Travel Writing: A curious foreigner on a moving train: Leaving Mandalay

The slow but steady fourteen hour journey from Mandalay to Bagan started in the late afternoon. The second we had stepped into the train, I felt the humid summer air press down on me, the wide open windows doing absolutely nothing to help air circulation.

The moment the train had pulled out of Mandalay station, I had been hit with a sense of emptiness. A curious feeling given that my weeks in Mandalay had been filled with nothing but warmth and kindness from the people I’d met. I’d met a monk on the U Bein bridge at sunset, discussed my relationship status with almost everyone I’d met (the first question was always whether I was married or single, never an in between option) and was in constant awe of the beautiful pagodas I visited. But it was only when I left a place that I started to feel like a foreigner, as if I was just an observer passing through.

Now the sun was starting to set, with only a strip of orange blazing across the horizon. I was glad for nightfall. There was even a slight night breeze as I rested my elbows against the edge of the window. The train rolled passed the glittering pagodas with mosaics that dazzled even in the dark. Pass the now empty marketplace that had been filled with shops of beautiful fabric waiting to be sewn into longyi. Pass the food stalls where I’d eaten bowl after bowl of refreshing shan noodles. Pass the twenty-four hour tea shops that were starting to bustle with laughter and chatter. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t gotten to know the real Mandalay.

The train had long moved out of the city’s centre and was now approaching rural residential areas. We moved pass clusters of homes, tightly stacked against each other in an unruly puzzle. The street vendors had already packed up their goods and the shopkeepers had closed their stores. Everyone had returned home after a long day of work or school, and almost every house was lit.

Against the backdrop of the night sky, another side of Mandalay revealed itself to me, an observer sitting on a moving train. The train moved slow enough for for curious foreigners like me to peek into windows — and it seemed like people didn’t have a habit of drawing curtains or closing doors.

Families gathered around a table. Empty plates still on the table, remnants of a dinner.

Kitchens stocked with pots and pans, food still cooking on the stove.

A monk sat in the centre of a large room, empty of all furniture except for a round carpet. He was pouring over stacks of books that surrounded him.

Children squeezed around a television, their faces lit up by the soft blue light.

A man bent over a wooden Buddha statue, carving intricate details with great concentration.

Two women sat on the porch, one leaned against the wall and the other perched on the stairs. One woman used dramatic hand gestures as she animately told a story.

Streetlights illuminated the details of the bamboo and wooden houses. Some looked mismatched with slanted walls and rickety staircases. Some were meticulously built with lovely porches and splashes of colour. A turquoise door and a bright yellow staircase. A white fence and a purple windowsill.

Men lounging in the yard, beer in hand.

The silhouette of a cat sitting on a window ledge, tail swaying.

Three little boys in a yard, crowded around each other in a huddle, devising what seemed to be mischievous plan.

A sparkling red pinwheel was stuck to the side of a house, softly spinning, it’s tassels flying in the summer breeze.

Scenes of an intimate Mandalay revealed itself to me.

The train rolled on and we’d moved into the countryside, away from the clusters of neighbourhoods and streetlights. Now the only light source were the pinpricks of light in the distance and the fluorescent tubes in the train. The train rolled on, and I didn’t feel that earlier emptiness anymore.

Maybe part of me would always be an observer, a curious foreigner on a moving train.

But maybe that was okay.

Creative Writing: Temple Climber

It was still dark outside when Myia quietly climbed out of bed, careful to not disturb Ma who was still sleeping. The room they shared was small but she was an expert at dressing in the dark without making a sound. She tugged on a t-shirt and a loose pair of trousers and tiptoed out the house, wincing at the creaking sound the bamboo door made as she pushed it open. Once out the house, Myia started to run. The sky was starting to brighten and by the time she reached the foot of the temple, a pink tinge was making its way across the sky. It wasn’t the tallest temple by far around here, but it was one of the only ones she could climb up and down before Ma woke up and began her morning nagging. Myia swung herself onto the ledge and started climbing.

