As I walk from my hotel to school in the morning, excited to learn Myanmar but knowing the exhaustion that will sweep over me after eight hours of language in a day, I enjoy noticing little details of this ten-minute walk that could never be replicated in my life back in the States.
It all starts as I walk out of my door in the morning, making sure I have my key in my bag and enough bug spray on to cover every single inch of exposed skin, including my face. After having six bug bites on my cheeks at one point, I’m willing to put a few more chemicals on myself than I’m typically comfortable with. I usually knock on Paige’s door before heading out so we can walk together. We pass the men in longyis who sit outside chewing betelnut every morning; whether it’s their job to sit out there or they’re simply passing time is unknown to us. We leave the premises of the hotel and see about ten young monks-in-training walking in their beautiful maroon robes, collecting donations in their black buckets from anyone willing to give. I periodically look down while walking to make sure I don’t trip over the random curves on the side of the road. I notice the line of red dust around my toes that is now an integral part of every pair of sandals I own. Cars and motorcycles are driving past, closer than would be acceptable in American culture, but I’m never worried (well, almost never).
We take a right turn. On our left is a family owned market with some toddlers who are always playing with an object of some sort, be it the hem of their mother’s skirt or a stick on the ground. On our right two men sit on the corner bench and give a quiet nod as we pass. As we make the turn the sun shines straight into our eyes. I put on my sunglasses and realize that I forgot to bring my water bottle to class yet again. The view is rather mundane this part of the walk. I pass by my sponsor family’s house and think of the evenings I’ve had stumbling through the language listing off nearly every word I know, feeling so loved even though we’ve communicated so little. Depending on the day Paige and I either walk in silence for most of the time or discuss funny shenanigans we’ve had with other volunteers and our upcoming plans.
We take a left turn. The green house on the right is confirmation we turned down the right road, a helpful cue for two GPS dependent souls. Paige will almost certainly buy a banana at the upcoming market, and depending on the day I might too. We ask how much the bananas are, even though we should really remember by this point. I hand 500 kyat to the shopkeeper’s ten-year-old daughter who runs to give us our change back, saying thank you with the sweetest smile. As we walk closer to the school, a few chickens and ducks accompany us along the way, the duck with a little fuzz-fro is my personal favorite. If we’re lucky a cow might walk next to us for 10 feet or so, leaving us when it needs to take a break and eat some grass. I look at the dogs roaming the streets and wish I could pet them all freely without worrying about testing the effectiveness of my rabies shot.
The school is now on our right and the day is about to begin. I greet my friends and teacher and am so thankful for this amazing opportunity I’ve been given.
Meditations on Myanmar 
Yes! It’s the little things. 🙂
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