Another week also meant that my last week had begun, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away too quickly. I kept thinking, ‘I have to leave this Friday, like tomorrow,’ and I felt unsatisfied like I hadn’t had enough time here.
The day started with a new roommate; an old student of this program. She seemed very simple, young and cute, and she would be leading a workshop on healing through art. I had been looking forward to this, having already experienced painting together with my friend in this class before. As we painted silently side by side, I found myself growing deeply attached to her. I realized I was still lingering in the past, and this class and environment were helping me relive and heal those past moments. I thought of my friends, where were they now? What were they doing? It saddened me to know that we would never meet again in this place as we once had. Nothing can happen twice in the same way.
So, at that afternoon, I walked around Asherm, taking photos and reminiscing about the past. I felt disheartened, realizing that back then, I had been so absorbed in spending time with one close friend that I hadn’t truly noticed my surroundings or connected with others. While I had been happy, I also regretted it. This time, I resolved to connect with all my friends and spend my last precious week deeply engaged with them.
In the afternoon session, our teacher showed a documentary about a Yazidi girl named Nadia, who had been attacked and abused by ISIS. The film followed her journey as she sought to raise awareness and call for help from the UN and other organizations for the Yazidi people suffering from genocide. As I watched, I felt an indescribable pain. I was deeply angry and angry at the interviewers who forced her to recount her rape and abuse in painful detail, and angry at the so-called ‘white-collar’ figures who pretended to care about genocide. As a Myanmar citizen, I had experienced similar false hope from these organizations regarding the Rohingya genocide and, later, the military coup in 2021. People were being killed, raped, and had their homes destroyed, yet these organizations did nothing but release statements saying they were ‘concerned’ for Myanmar’s people.
That evening, tears streamed down my face despite my efforts to hold them back in front of the whole class. At dinner, my fellow Myanmar friends and we joked about our own crying, masking our pain with laughter. I noticed that friends from other tables were staring at us in confusion, just moments ago, we had been crying seriously, and now we were laughing loudly as a group. But that is who we are; Myanmar people are strong. No matter the situation, we make jokes, we try to live in the moment, because all our lives, we have lived under oppression, suffering from brutality and hopelessness, with no certainty for the future, not even for tomorrow.
That night, I talked with my roommate, who was an art therapist. As I spoke about my family and my little sister, I suddenly broke down in tears. She listened quietly, and though she didn’t say much, I could feel her warmth and care. Later, I went to the meditation hall to study and read alone as usual, but this time, I also hoped that listening to my friend’s prayers would bring me some relief from my pain. However, there was no one there that night. Around midnight, I lost control and wept silently, alone in the meditation hall, for half an hour. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop crying. When I finally left, I looked up and noticed the stars shining in the sky. I gazed at them for a few minutes, and somehow, I felt a surge of energy from them. With that, I turned back and walked to my place.
The next morning, I went jogging to relieve my headache. When I returned, my roommate gave me a flower essence to help me relax my overwhelmed feelings. That morning, I felt sleepy and realized that I tend to cope with pain by sleeping. I knew I needed a nap.
That evening, there was a movie session where we watched Dances with Wolves, a film about the Native American Lakota people. During the screening, we laughed, felt shocked, shy, and sad, we experienced a whirlwind of emotions. There were many love-making scenes, which felt strange to watch with friends. Normally, in Myanmar, we would skip such scenes when watching in a group. But this time, we didn’t. And in that moment, I saw the beauty of human connection in love. It made me reflect why is something so natural often hidden and avoided in public discussions, especially for women? Why is talking about sex treated as unrelated to us? I appreciated this environment, where we could acknowledge real things without pretense.
The next day, we had a reflection session on the movie. In the morning class, we discussed how human beings are hurt whether 'by accident, by contagion, or by oppression.' I discussed my family with my friend. We, as Asian people, share similar experiences; children absorb their parents' pain like contagion. After that, the teacher shared an important lesson on 'living a good life' which includes having accurate information, close friendships, good health, healing or release, wishful goals, and bold action, whether alone or together.
This was followed by an afternoon class on Healing with Art. We were asked to connect with nature, and I created a nest that represented myself. When my classmates shared their nests, we wrote messages expressing our feelings for each other. I received so many messages, and surprisingly, most of them aligned with the emotions I had poured into my nest. In my reflection note, I wrote: I found myself in nature again.
On the morning of my last day, I cherished the remaining 12 hours I had with my friends. I knew these moments would never come again in the exact same way, just like the past moments I had already lived. That day, I gave a presentation about my hometown, which I had prepared well, and I felt satisfied. I also delivered my farewell speech. During the farewell moment, some friends told me how much they loved me and thanked me for being with them. That moment made me feel radiant and shy, something I had never experienced in a classroom setting. It made me feel like a Barbie in the movie “Princess Charm School”.
Finally, it was time to say goodbye. I hugged most of my friends, saying, “Goodbye” and “See you” again and again. One of my friends said, “See you next week!” and I was shocked "Umm...?”. Then I realized that the day we would meet again was just a week away, I had lost track of the date. Instead of feeling sad like I usually do when saying goodbyes, I felt happy and hopeful that time by thinking to see them again next week. I noticed that I had grown used to farewells, and I wondered how many more goodbyes I would have to say to my beloved ones in the future.
In the taxi, I reflected on the past two weeks at Asherm; the moment I told the teacher that speaking English carefully made it even harder for me to express myself, and how I later noticed my mindful approach to speaking; my friend’s enthusiastic “Sooooo good!” during dinner; the naughty moments with my naughty friends; my friend’s nightly chants in the meditation center; the friend who disappeared when the crowd became too loud; the friend who loved meditation practice; the friend who found joy in sweeping every day; the classroom assistant friends who were so good at English, noticeably and inspiringly; the little girl-friend who always called me 'romantic girl' after I danced to a K-pop song, she called me 'K-pop girl'; the older Burmese friend who was fluent in Japanese and spoke English with a Japanese accent; the friend who spoke Burmese with a native accent; the friend who, like a carefree child, seemed unbothered by anything; the friend who always looked sleepy; the younger friend who studied all the time; the friend who dressed in her own freestyle way; the laughter of a friend when I sang about her name; the friend who always teased me about being single; the times I sang and danced again and again; my Thai friend excitedly eating Myanmar tea leaf salad; joking with my friends about the male friends during sauna time; eating spicy food in front of my Japanese friends who couldn’t handle even a little spice; enjoying Nepali songs until I could sing along; the debate about whether women should control men in a relationship; singing with my Vietnamese friend; bonding with a friend through painting and sharing my secret; being bitten by countless mosquitoes, and so many other moments, like a dream.
Lost in these memories, I finally fell asleep in the taxi on my way back home and kept dreaming about them until the next morning.
Shwe Thinn
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