Climbing was second nature to her. Her older brother Htun used to take her climbing and they’d spend hours trying to conquer temples. But now Htun was too busy working with Pa and Ma was determined that Myia spend every waking hour mastering all the skills that she thought a girl needed to know. To her great disappointment, Myia was terrible at everything. She would end up burning the pot but the food remained raw and her embroidered flowers resembled potatoes. But when Myia was climbing, she felt sure-footed and confident. Her feet finding the nooks and crannies she instinctively knew were there without even looking. Gravity never bothered her, instead a mystical effect happened. She felt as if she was being hauled up, her hands and feet finding the perfect positions for her to effortlessly pull herself higher and higher. She reached the top as pinks and reds streaked across the sky, lighting the sky on fire before fading to a soft golden glow. A mist settled between the tips of the temples and over all the surrounding greenery. In the distance she spotted Bupaya Temple, the tallest in Ananda, rising above all the others. Htun told her that once there were over five thousand monuments standing but over the centuries, most had been destroyed or had fallen into ruin. Up until five years ago, Ananda was a jungle of tangled vines and overgrown bushes, the tops of rusty orange coloured temples barely peaking through. It wasn’t until the King decided that fixing and constructing temples was how he would ensure a prosperous reign that masons and carpenters from all over the kingdom were sent to Ananda, including her father and brother. Myia stood looking out at the temples, stupas and pagodas that decorated the horizon. It was these moments of serenity that she loved the most but they never lasted long. The fog would scatter and as the sun began its ascent, the birds started their morning song. Ma would be up at any moment so she scurried down the temple and hurried back home.

Myia slipped through the door, praying that Ma was still asleep.

“Don’t worry, she’s not awake yet,” Htun was already in the kitchen eating breakfast, his mouth full of rice. He regarded her with a knowing look, “I see you were busy this morning.”

Myia stuck her tongue at him as she passed him. Ma was still under the covers when she returned to their room. She dug around the basket at the foot of her bed for appropriate clothes to change into and then struggled into an embroidered yellow blouse that buttoned up at the neck and a matching wrap skirt that fell to her ankles. She hastily wrapped it around her waist and tied a knot, the fabric bunched up around her tummy, and joined her brother outside.

“Did Pa leave already?” she asked.

“Just before you came back,” he said. “The King wants us to speed up the restoring process.”

Myia was swallowing the last bits of potato and rice when Ma walked into the kitchen, her long black hair perfectly pinned into a tight bun against her head, not a hair out of place. Myia unconsciously ran her fingers through her own tangled black hair. Htun gave her an encouraging look.

“Don’t get into too much trouble now,” he affectionately ruffled her hair. “Morning Ma, I’m off now.”

Ma’s ever-watchful gaze landed on her skirt. Instant disapproval radiated from her as she tutted and tsked, retying the skirt so that the knot was tucked neatly into the folds. She gave Myia’s tummy a smack.

“It’s too tight,” Myia complained.

“Then suck in.”

Everyday Ma and all the other women set up their little mats at popular temples where goods such as hand painted lacquerware and embroidered bags were sold for those who visited Ananda. Myia pulled at the embroidery on the hem of her blouse and tried to tuck her legs under her in the elegant sitting position that all the girls seemed to have mastered. The fabric was stiff, restricting any kind of knee movement and she could never find a comfortable position.

“Stop moving Myia,” Ma said, “if you stopped fidgeting so much you wouldn’t find it so uncomfortable.”

Myia sighed and kept her eyes on the little piece of fabric she was embroidering. Or attempting to anyways.

“… no one’s ever climbed to the top.”

Myia raised her head. Two boys were lying on the cold stone ground, relaxing in the shade. She kept her head down, continuing to sew but her interest was piqued.

“They said it’s impossible. Even if you’re only an arm’s length away from the base of the top, you’d still never reach it.”

“Maybe Bupaya was built to be unclimbable.”

“I’ll bet Chit can do it. I heard he’s gonna try again today.”

“MYIA!” Ma’s voice echoed through the halls. “What kind of atrocity is this?”

The boys looked up and snickered, Myia felt her face flush. Ma took the fabric from her, redoing the rows of stitches as she listed the mistakes. Myia nodded along obediently.

