‘Make sure you write to us as soon as you get there,’ Nweh Nweh said as she handed me her address. She had written it in big round handwriting on a sheet of paper extracted from the middle part of her school notebook.
Thandar was not as prepared as Nweh Nweh. She took out her notebook and tore a sheet from the back and wrote her address balancing on her bicycle seat.
I carefully folded both sheets and put them in my shoulder bag.
Leaning on our bicycles, the three of us stood having a chat for the last time. Finally the time came to say our goodbyes. We promised to stay in touch before we parted company. Nweh Nweh and Thandar went in one direction towards their village and I back to my house in town. Wobbling on the bicycle and turning towards one another we waved goodbye until our silhouettes dimmed into the distance. For the third time in my life I was leaving a close friendship that I had built in a school.
I was sad, but at the same time excited that I would be moving to a school in the capital city of Myanmar. My dad had tried hard to transfer to Yangon because I would soon be in high school and my education would be better in the big city than in Mataya, a small rural town. Through connections, he eventually got posted in Yangon just before I was due to start my high school.
My two years in this small town school passed by quickly. Boys had given me a nickname called ‘Kaut Kaut’ which means ‘curly curly’ because of my hair which looked abnormal in the sea of children whose hair hung down smooth and straight. I had complained about it and cried about it many times. ‘Why is my hair curly? What is wrong with me?’
I had also become one of the top students. Kids from other classes had heard of my name in the context of academic achievement. Once I had a higher score than the top boy in my class. I ran to my dad’s office and told him in front of his colleagues that I had beaten ‘Paut Khaw’ which means ‘Mr Buckteeth’, the nickname I had given him in my head because of his prominent front teeth. Later my parents admonished me, ‘Buddha may punish you if you mock other people’s features. You may develop those same features yourself as a repercussion.’
I had also scraped my knee while running hard playing games with other kids at school. I had developed a huge scar that every time I wore shorts, I thought everyone was staring at it.
I had once dislocated my little finger, again in running and playing games with other kids at school. My dad immediately took me to the local doctor who slotted my finger back in its socket in a few seconds. But I cried and screamed for a full minute afterwards. Then my parents had to take me to a private hospital in Mandalay, the nearest city to Mataya, to put it in cast. Because it was my right hand, I had to take a break from school for a month. My parents lamented the fact that I played too much like a monkey and worried that I may never calm down. My dad always said to everyone who noticed how ‘energetic’ I was that I could easily outplay a monkey. ‘Even the most restless monkey will be beaten.’
I had heard the name of the country called Finland in Geography class. We all laughed helplessly because it sounded like ‘phin lan’ which means ‘exposed bum’ in Burmese. Our teacher whipped the long cane stick hard on her desk to shut us up. Even then hushed squeaks of giggles escaped from numerous corners of the classroom throughout the lesson. I couldn’t stop laughing the rest of that day.
After two years of developing friendship and nicknames, I would be leaving them to start all over in Yangon. I pedalled my bicycle faster to get home. I had some packing to do.
At home, my parents and a few helpers were putting everything in boxes and bags. Our tabby cat Nga Kyar was scampering wondering what was happening. Her kittens cuddled close to her oblivious of the disruptions around them. I stroked Nga Kyar and told her that everything would be ok and that she would be safe.
The day before we were scheduled to set off, a clerk from my dad’s office arrived with a large loosely woven strong bag. I saw my dad gently lift our trusting Nga Kyar and put her in the bag. Just before she was in the bag, I saw her wild frightened eyes as she started to wriggle free of my dad’s hands. But it was too late. She thrashed about meowing loudly inside the bag. I could see the fleeting shape of her paws, her head and her body appearing on every side of the bag as she butted the inside desperately. One by one, her kittens were also put in the bag. Still Nga Kyar clawed the bag and cried with fright and anger.
Tears welled up in my eyes. The clerk promised that she and her sisters would look after Nga Kyar and her kittens. Apparently, they were avid cat lovers and their household which contained her and her two sisters was already inhabited by numerous cats. Nga Kyar would have friends and surely would settle after a couple of days.
With that, I left my trusting and loyal pet along with my nicknames and close friends at school to make a new life in the big city.
I got settled in Yangon in no time. I made new friends at school. But I never found out if Nga Kyar actually settled in her new home, and I never wrote to my friends as I lost the two carefully folded sheets.