I’d rather continue calling you a friend, Hlaing! Part -I) (သူငယ်ချင်း လို့ဘဲ ဆက်ရျ်ခေါ်မည် လှိုင် အပိုင်း -၁)

(This piece was first written around 2013. It was based on the events leading to and during the turbulent times, around 1988, when Burma went through a nationwide uprising toppling the then socialist government and then followed through for the next two decades in the lives of Nyi Naing and Hlaing. Yet with the Spring Revolution of 2021, a sense of de javu has returned. The emotional scars of 8888 are coming back to haunt many lately. The story is mostly fictional but there also may be a thin veil separating the characters in this story from those in real life. Many are walking different paths and living different lives thirty years later but the author feels it still resonates well with what’s happening today. Yet reminiscence is the only solace the author can find now while desperately hoping for better times.)

Fall, 1984: A meeting room next to the Students’ Affairs Dept. @ Institute of Medicine 1

“Alright, let’s get rolling with the meeting” hollered Ko Aung Myint Htoo, who was the chief editor of medical school’s annual magazine. “As usual, now is the time of the year to elect new members of the magazine committee. We need one representative from each class for both Myanmar and English sections. For the most part in senior classes, the committee members remain unchanged from the previous year unless one resigns or another challenger comes up which often is never. Nobody wants to spend countless and thankless hours working on the magazine unless you are a literary nut. Even for a literary lover, most rather contribute articles than be in the actual magazine committee. But it is a little different for the second MB class who had just entered the medical school. This will be their first year in the magazine committee and we expect to have some fresh blood. Secretary Ko Ye Tint Kyaw, have you counted the ballots?

It sounded quite democratic but to be honest, like anywhere in the world, there also was a little inner circle of literary lovers or a magazine mafia in the schools. Most of the times, those who were already in the magazine committee would do a scouting work by looking at who submitted stories and poems the previous years. Then they would indirectly coax or guide those individuals to run for the election and win. The only exception may be in the English section where the faculty advisors from the department of English often suggest a few names who were strong in English based on their personal connection or the English test scores. Ko Ye Tint Kyaw announced, “Ma Hlaing Myat Thu for the English section and Ko Nyi Nyi Naing for the Myanmar section from the second MB class. Make sure you two mark your calendars to be available on the first Wednesday of the month. That day after school, magazine committee meets monthly”.

That did not come as a surprise. Hlaing Myat Thu’s English was impeccable since she spent a few years overseas as a kid when her father was working as a junior officer at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.  While Nyi Naing and many others who graduated from the district high schools with socialist era English curriculum struggled to write a page long narrative, she was composing poems in English like a native speaker then. As different as their backgrounds were, they fast became friends. She was head strong for a Myanmar girl and many mistook her for being a prude whereas in reality she was being independent and outspoken. She was just a bit bohemian. Nyi Naing always wondered if poet (sayamagyi) Kyi Aye’s persona would have been like Hlaing when she was young. Hlaing liked Nyi Naing for of his humility, honesty and sincerity which were rare qualities among the male medical students. Most were either nerdy book worms or spoiled brats who were treated as privileged ones in the families just because they got into the medical school. As a result, most had substandard EQs and zero interpersonal relationship skills. Nyi Naing was a rare exception. Perhaps his parents, both of whom were high school teachers, coached him well.

Fall 1985: At the corridor next to the third MB lecture hall, IM-1.

“Nyi Naing, may I speak you for a moment?” said Tun Oo. It caught Nyi Naing by surprise. Sure, he knew Tun Oo, who didn’t? But they would never consider each other as close friends to make casual chats while passing by. He was a big shot, son of a famous consultant physician in Yangon and was also an academic high achiever. He got distinctions every year in medical school. He came to school driving his own car when Nyi Naing daily commuted via the ever-crowded Yangon City Buses from public transportation service.

“Sure, what can I do?” said Nyi Naing.

“How can I be in the school magazine committee, particularly in the English section? Since you are in the magazine committee, maybe you can pull some strings for me?”

Now Nyi Naing understood where he was coming from. In the class, one didn’t need to be Einstein to observe that Tun Oo had a crush on Hlaing Myat Thu. It was also a no secret that Hlaing had no interest in Tun Oo. Though he had better English than Nyi Naing since he went to a famous missionary school in Yangon, he was never known to be into literature. He simply wanted to impress Hlaing or get closer to her by being in the same magazine committee.

“I am sorry Ko Tun Oo, it doesn’t work that way. Magazine committee is made up of those who are dedicated in bringing out a school magazine either by their literature contribution or are willing to sacrifice their study time in taking care of the magazine affairs. If you are really interested, my suggestion is to submit your work to the magazine committee and make everybody aware that you are a true literary lover. That will give you a good chance to be elected in the next year’s committee. That’s the best advice I can give.”

Tun Oo turned around suddenly and walked away without saying a thank you. And Tun Oo wasn’t the first one who had approached Nyi Naing in thinking that he may be able to put in good words for them in trying to win Hlaing Myat Thu’s heart. Too bad none realized that Nyi Naing had feelings for Hlaing too.