When Ma asked her to deliver dinner to Pa and Htun that evening, Myia took a detour on the way back and stopped by Bupaya. A group of boys were standing at the base of the temple. Myia hid in the trees and watched as boy after boy attempted to scale the temple, all failing at various points. One boy was better than the others, Chit, she assumed. She carefully observed the footholds and handholds that he reached for but eventually he climbed back down as well. Myia came out of hiding after everyone had left. She was preparing to hoist herself onto the ledge when she realized something. Her clothing. The blouse had sleeves so tight that she couldn’t even lift her hands above her head and her skirt didn’t allow her any exaggerated movements. She was constantly tripping over it too, her legs moving faster than the skirt allowed her to. She groaned inwardly. This would not do.

The next day Myia waited until Ma sent her to deliver dinner and made sure to bring a change of clothes. In looser clothing, she started to scale the temple, remembering the steps that Chit had taken. It wasn’t significantly more difficult than the temples she usually climbed but it was much taller and she had to take frequent breaks, wiping the sweat from her face. The setting sun eventually forced her to come back down.

Every day for a week, Myia came back and each time she got further before the sun set, until she found herself at an impasse, constantly stuck at the same point near the top. On the seventh day, she was almost at the top again but once again could find no niches except for one that was out of her reach. But maybe… her heart pounded. She’d never considered the possibility before but maybe she could reach it if she switched her grip midway. There’d be a moment where her feet would have nothing to rest against and she’d be in mid-air. It’d also take a significant amount of strength and agility to make the switch. Before she could talk herself out of it, Myia released her grip. For a brief second, her feet felt air but the next second her foot was securely nestled in a niche. The last push was easy and then she was at the top. Her eyes were wide, taking in the magnificent view. She’d never been this high before, there was only sky in front of her.

Myia was back again the next day and so were the boys. They were huddled around Chit who was drawing something in the dirt. She leaned in closer to get a better look.

“We’ve got ourselves a spy!” someone spotted her. 

She hadn’t realized that she wasn’t in the cover of the trees anymore. All heads turned to her direction and she reluctantly stepped into the clearing.

“Are you lost?” Chit raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be with the other girls?”

“I’d like to try climbing,” her voice was quiet but determined.

The boy stared at her and Chit snickered. “Why don’t you go back to weaving and sewing?”

“I can do it,” she insisted.

“Girls can’t climb,” Chit said.

Myia looked at Chit’s insufferable arrogant expression and then at the boys around her, all wearing smug and knowing looks. She didn’t say another word but instead headed to the base of the temple. After a brief moment of hesitation, she swung a leg onto the ledge.

“She can’t be serious,” she heard Chit say.

She kept focused and let her muscle memory take over. Her body had memorized the steps from yesterday and she only paused to take momentary breaks, refusing to look down at the crowd below. That last bit wasn’t nearly as hard as yesterday and she actually welcomed the burst of adrenaline as she hung suspended in mid-air for a moment, she thought she heard gasps of disbelief. She stood at the top and waved to the boys below before climbing back down.

“That wasn’t too hard,” she said and was met with gap-mouthed stares.

“Maybe if you practice some more, you’ll get there one day,” she said innocently and strolled off, leaving Chit spluttering.

Myia skipped all the way home. Ma was washing the laundry in the yard and took in Myia’s disheveled and sweaty state, Myia’s hair was plastered to her neck and her clothes were rumpled and stained with dirt. She tried her best to look contrite.

“How many times have I told you to never wear those ratty clothes out the house?” Ma was appalled, “and what on earth have you been doing? I swear Myia, I don’t understand you…”

She nodded along as Ma continued her scolding but Myia wasn’t listening anymore. She could barely hold back her smile, her head was already somewhere else.

Creative Writing: Starlight

Today Starlight had bright pink cotton candy hair. It wasn’t just cotton candy coloured, it was actual cotton candy. Since she’d been assigned to seven year old Emma, she’d changed form almost every week. She’d been a unicorn, an elf, a mermaid. She’d had wings, a halo, a dress made out of stars, just to name a few. Now she was a candy fairy with a head of cotton candy hair, sugar cane wings and a sparkly pink dress that was decorated with multicoloured crystal sugar. She twirled a fluff of cotton candy around her finger nervously as she watched Emma stand in front of the classroom. It was times like these that Starlight wished Imaginary Friends didn’t have so many rules.

Imaginary Friends are strictly prohibited against directly influencing or manipulating the decisions of their assigned child.

Imaginary Friends are strictly prohibited against negative physical actions towards their assigned child.

The role of an Imaginary friend is to be a companion to their assigned child as an observer. Strictly an observer.

