Life in Myanmar : The Children Of Tomorrow

Super-happy dream-come-true trip to the beach for the kids

I had been very tardy with my blog this year. Life in Myanmar thus far had been centred around work, the kids, work and the kids. For those who may misinterpret otherwise, they’re not my kids. It is humanly impossible to pump out 200 kids, I think :P

Since I started 18 months ago, there had been vast improvements to the lives of majority of these kids. Reflecting back, I’m glad I did it. When I first came to Myanmar, having been through a very emotional separation from the kids at Happy Tree Cambodia, I told myself – ok, I’m not going to get so emotionally attached with the new kids again so that one day, when I leave, it’d be easier, on both ends. Actually, no, easier on me. I fear separation.

A year and a half later, I find myself emotionally attached to all these kids I have come to know. I’m not so sure it’s a good thing, but I just cannot help it. How can one be involved and not be involved emotionally? When I committed myself to doing this, I had promised that I will endeavour, that I will try my 1000% (and yes, that is one-thousand) to help each and every one of these kids. By helping, I don’t mean to just donate money, pat myself on the back and move on. I’m there every weekend, teaching them – not so much English or music, but to inspire them to achieve their dreams and to encourage them to battle what life had thrown at them.

How did I find myself emotionally involved? I don’t know. From a time where I told myself it wasn’t important that I remember their names, I’m at a stage where I know at least 90% of their names (trust me, Burmese names are not easy to recall!!) Somewhere between seeing them try, seeing them grow and seeing them give up had moved me. I feel the painful stab in my heart when I see them try so hard and not get anywhere. I feel the painful stab in my heart when I hear that they had chosen to run away back to the land of farm work, mining and drugs. I feel the painful stab in my heart when I see them give up their education. In all instances, I stand helplessly, not being able to do anything. At the same time, I feel a weird kind of cracking in my heart when I see them try and really do get somewhere. I feel a weird dull ache in my heart when I see tears in their eyes and the look of disbelief when I tell them that I believe in them. I feel a weird dull ache in my heart when one or two of them remembered the promises they had made to me and tries hard keeping their promises.

Hey – first of all, I’m neither a trained teacher nor counsellor. Neither am I a trained volunteer. I’m still muddling my way around and finding my own grounds in which I can tread to properly guide these kids. And most of all, I’m not a mother. I suppose, getting a heart-attack when a kid gives you a letter saying she wants to commit suicide is as close as I will ever get to feeling like a mother :P Thank GOD I’m not one. I might hang myself. As it is, their troubles keep me awake at nights. When I said I carry their burden on my back, I guess I wasn’t kidding. And how is it possible again not to get emotionally involved? Because when I see their joy – especially when I took them to the beach – I feel extremely joyful myself. When I hear of their unhappiness, I hide and cry. I know what MOH would say (and have said) – “If you’re going to help them, you best be rational about things otherwise, you’re not really helping them.” Case in point – when I made the 1 hour walk from tuition centre to the bus stop with the kids, I felt so sorry for them that I had already made plans to set aside transportation money for them to get to classes. And I can hear MOH in my head going “You’re not helping them be independent. You’re spoiling them. How will they learn about life???” (Imagine him saying that in the “Tiger See” style :P) I get it. You gotta be cruel, to be kind. It’s hard. Like I said, I’m still learning.

It’s a huge responsibility, this so-called work that I do. Because this is not so much about getting an ad campaign wrong. This is about someone’s life. In this case – many lives. Sometimes, I am afraid that I am doing the wrong things or saying the wrong things or showing them the wrong things. There’s always the fine line between good conduct, correct conduct and misconduct. Doesn’t help when people say things about my smoking and my tattoos. I don’t smoke in front of the kids, if you must know. Not once. My tattoos, to how I see it, are cool. And there’s always that balance of treading on thin ice when it comes to dealing with the kids’ caretakers as well, who may have different views of what the kids should be inspired with or exposed to.

