Kyaw Mya Than - If the leaf breaks, it will rise, if the hand breaks, it will rise.

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Broken leaves, broken hands, broken hands

When the dormitory door closes, -

Outside the hall, the light has not yet gone out, but it is already fading. The light from the 60 lamps in the women's hall is

There was no glare. We could just see each other clearly.

The sound of the large door lock being pulled three or four times with great force penetrated my ears and seemed to strike me in the heart.

The locks used in prisons are not small and delicate. They are huge locks, so they have to be pulled with great force. The sound is more than just audible.

The men and women in the women's dormitory all sit in a row during the closing hours. They do not speak at all. From the time the dormitory opens in the morning until the time it closes in the evening, there is constant singing and talking, but when the dormitory closes, silence prevails.

"My dear, don't let any noise be heard in the morning." The voice of the jailer, who was holding the women, broke the silence.

Every evening, the prison guard would warn me like this.

Instead of the rude term "girls," they are called "hamas," which is more acceptable. -

Whenever I feel like it, I ask for it in a place where I can't reach it.

Not only strong men reach that place, but also women who are as fragile as wax. When life's fate and destiny come to a turning point, they inevitably reach a place they should not have reached. Aren't beings subject to change based on their own actions, which is called karma?

Wei Wei's childhood was a thorny and thorny place. She had to meet the shadow of life's peace and quiet. She had never dreamed of reaching such a place.

Anyway, I'm here now.

When I think about it, I feel a surge of resentment. My ears are ringing. .

Whether I decided to stop thinking about it or not, I kept thinking about it every time I went to the dormitory.

The jailer left and I had to change from a formal seat to a seat where I could sit as I wanted, but my thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

Although the tongue is shorter than that of men, the voice of women, who are long-talking, is often scattered. Until it is time to sleep, there are whispers, sounds of laughter, soft songs, and even sounds of laughter that cannot be contained.

"Girls"

The sound of Daw Aye Myat's voice always came out in the queue.

The past journey that he had to face and overcome in the parts of his life that he had to stand on, appeared in his mind as if it were a painting that was carefully presented to his eyes. “Even though he was in a cage with a large lock and a high, secure wall, Wei Wei’s mind kept wandering outside the wall...

***

One

Passengers from the Mawlamyine train were pouring out of the station. In the open space in front of the station, various cars were parked one after the other, blocking each other. Since rickshaws were not allowed to park, Hla Aung had to park her rickshaw in a safe place.

The time is half past two in the afternoon.

The warm, blazing sun radiates with vigor.

A young man wearing a neat, oil-stained hat stood next to a rickshaw, waiting for a passenger who would rather ride the rickshaw than take the car.

The sun was hot, and the rain was too much, so he had to use it to sweat profusely, and Linsang Naing was starting to run out of energy. However, there was no sign of disappointment on his face. Only a small worry about whether he would get a passenger was written on his face.

The soles of my feet are worn out by the day, so I look forward to the journey.

Passengers going to Bahan and Kantolay usually don't take cars. They usually take rickshaws. Drivers don't want to pick up passengers who are close to each other. Even if a passenger is alone, they can only pay the price for one person, so they don't usually negotiate the price.

Although Hla Aung Kafasapala always has a gate, if the train arrives and the local passengers do not show up, they usually roll out towards the main station.

That day, while the passengers were still waiting, the passengers appeared.

A woman is seen carrying a large handbag. She has a large handbag on one shoulder and a green duck-head scarf, and she looks like she just got off the train to apply makeup. Her face is not oily or sweaty, and she is beautiful and delicate.

The journey is a pilgrimage.

After negotiating the price, he picked up the bag and put it on the back seat, tying it with a rope.

In the hot sun, I had to tread, but the woman's body perfume made me feel refreshed. And... The woman didn't hold back her gaze, but kept talking in a hurry, so I didn't know what to tread on.

The way I call him is "Little Brother". I don't think we're that different in age. Only three or four years apart.

"My brother always plays at the left gate."

"In front of building (5) of the Federal Police Ward"

"Are there any passengers there?"

“Yes, there are always customers.”

"I'll stay in the F.S.P.A."

"Yes, in the FSPLA ward."

After turning the corner, I carefully stepped on the rickshaw.

"Sister, don't talk too much on the way. . .

The death cars drive very fast. The ice cream shop stop is a rush to pick up passengers.

The small boats that pull the South and North Okkalapa are often driven recklessly in places where there are no traffic police, and they often overtake even the big Hino trucks. And there are no cars that break down on this road. It is a road that rickshaw drivers need to be especially careful of.

The driver, who was also a good-natured person, didn't say anything. When he was about to reach the road, he pointed.

The woman took out a five-kyat note from her purse and waited for him to open the bag and take it.

“Don’t wait, sister, I’ll take you home.”

He smiled and nodded and went upstairs.

Maybe the woman misunderstood. Many rickshaw drivers do not have the custom of delivering passengers' belongings to their homes. This time, Hla Aung delivered them to their homes not because of the smile and beauty of the female passenger, but because of the kindness she usually shows to all passengers.

Passengers who have ridden in Hla Aung's rickshaws often look at Hla Aung when they have something to do. If they don't see Hla Aung, they call another rickshaw.

Two parents in the Phasapala neighborhood even hired Hla Aung to take their children to school. The parents didn't go themselves. They picked them up in a rickshaw and Hla Aung took them to the school desk. The same goes for the pick-up and drop-off until they reached their homes.

His honesty, hard work, and dedication have paid off. He is a scoundrel compared to his income. There is no such thing as a day that is not counted.

My daily income is only above thirty. I don't earn less.

Even the rickshaw drivers were jealous of each other, and Hla Aung's income was so high that it was impossible to keep the flag flying.

And he also has a reputation for not drinking alcohol. He is usually a rickshaw driver and a drinker.

The dead are always together. It must be said that it is their habit to wash away their tiredness and fatigue with a little drink of yama and regain their strength.

They tend to get addicted to alcohol there.

Like rickshaw pullers in the British era, the rickshaw pullers, who have to use their physical strength all day long, traditionally gather at the kazaw shop to relax when the sun sets.

Look at the sign for the Kazoo shop.

A picture of a smiling, chubby, mustachioed man holding a bottle of vodka.

The tradition of thinking that alcohol is a recreational drug for those who use physical strength still persists today.

Hla Aung doesn't drink alcohol, but when the sun goes down, she always goes to the local liquor store. She buys alcohol for three kyats. This is not for her, but for her father.