In training they had learned the three cardinal rules of being an Imaginary Friend, and the rest were just “useful suggestions” that were supposed to make your job easier. Starlight always found it difficult to follow the last one, especially now as she watched Emma’s face turn tomato red.

“Class, please welcome our new student, Emma. Emma, would you like to introduce yourself?” the teacher said.

Starlight could feel the nervousness and uncertainty radiate from Emma. She wanted more than anything to whisk her out of the classroom and back to Emma’s room where they’d spent the bulk of the summer happily going on adventures she had imagined. This morning Emma had sighed mournfully the whole car ride to school, ignoring Mom’s attempts to cheer her up. Now she kept her head down, staring at her shoes and stuttered a few barely intelligible words. The teacher directed her to an empty desk and as Emma walked to her seat, the curious faces of the other students swivelled in her direction. She sat next to a little girl with a gap in her front teeth who smiled at her. Emma gave a shy smile back. Starlight sat next to her in a chair made out of cookies, absentmindedly breaking off a part of the armrest to nibble on.

When she’d received her very first assignment, she’d been ecstatic. Seven year old Emma had just moved across the country with her parents. Without a single friend in the new city and her parents busy with the move and their jobs, Emma was desperately in need of an Imaginary Friend to keep her company. Starlight had been ready to make a difference in a child’s life until her eagerness was dampened by her instructor.

You are just an observer in their life.

You could offer encouragement or support, but you were still just an observer. Most of an Imaginary Friend’s job involved waiting around until your assigned child was bored enough to start imagining you or when they needed support. The moment their attentions strayed, you weren’t needed anymore. All children eventually outgrew their Imaginary Friends. It was a worry Starlight had constantly kept in the back of her mind because she’d been Emma’s constant companion during the summer, only fading away when Emma nodded off to sleep and she had stopped thinking about the day Emma no longer needed her. As the start of school loomed, the worry had resurfaced. Starlight watched as Emma bent over a geometry worksheet. She was colouring the triangles laser yellow, the circles pink and the squares turquoise, carefully keeping within the lines and making sure every stroke was blending in.

At recess, Emma stood alone on the playground, fidgeting with her hands as her eyes darted around. The playground was crowded with kids swinging on the monkey bars, running up and down the slide, giggling as multiple games of tag went on which resulted in a chaos of shrieking children. Emma’s eyes zoomed in on the empty sandbox and she headed straight for it.

“Let’s go make a sandcastle!” Emma said, tugging on Starlight’s hand.

Starlight’s pink candy dress was replaced by a sparkly ballgown and a delicate tiara was sitting a top her head. She sat next to Emma, helping her shovel sand into a bucket while Emma carefully pressed the sand into place, filling up every inch of the bucket so the sand was packed tightly.

“Hi! Watcha doing?” the little girl who sat next to Emma appeared, grinning a gap-toothed smile.

“Making a sandcastle,” Emma said hesitantly.

“That looks fun,” the girl plopped down next to Emma. “Can I help?”

Emma regarded her tentatively. “I guess so.”

“I’m Rose by the way,” Rose instantly began filling a bucket with sand.

“I’m Emma.”

Starlight felt an affectionate twang as she watched the two girls play in the sandbox but as Emma and Rose became immersed in their chatters and sandcastle endeavours, Starlight felt a sharp tug. Whenever Emma stopped imagining her, Starlight always felt a gentle pull and then she’d gradually fade away. But this time it was different. This time it was abrupt, as if she was being yanked away.

“Emma,” she tried to say but Emma’s attention was elsewhere.

Don’t get too attached to your assigned child.

Another piece of advice from her instructor that Starlight had chosen to ignore until now. Imaginary Friends were there for the sole purpose of keeping a lonely child company but children either outgrew their loneliness or their overactive imaginations. Starlight lost track of time when she wasn’t being imagined and she found herself being pulled in and out of Emma’s imagination. Even when Emma finally got around to imagining Starlight, it was only for a brief period of time before she was interrupted by her new best friend Rose, playdates, after school activities or whatever a seven year old’s social life consisted of.

The next time Emma imagined Starlight was at the sandbox again and she was alone. Her brows furrowed in a frown. Starlight looked around and spotted Rose sitting on the swings, her arms folded, legs kicking the grass.

