his chest, and unleashed an onslaught
of wild blows, lashing out at him blindly in the rain, the thunder roaring
around us, until he brought his knee up into my groin and I dropped with
a wounded cry.
He pushed me off of him. Listen to me, he shouted. Are you out
of your mind?
We lay on the muddy ground, breathing hard. Blood was pouring
from his nose. Then with a cry of rage he launched himself toward me,
swinging madly. I blocked his punches and smashed my elbow into his jaw.
He collapsed back into the mud.
In the flashes of lightning, I scanned the ground for a rock to crush
his head with. I saw one. As I crawled to reach it, a punch fell across my
face.
You maniac! he yelled hoarsely, spitting blood and teeth into the
churning muck. Whats wrong with you?
You are a foe of Buddhism! I yelled back at him. You are what
Bhante always warned us about!
For a moment, my eyes were blinded by the sheer light. Through the
thundering storm, there was the sound of footsteps coming toward us.
Put your hands behind your head. Now!
107
In disbelief, Kyaw Thura looked in the direction from where the voice
had come. I seized the opportunity, and grasping the rock with both my
hands, I brought it down as hard as I could onto his skull. There was a
thick crunch, and his body went limp.
Drop the weapon and put your hands behind your head! came the
voice again, nearer now. This is your final warning!
Yes, they were approaching. I waved to them.
108
109
110
About the Authors

Aung Kaung Myat is a blogger, writer, poet and translator. He spends
most of his time writing blog posts and articles on social media advocating
for the online Burmese non-believer movement, anti-racism, and free
speech. He loathes bigotry, ultra-nationalism, and the persecution of
minorities in Burma.
Frankie Yarzar Htet is a secondary school student who recently finished
his A Level studies. He is involved in a variety of activities, such as emceeing,
singing, acting, and writing. He hopes to be a celebrity or a specialist in
neurology later in life.
Hlaing Win Thaw Dar is a Burmese girl who has a passion for two
rather different professions, writing and business. She loves creativity yet
also logic; she is adventurous yet takes pride in analyzing and calculating
risks; she doesnt like numbers but is good at math. She has a strange love
for studying, strange enough that she is taking another postgraduate course
(M.Comm) after finishing her MIB (Master of International Business) in
Australia. J.K. Rowling inspired her to write, but it was her grandfather
who taught her to love books. She will continue writing fiction (mostly)
and believing in magic while juggling the numbers of real life.
Johnathan Thu is a student who occasionally writes as a pastime. He
considers his most challenging endeavor to be a fourteen-page report on
solving the Rubiks Cube.
Mei (Ya Mohn Myat Mon) has indulged her passion for writing in English
since childhood. She is a two-year consecutive winner of the state English
essay and impromptu competition, as well as the winner of a presentation
competition in Malaysia. She is now a third year M.B., B.S student at
111
University of Medicine 1 Yangon and an editor of English prose and poetry

on the UM1 Magazine committee.
Pyone Lei Lei Mon unexpectedly stumbled upon her interest in writing
stories in 2014, when she took a creative writing class at the American
Center. She subsequently received several prizes for her creative writing
that same year. In 2015, one of her short stories, What Makes You Beautiful,
was selected for publication by the Third Story Project and widely
distributed throughout Myanmar in both English and Burmese versions.
Born and raised in Yangon, she is now studying in the United States,
majoring in Biochemistry and Mathematics, with a Biology minor, in pursuit
of her goal of becoming a medical doctor.
Simon Sai is an Aerospace Engineering student at the Illinois Institute of
Technology in Chicago. He spent all of his first seventeen years in Yangon
before he left to study in the United States. Although he grew up in the
city, he loves quiet places where he can escape the world and tell himself
stories. He loves math and science, but he also enjoys reading fiction,
especially fantasy. If he doesnt greet you on the street, dont feel bad; he is
just daydreaming.
Than Toe Aung is a student at the Yangon School of Political Science.
He is passionate about studying politics and wants to work as a political
scientist in order to help make Myanmar a better place. He loves to travel,
especially alone. He loves art of all kinds, and he particularly enjoys reading
and writing fiction. Taking a creative writing class at the American Center
was a turning point in his life, as it was where he first began writing stories
in English, a practice he wants to continue as a short story writer and a
novelist.
112
Thet Su is an English teacher and an amateur watercolor artist. She is

studying applied psychology at Yangon University and her ambition is to
be an educational psychologist in order to carry out educational research.
She has been an online editor at the Reporters Journal. She loves reading,
writing, learning new languages, travelling, painting, and any subject related
to art. She is from Yangon.
Wint Thu is majoring in International Studies with a focus on Asia at
Sewanee: the University of the South, Class of 2019. She was born and
raised in Yangon. Growing up under two decades of military oppression,
she experienced poverty, political instability, and a corrupt education system
firsthand. She aspires to become an expert in public affairs, intending to
reconstruct the disrupted relationship between the government and nonprofit sector in Myanmar.
Yamindra Malla lives in Yangon and teaches Buddhism and mindfulness
meditation. His paper, Mindfulness-Based Anger Management, was
selected to be read at the International Conference on Buddhist Psychology,
2014. He also translates Burmese works into English. Currently he is doing
his PhD in the linguistic study of the Pali language.
113

New Voices of A Changing Myanmar

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New Voices of A Changing Myanmar

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First Edition, 2016

Published by the community of the American Center, Rangoon.

This collection is composed of works of fiction. Names, characters,

Mind the Gap

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

Frankie Yarzar Htet

The Reflection of the Moon

Letter to a Lost Hated One

Pyone Lei Lei Mon

Aung Kaung Myat

About the Authors

Mind the Gap

Mind the Gap

considering the blast furnace temperatures in Yangon. The sun seemed to

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

Mind the Gap

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

Mind the Gap

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

Mind the Gap

gotten accustomed to their luxurious lifestyles and haughty behavior and

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

Mind the Gap

Hlaing Win Thaw Dar

The Other Side of the Coin

The Other Side of the Coin

Dont worry; no one saw, he replies with a mischievous grin. And

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

Woah! she says, to her own surprise. Thats my man!

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

Thiha, can you promise me one thing? Nwe asks.

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

and just fucking.

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

say. Its very sad.

Than Toe Aung

The Other Side of the Coin

Than Toe Aung

can love them, but you can never be together.

The Other Side of the Coin

crossed my legs, doing nothing but noting my breaths while breathing in

Frankie Yarzar Htet

major heart attacks before. This is no surprise. We need to keep moving.

The Reflection of the Moon