Hello Burma

Dear day-dreamers, horseback-riders, leprechaun-hunters, and turtle doves:

ALLO.

Long time no write write. I will make this a quickie as I am running off to meet a woman working with a women's organization in the border town of Mae Sot, where I arrived just hours ago (see also: VIP night buses= a slice of Thai heaven).

A few headlines from my life:

OVERPROTECTIVE TEACHER-MOTHER IS ECSTATIC WHEN 2 STUDENTS RETURN TO HER LIMBS
Indeed, an elation has filled my heart the last few days as two of my students who buggered off to a few months of their "distant education program" at the University of Mawlamyine have returned, their skin marked by blazes of sunlight, their lips pouring with tales of hostel stays, spending money, drinking beer and serenading students of the opposite gender. I couldn't be happier to see my babies (who are also the same age as me) back for good, eating fish paste like pros.

SUMPTUOUS WESTERN LEG PROVIDES DISTRACTION/ NOURISHMENT TO LOCAL POOCH
That's right. It's my sumptuous western leg we're talking about. Apparently my technique of "making guttural noises" was very successful at keeping away the highly-diseased and mouth-frothing local street dogs, however, I made the naive mistake of letting down my dog guard when entering my friends premises, only to be greeted by a wee nip from a pooch named Frybean. It was really a puppy nip, yes, and therefore was more a bruise than anything else, but a small break in the skin did send me to the hospital for a series of rabies shots, pumping my body full of the luxurious anti-mouth-froth-viruses. Ah Lassie!

PARIS HILTON DECLARED "POOR" BY LOCAL BURMESE MIGRANTS
Well, Paris, it seems your reputation is not limited by the walls of the western world. Instead your blond locks and come-hither stare have reached even the censored fortress that is Burma. Instead of being recognized as the second-rate actress/model and first rate millionaire heiress as in most places, in Burma, Paris is seen as quite the opposite, as brought to my attention by a student who held up her picture from the Bangkok Post and announced her sincere pity for this woman who lacks the money to properly dress herself. We are looking into creating a "clothe Paris fund" for the portion of class where we learn about international aid.

DREAMS OF BURMA BECOME A REALITY IN T-MINUS TWO...
My life for the past month, in actions, thoughts, languages, foods, dreams, tears and laughter has revolved around Burma. It's what I think about when I wake up and fall asleep. It's what I talk about with my students and friends. It's what I read about, research, advocate for. It's been everything. And yet, despite how close Burma is, so close that I can smell it, I have never been there, never treaded my feet on true Burmese soil.

Today I will break this trend, coaxed to give money to a brutal military regime for the purposes of extending my visa here in Thailand. Despite the necessity of this trip in order to legally remain in Thailand, I really am quiet anxious and excited to take this step into the unchartered territory of Burma in just a few hours. I will cross the border and have the ability to stay in one area (so enforced by the military regime) up until 4:30 pm, at which point I must return to Thailand. It seems a bit of a dream, and the desire to stall this actual encounter with Burma is great. What if I cross that literal and figurative bridge and feel so overcome with emotion that I am paralyzed? What if I see something that will make me intense pain, intense sadness? What if I find that the conditions there are far better than I expect? Or, worst of all, what if I cross that bridge and feel nothing...

Finally, I will leave you with the first installment of a new series entitled, "you know you've been in a developing country for a long time when..."

• Your tuk-tuk (motorbike with cart attached to the back) loses a wheel in transit, jerks you and the driver uncomfortably to one side thus inducing whip-lash, and you step out of the tuk-tuk to merely shrug off the driver's profuse apologies, shocked to find yourself reacting not with surprise, fear or anger, but merely continuing to munch on your cookies left over from your slice-of-heaven VIP overnight bus.
• You don't notice the following noises until someone less accustomed to them points them out to you: roosters crowing at ALL TIMES OF THE DAY, people clearing the phlegm from their throats anywhere and everywhere, the howling of dogs every midnight during mating season, the general quiet due to lack of planes and cars.
• The first thing you say after placing an order at a restaurant is "please withhold the MSG."
• You have created your own lyrics to all the local Thai/ Mon/ Burmese songs, that sound similar to the words in these songs, but, when placed together, create a nonsensical blabber (i.e. my fave song, which I have fondly titled "My Cow Joy")
• You do not notice the ants. Everywhere. In your room, wandering the curves of your laptop, in your tea, peppering your fried eggs.
• You crave rice. Even in the morning.
  

And with that I leave you.

I'm off to meet change-makers, eat tea-leaf salad, and see that which has occupied the crevices of my mind for the past six months. To the land of the silent and the oppressed I trek. Burma, Burma, here I come.

Lady Lora