“Did you and Rose have a fight?” Starlight asked.

“She said I was hogging all the stuff,” Emma huffed. “But I wasn’t!”

“I’ll play with you instead,” Starlight said.

Starlight hadn’t realized how much she had missed Emma until they settled back to the old routine. Emma happily playing without a care in the world, Starlight at her side. With Starlight there, Emma quickly forgot about her argument with Rose. She decided that the sand wasn’t wet enough so she stood up with a bucket of sand in hand and ran towards the water fountain in the middle of the playground. Starlight saw everything in slow-motion. Not seeing a small root in the grass, Emma’s legs caught on them. The second she started to fall, the bucket and shovel flew out of her hand in a curved trajectory. The sand splattered in all directions, some hitting the other kids. Emma landed on her hands and knees with a hard thud. There was a rip and then two smaller thuds as the bucket and shovel hit the ground in succession.

There was a moment of silence as a group of kids gathered around Emma. She got to her feet, her pants stained with grass and dirt sticking to her hands. There was a nasty scrape on her hand and she was sniffling.

“Look!” a kid suddenly shouted. “Emma ripped her pants!”

Emma’s hands flew to cover the rip in her pants but it was too late. There was a chorus of gasps and then laughter broke out in the group. Even Rose was giggling. Emma’s bottom lip trembled as she stood in the middle of the circle. Before the tears spilled over, she pushed pass the group and ran as hard as she could until she reached a far corner of the playground where she hid behind a tree and cried. Starlight wrapped her arms around Emma and as her sobs faded to little hiccups, Starlight realized how badly she wanted to protect her.

All children outgrow their Imaginary Friend.

But maybe children were happiest with their Imaginary Friend. Maybe Imaginary Friends  should be more than just observers.

Emma refused to go out at recess for the next week, staying in the classroom with a content Starlight. Even after an apology from Rose for laughing, Emma still refused to play with her. But children seemed to have the memory of a goldfish and within a week, Emma was curiously looking out the window again, itching to play with the other kids. After some coaxing by her parents and teacher, it looked like Emma had all but forgotten the playground incident and was ready to be best friends with Rose again.

“Emma! Wanna play tag today?” Rose said as recess started.

Emma perked up. “Okay! I’ll be there in a second!” She started to gather her things and Starlight felt a sharp tug.

Imaginary Friends are strictly prohibited against directly influencing or manipulating the decisions of their assigned child.

Starlight remembered the cruelty of the other kids and the rules of an Imaginary Friend disappeared from her mind.

“Emma, don’t go out with Rose,” she said.

“But I wanna play tag,” Emma said.

“Wouldn’t you rather stay and play with me? We can build a gingerbread house!”

Emma was conflicted. She glanced at Rose’s retreating back and then at Starlight.

“What if you trip and fall again? I don’t want you to get hurt and don’t you remember how mean everyone was?” the moment she said it, Starlight saw the incident replay in Emma’s mind and she shrunk a little. “If you stay here with me, I promise we’ll have lots of fun.” She held her hand out and Emma took it.

Starlight was able to convince Emma to stay in at recess for the next while. But she felt a twinge of guilt every time Rose walked away with an expression of hurt when Emma refused to play with her. Emma spent most of her time doodling in a colouring book, distracted by the sounds of laughter on the playground. Even Starlight’s cotton candy hair failed to amuse her but then again, it had lost some if it’s magical appeal. Starlight was still a candy fairy, having not changed form for weeks. It seems Emma’s imagination just wasn’t in it anymore.

Let your child go when she’s ready.

Not a tip she’d learned in training but one she was starting to realize on her own as she watched Emma sit at her desk in an empty classroom. She sighed and then wrapped Emma in a tight hug, surprising her. She ruffled the little girl’s hair affectionately.

“I think you should go finish that sandcastle with Rose,” Starlight said.

“I don’t wanna,” Emma said, her voice muffled by Starlight’s hug. “What if I trip again and all the kids laugh at me?”

“They won’t I promise,” Starlight said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

Emma’s eyes lit a up a bit but she was still hesitant. “Pinky promise?”

“Of course,” Starlight held out her pinky and Emma wrapped her own pinky around Starlight’s.

Emma bounded out the door as Starlight stayed behind, taking a seat in her cookie chair as she felt herself fade away.