Summer 1986: Final Part-1 PSM field trip @ Kyon Pyor Township:

“I don’t read Burmese novels except by one particular author” Hlaing Myat Thu said.

She and Nyi Naing were sitting under a Tamarind tree on the bank of the little dam at the outskirt of the town. It was the usual after dinner stroll by the group. The rest of the group members were a little further ahead having fun wading in the ankle-deep water. It was about 7PM and the sweltering heat had just given way for the evening breeze. Eight final part one medical students were there for two weeks, attached to the township medical hospital to be exposed to rural medicine as required by the school’s Community Medicine curriculum.

“Really, by whom?” Nyi Naing asked in surprise. He was a big fan of Maung Sein Win, Min Lu and the ilk then. He was dabbling in poetry too.

“I don’t know why but I can’t feel or appreciate most of them. May be because when I was young, I didn’t grow up reading Burmese books. The only novels I enjoy reading are the ones by Takatho Phone Naing, such as “Ta Pyi Thu Ma Shwe Htar (i.e., Htar from overseas), “Moe Nya Ein Met Myu (i.e., Fog of the rainy night) or “Tha Nge Chin Lo Pei Set Yway Khor Mi Khine (i.e., I’d rather keep on calling you a friend Khine) etc.”

“Really, why do you think you could connect with him though?”

“May be because most of his characters were western trained academicians. May be because he often included his own experience as a state scholar in the stories and I was able to relate to the stories. May be in my subconscious mind, I want to return to west where I spent the first few years of my childhood which was very memorable. Maybe I don’t fully understand the nuances, metaphors and the plot construction with their subtle but implied meanings in Myanmar prose. I don’t know and sometimes I am confused about this world around me, really.”

Nyi Naing made a deep sigh and said, “Will you be confused if I now tell you that, I wish to call you more than a friend Hlaing?”

This time Hlaing got it. She stared at Nyi Naing for a few seconds. Then suddenly and without saying a word, she planted a quick kiss on Nyi Naing’s cheek, made a giggle and dashed off to the other girls who were walking back towards them. After a few steps, she turned around and said, “I can be more than friends with you Naing”. Nyi Naing sat still. He wondered how many Myanmar girls reply by a kiss when a boy makes his first proposal. Earlier, he had told Hlaing that his mom calls him just “Naing” at home. A smile came on Nyi Naing’s face. Both women whom he loved most in this world now call him “Naing”. What a lucky man he was!

20 September 1988: House officer on-call room @ West Yangon General Hospital:

“Please change your decision Hlaing, I think it is much riskier to take that route than staying put here” Nyi Naing said.

“ Naing, it’s not because I am worried of being arrested by staying in Yangon and wanted to go into hiding. I just felt that justice needs to be served. Those cruel military dictators needed to be retaliated by an armed uprising. That’s the only language they understand, the one that comes out of a gun barrel and the justice they deserve. See what we get by the peaceful protests on the streets of Yangon?”

Following the 8888 revolution, the military staged a coup the day before and had started forcefully clamping down the demonstrations. Both Hlaing and Naing were house officers at that time. Hlaing had been a firebrand and was more involved in the uprising. Just yesterday she participated in the last round of demonstration near the Sule Pagoda when army opened fire. Hundreds died in front of her eyes and she was lucky to be unharmed. A night time curfew had been declared and the military intelligence agents were arresting activists by going on a house-to-house search. She was thinking of running away to the jungles of Thai-Myanmar border where supposedly a student army would be formed with the help of the local ethnic rebels who had been fighting the central government for decades. A few medical students had secretly arranged to leave Yangon that night from the Sin-Oo-Tan jetty in a fishing boat which promised to take them to either Moulmein or Dawei as the first leg of the journey. With many security checkpoints, travel by land was considered unsafe. Nyi Naing was desperately pleading her not to join the voyage.

“Look Hlaing, please don’t make important decisions in a haste. We are just six months shy of finishing our internships and getting our medical licenses. Otherwise, all that we had worked hard for in the past 7-8 years will be a waste. I promise that once we finish our internships and if you are still dedicated to join the underground revolution, I will come along with you to wherever you decide go. But this time, please listen to me.”

Hlaing displayed a little hesitancy but still she didn’t promise Nyi Naing anything. She said, “There will be a few girls in the group including Cynthia Aung.”. Cynthia was a house officer like them but was from Institute of Medicine 2. Knowing how stubborn Hlaing could be, Nyi Naing had no choice but to use the last option. He secretly informed Hlaing’s parents of her plans. He made them promise that they never disclose who tipped them off or even acted as if they had been tipped off. For the next few weeks, Hlaing was either constantly accompanied by one parent or was under the constant surveillance that she never had a chance to join the new student army, All Burma Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF) that was formed at the Thia-Burma border. But then with the news trickling back on how tough and unpredictable things really were in the border areas, she finally gave up the plan to join the armed revolution.

(Part II and III to be followed)