When I was a kid, my only wish was to become an adult so that I can buy and eat whatever and whenever I want. Kids are not allowed to touch money in my family. Naturally, the first time I felt like a grown-up was not the day I lost my virginity, but the very first day of fifth grade when I finally received my first pocket money. As soon as I arrived school, I went straight to the cafeteria with thirty kyats (3 cents) in my hand. Of course, with the prospect of food within the next 5-10 minutes, my face was beaming like a Ferrari’s headlight. Despite the cafeteria’s small size, it was mostly flooded with candy shops. I literally was a kid in a candy store; unable to decide who should get my 30 kyats. But, of course, as a child taste prodigy, I was not tempted by the lowly high-fructose corn syrup. I somehow ended up at a salad station, and finally got myself a Burmese chikpea tofu salad with a complex flavor profile. That day, I learned two very important lessons- that autonomy is priceless and unsanitary hands give you a very bad stomachache.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Growing up in Myanmar (Burma), I personally found meeting people was an uncomplicated process. I went to school, and I liked Power Rangers, there were a few kids who want to talk to me about our shared undying obsession with how we would also become Power Rangers one day. Then, we became friends. It was almost as if the universe wanted us to meet. It was so freaking weird that we bonded over trivial things like that. Now that, I am a well functioning adult I don’t do such childish things like that anymore. Adults often make friends differently – we like to talk about the most interesting stuffs like what we did over the weekend, how our cat foods always run out, and most importantly, the weather. Kids are missing out. It is usually quite fun zoning out, opps, I meant, listening while others are talking. (Well, sometimes, I wonder, may be, once you turn 21, the universe just says adios and lets you find your compatible friends on your own).
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
New York City – you amazing, smelly, vibrant, and scary piece of work. You are the one that got away that I never want in my life anymore. You are the beginning (of my immigrant life) and the end (of my safe bubble in Myanmar). When I first met you in 2008, I hated you so much for pushing me so outside of my comfort zone. What’s up with your smelly subways, people dressing up like statute of liberty, slushy winter snow, resting bitch faces and basement chicken coops that are called bedrooms? And, more importantly, what’s up with white people looking alike each other? (Ok, now I can tell them apart. And no, I am neither ignorant nor racist) It took me a while to get used to your eccentricity, but I thank you for teaching me two things – mail-order muscle-boosting pills do not work, and Costco rotisserie chicken can be good eats.