Realistic or Modern [ DEATH. ]

[reveriee]

death.

triples x reveriee

 

[reveriee]

မင်းပိုင်စိုး

min paing soe

health

hunger

sanity

The weather had been unusual lately.

The sky was pallid and gray, as if all life and color had been suckled out of it by a hungry infant. The sun, blindingly white in its cold luminance, glared from beyond the cast of clouds. The ground was dark and damp, like a tomb, beaten black by an uncharacteristic March rain of the previous night. The above offered only the unwelcoming, sterile lighting of a hospital, and the below offered nothing but a void. This day, Min Paing Soe determined, looked like death.

No matter. This was not the first time Min Paing Soe had seen death, and it certainly would not be the last.

And if the day felt mildly foreboding, he wouldn't have noticed. He had bigger, better things to occupy himself with. Min Paing Soe was here for a reason -- this was an unshakable thought, a thought that chanted its existence in his mind as he boarded the train -- and this reason was one he awaited the entrance of unmovingly. His seat faced the doors of the train car, allowing him to track any and all movement out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn’t here yet. Hmm. Perhaps it was time for a game of solitaire.

death.

triples x reveriee

 

[triples]

သူရိန်အောင်

thurein aung

health

hunger

sanity

The faint odour of rust and moisture loitered around the station like a vagrant, boasting mysterious origins and profound impact on his fraying nerves. Irritation and exhaustion battled to be the reigning emotion of his day, headache screeching along in persistent, strident accompaniment, a horrific musical.

It was a wonderful start to the business trip. Even better if his hotel booking, too, turned out to be inexplicably cancelled when he arrives. And who knows? With his luck, perhaps it will. Only time would tell.

Clearly, Thurein wasn't exactly in a peppy mood this morning. All he wanted at the moment was to get to his seat and fall asleep until they reached Mandalay, yet even that minor task was proving to be a struggle. For every traveller he shuffled past, two more seemed to sprout, as though the crowd were some kind of pulsing, growing mass.

By the time he'd made it, there was barely any time left to the train's departure. His lips pressed together into a thin line at the sight of an older man settled comfortably in his place, but opted for the less time-and-breath wasting path of peace, occupying a nearby empty space. It was fortunate that, despite his last minute change of plans, there were still tickets for the better cars. Always a silver lining, he supposed, no matter how thin.

He glanced out at that thought, gaze wandering the nearly monochrome sky. The birds, who lined the wires and rooftops of this area every other time he passed by, were nowhere to be seen. His frown deepened. It felt ominous, somehow; the sight of the pallid sun.

death.

triples x reveriee

 

[reveriee]

ဦးသန့်

u thant

health

hunger

sanity

U Thant was no philosopher.

He sometimes acted like it, for sure. Thant was fond of speaking in the language of parables and metaphors, in prose that was more flower than root and more style than substance, in enrapturing sermons that left listeners equally in awe and in confusion -- a confusion they would attribute to themselves not being enlightened enough to understand his grand wisdom. Thant was an artist, an actor, a fraud, and he so enjoyed his craft.

But if you eagerly ran up to this dastardly monk to ask for his opinion on a grand text, a theory on life, or simply a matter of the heart, he would give you a response that sounded like everything but meant a whole lot of nothing. Thant was a man who knew verses intimately only because they were written into his mind as a youth and not because he revisited them of his own volition. His rich outlook and counsel are mere echoes of what has been parroted to him and not a product of his own deliberation. Frankly, Thant would rather not think, because thinking usually led to anger when he was young, and grief. Grief -- then, now, and henceforth. Always grief.

So when he steps into that dingy train car, back turned to Bago -- to his home, to his past, to his regrets -- that decision is final.

[ U Hsuang was one of the kindest, and his favorite. Thant, as a young boy, always gravitated towards him -- asked him for homework help, sought him for praise, clung onto him for comfort. Admittedly, he took him for granted -- Thant, over a half-century old, can say that now. He threw his tantrums unforgivably, sinned brashly, ran away without a pause in his gait. He both lashed out at and turned away the monks around him, and never returned with an apology.

U Hsaung was one of the kindest, and his favorite. He had lived a long, worthy life, and now, he lays on his deathbed, with cancer eating at his gut and dementia eating at his mind. It's too late to apologize -- this was a thought Thant deliberated fleetingly when he realized Hsaung could not remember his name, or anyone else's.

What's the point of saying sorry if there's no one to hear it? ]

The train doors closed behind him, metal and plastic clanking together clumsily. Thant took his seat, smiling serenely at the teenager he made eye contact with. Their hair -- an amalgam of coppery magenta and reddened peach -- reminded Thant of vibrant shaved ice a tourist had entreated him to back in Mandalay.

The generosity of strangers -- life is pretty great, isn't it?

death.

triples x reveriee

 

[triples]

မေမြတ်နိုးလင်း

myat noe

health

hunger

sanity

Anxious thoughts were clouding up her mind that left no space to observe the sights or the sounds that passed them by. As the train pulled to a stop in Bago, Myat Noe's eyes flickered across passengers in various stages of sleep and envied them.

She wondered for the thousandth time if the kids back home were okay. She hoped he wouldn't find out which friend's house they were at before she got back. Her husband... her ex-husband's attempts at heckling her back into living together had yet to stop. The policemen told her to stop bothering them with a lover's spat.

Meet the lawyer, her sister had insisted, talk to him about all this. He'll know what to do, and you'll feel so much better. Will she? She didn't know. But if this meeting could truly settle everything, then the hours-long train ride and the expensive fees meant nothing to her. If her children could just go one day without being haunted by the kind of man their father was, she told herself, then the fact that she wanted to cry and shatter and fade from existence right now meant nothing at all.

Still, her stomach twisted.

The last of the new passengers stream in, including a short man in saffron robes. A monk. The sight of him reminded her: be calm Do what all the scriptures and lectures have told her to do; be calm, let go.

She watched the monk stroll to hs seat, whispering a prayer under her breath, and when his gaze landed beside her, Myat Noe glanced over, too. For a fleeting moment, she cringes at the bright-colored hair on her daughter, worrying if it might be judged as some sort of delinquency.

What is there to judge? she scolded herself, There is nothing to judge. And a monk would be the last to judge, anyway.

"Moe moe,"she spoke as she shifted in her seat, reaching for her purse, "go give this donation to the monk." She pulled out a copper-colored note; not much, but the only cash she had was for an inn at their destination. Passing it to the girl, she gave her a glance over, frowning as she brushed a small piece of what seemed like tissue out of the magenta strands.

"Make sure to bow."

death.

triples x reveriee