Imperfect Conteur: Minggalaba, Yangon.

I am almost ashamed to admit that I actually have a blog.
It has been four months since I last updated this page and the post that I am about to write is simply 3 months late. Talk about procrastination or new year's resolution. Bah, we're not even halfway there and here I am proudly admitting how I have broken one. SO EARLY >.<!

Enough complaining and whining. You don't come to this page to hear me complain and sulk. So, here are some snapshots of how the Myanmar adventure rolled.

Myanmar

It wasn't the airport with its brand new furniture and half-functioning air-conditioner that caught my attention. Those lines of men draped in long 'skirts' from waist down waiting behind the transparent glass walls did. The scenery was a stark contrast from what we have left a few hours ago in Changi, where comfort and luxury perfumed the atmosphere at every single corner. Nevertheless, one would never have to worry of the single important mission in airport, the ability to navigate around from the plane to one's luggage.

I half regretted not sleeping a bit longer on the plane when I felt lady fatigue started flirting with my eyes. Or probably it was the hot pungent air infiltrating the city, stinging my sensitive skin even as I was seated in what looked like the first class transport choice. Surely the interpretation of comfort is subjective here. The cigarette smoke travelling from the front seat forgot its way out through the nearest window and shot its way to the back seat, greeted and tickled my nose before discreetly dissipated to the air outside. That brief moment being in the cab was enough to transform the texture of my hair, which wasn’t fantastic in the first place, to a piece of tangled sprayed-like hairdo.

Yet, as the wheel turned and thoughts drifted from my shallow sensation, I caught myself questioning whether this was really Myanmar. If I were up on a parachute and landed on this part of the world, I would totally be so lost because, it looked so similar to my hometown. I would go around and around to find a similar looking road and find my way back home, which would never happen. It was too strange. Do developing countries always look so similar? Perhaps the paint they use on the buildings? The concrete they bought? The houses, buildings and trees....what happened to altitude and geographic location?

Our itinerary was close to nothing and its importance had left my friend and I to plan it with our very kind tour guide once we reached our lodging place. The whole trip felt like a sweet fruit cake and the icing would be the chance of meeting different kinds of people. People who were in the 'field', laboring for a purpose. One thing that touched me most was how some of these HIV-infected villagers faithfully came and worshipped God every week. Some of them shared their testimonies during one of the sessions. Powerful testimonies of how they came to know the Lord.

I was deeply humbled by the trip and fell in love with this city and the people. Not to mention we got to know a few pastors and their amazing wives. One of the wives actually rode us on her motorbike. I was such a fearful bird and she tried to assure me that she would really ride the bike slow and safe. My other friend of course was thrilled with the chance of riding one and would have preferred a higher speed.

Nevertheless, Myanmar is indeed a great place filled with great people. I forgot to mention that Jason Mraz was in town and we went to see him. But don't ask me of the experience because if I was dying to tell you about it, I would have written a full paragraph on the experience itself. But I didn't and so take the hint.