Sometimes, it gets a bit tiring because when I stand in front of the class and see all the different faces staring back at me, I feel like crying. I feel helpless and I feel this is all impossible. But I cannot cry and I have to show them strength and wisdom (haha) and inspire them never to give up. And after class, I retreat into a silent mode, reflecting and contemplating and I hide in the shell that is my mind thinking and churning a whirlpool in my tiny little head. Is this what kids do to parents? I guess, MOH had seen both sides of my joys and heartbreak – at how I would excitedly in tears of joy tell him how some of the kids have improved, have gained confidence, or wrote me a really nice “love letter”…. And he’s seen my tears of pain as well when I tell them about the helplessness I feel when a kid decides to give up or a kid is unhappy with current living conditions – and really, with the current living conditions or unhappiness about their caretaker, there’s really nothing I can do about it.

I suppose, my rant in this post is really due to a very emotional past 1 month I had with the kids – starting from when I decided to take a 2-week break from them.

When I went on my break, we had sent an Under-14 team for a football competition – and OMG, they were competing with the pros – having never trained properly before for football (and don’t even get me started on the field in which they train at). I was on the phone with them for more than an hour every night of the 7 nights that they were away in Pathein, hearing their stories, their losses (“Ma Eileen, we cannot smile right now. We lost 7-0”) and how they would all scream in unison “We miss you, Ma Eileen!” before I say good night. I realized then that when the day really comes for me to part with them and cheap phone calls cannot be made on an everyday basis, it’s going to be heart-breaking for me. The kids? Hah, they’ll get over it in time.

Coming back from my break, I took the kids to the beach – and please let me digress. To those who saw this as an act of irrational irresponsibility on my part for taking the risk, I’m sorry, you are wrong. The sea is the kids’ dream come true and some of them may never ever get the chance to see the sea in their lifetime. That I had a full, passionate and dedicated group of volunteers and event crew who kept an eagle-eye over the kids showed we were in every way responsible for their lives – more so than our own. And if given a chance, I would do it over and over and over again. Anyway, at the beach, I taught some of the kids to swim. First off, there was that bonding with the kids when they trusted me enough to teach them how to swim = emotional moment. Secondly, when they were so afraid of letting go and clung on so tightly to me = emotional moment. Thirdly, when I realized that the only way they can ever float and swim on their own is when I let them go = emotional moment. (To those who might wonder if such emotions are prompting me to have a baby of my own, the answer is NO. Sorry to burst your bubbles, Mama & Papa!)

And then coming back from the beach and from Pathein football competition, we all had a sharing session, myself included, what we learnt from the outings = emotional moment too. Some of them had grown up in the last year and articulated their thoughts very well, in Burmese though. And to hear them express their thanks and all that they had learnt and appreciated = emotional moment. To see the kids who used to speak softer than a mosquito buzzing stand in front of the class and speaking confidently is a joy indeed – because it is a sign that I had been doing something right with them.

Finally, having to deal with a couple of the kids’ unhappiness and depression had taken a bit of toll on me too. Again – I’ve no experience in this area. I feel the only thing I can do is BE THERE.

To the Children of Tomorrow, here’s my promise to you – for as long as you try, I will try one thousand times harder to help you, to encourage you, to give you all of my love, my courage and my faith that you will all be living your dreams in the near future.

To friends, families and strangers who had trusted me with cash, who had helped in even the tiniest way possible, who had followed my statuses and FB updates about the kids, who have all of the children in your prayers – I can only say Kyezu Arr Miaji Arr Miaji Arr Miaji Tin Bar Deh. I cannot possibly walk this journey alone nor do what I do with the kids alone. Sometimes, it may not be the cash or physical presence, and all I need is “Eileen, you’re in my prayers” and that is enough to give me strength to trudge forwards and do what I need to do.

Speaking of the right thing – would it be so bad to teach the kids Eminem’s song – “Lighters”?? :)