Beautiful - I love you

The one I love

"It's not Sayar Nyha, you're spelling his name wrong. His real name is Sayar Nyha. Remember that for the rest of your life.. haha.. haha..."

When I heard the sound of someone saying "Apang Arin" and the others laughing loudly, I felt so sad for the teacher.

This happened to me when I was a young writer. Even now, I have not forgotten Saya Nyah. Especially when exam results are released and schools reopen, I am reminded of Saya Nyah, who was once a teacher. Every time I think about it, I think back to the fact that Saya Nyah was not a “teacher.” Not only was she not a “teacher,” but I also feel sad every time I think about how she became a “teacher.”

The facts in this story happened before World War II, and I think it would be strange and strange if we compare it with the current situation. In any case, the story of Saya Nyah, which began in the rainy season, has been re-emerging in my mind, and I am writing his never-ending story like this. Ah... Saya Nyah..”

Our town is called the “Japan of Myanmar” because our town is a small town in the middle east where the silk industry is flourishing. In the silk industry, wild silk such as cocoons and Chinese silks are purchased from abroad and processed into fine silk fabrics. There are many domestic jobs such as silk spinning, silk washing, silk drying, silkworm sieving, silk spinning, silk weaving, silk threading, threading, threading, weaving, and so on. That is why even five-year-olds and five-year-olds can earn money in our town. That is why I called our town the “Japan of Myanmar” earlier. I have experienced a heartbreaking incident in that town where I have been able to cultivate my economic talent since I was a child. I would like to write about this incident in this rainy season. Although I am not living in a happy place as my karma and merits are rewarded, I am still feeling nostalgic for my hometown and village, and I am thinking about the events and past events in my hometown and village. This is why I wrote this story. The information I remember is not vague, but as if it were vividly visible to my eyes. From now on, I want to tell you the story that I know.

I don't think I need to reveal the name of the city, as the reader will automatically know which city it is just by saying "Myelatt Rakkan City".

Our town was a place where people lived only if they didn’t want to do it. In the pre-war era, there was a lot of work. Even if you were five years old, you could earn a little money by sending the silkworms and threads that had already been spun (spun) to the house of the weavers. There were jobs for both young and old. They were happy with the money. They lived a beautiful and self-sufficient life. At least after each row of silk was woven, the extra threads were woven together to make colorful silkworms and wear them. It can also be called the city where silkworms are not worn. There are large fields around the town that are full of fruit. There is a large stream that flows through the middle of the town. It floods during the rainy season. It is called (stream rising). When the stream flows, the silt on the flat land on the other side of the stream is left behind, and in the winter, food and drink plants grow and flourish. The water is flowing, so it is convenient to raise chickens, pigs, and cattle. Being on the banks of the Ayeyarwady River, it is also rich in fish. The land is fertile, and fruit trees such as bananas, coconuts, mangoes, and guavas flourish. Our town is rich in food and clothing. In addition, our town is a town that is located on the edge of the Bago Yoma Mountain, so bamboo is abundant. Myanmar traditional medicines are also abundant. In addition, our town is not a district town, but a township town, so it is a sub-district office. There is also a hospital run by an LMP doctor. If you have a really important patient, you can go to the hospital in the district town, which is only eight miles away. Regarding education, there are monasteries in our town that provide free education. There is also a National School, which is a legacy of the first university strike, a government-run middle school, and a municipal girls' school run by the municipal group. There is also a bustling market. Food. Clothing is also handmade. The living conditions are abundant from the Bago Yoma mountain range. For health, there is no need to worry, there is a doctor. There is a doctor eight miles away. If it is more urgent, if you leave at nine at night, you can reach Yangon General Hospital by five in the morning by car or train. As for education, as mentioned, there are three government schools. Not counting the monasteries.

Therefore, I can boldly say that our town is self-sufficient in everything.

It would be hard to believe that such a tragic incident happened in our town, which is fortunately well-off with the five basic human needs of food, clothing, shelter, education, and health. However, tragic incidents happen all over the world, and in our town, which has such a good environment, the incident that needs to be described has already occurred in a way that would not be possible for the entire town.

"Okay... I think that's enough, Maung Cho. It's still the first day of school. Today... I'm satisfied with just knowing the scope of the subjects you're learning in class, okay? We'll go into more detail later."

When Saya Nyah said this, his disciple Maung Cho looked at Saya Nyah with respectful eyes...

"Okay, sir... I'll be back..." he said, then put his books into his bag and left.

"Aye... aye... let's go back... there are street lights, and the child is fine... you don't have to be afraid of anything.. but.. just ride your bike properly..."

Saya Nyha continued to instruct. “Yes, sir.. my bike has a light, and it’s not too far, sir...”

Maung Cho was right, the house where Saya Nyha lived was only two feet away from Maung Cho's house. Along the way, there were tea shops, hospitals, military barracks, a cinema, a night market, etc. Maung Cho's way home was not scary at all, the lights were bright. People were coming and going, but Saya Nyha was just trying to prevent the coming disaster as a teacher's duty.

"Okay, little sister.. show Maung Cho a lamp when he goes down the stairs. I'll ask Aing Shin to prepare a flashlight for us going up and down these stairs too."

When Saya Nyha said this, Saya Nyha’s younger sister, Ma Khin Tint, who was busy in her room, said, “Yes, brother,” and lit a small kerosene lamp and led Maung Cho from the top floor to the bottom floor, holding the lamp and leading him down the stairs. When Maung Cho reached the ground floor, he said, “I’m going, Ma Ma Tint,” and took his bicycle that was leaning against a pole and left. Ma Khin Tint also showed him the lamp and led him to the entrance of the courtyard. Maung Cho reached the road, lit his bicycle and left, and Ma Khin Tint closed the courtyard door and went back upstairs.

Ma Khin Tint lowered the ladder, slammed it shut, and then blew out the kerosene lamp that was placed next to it.

"My dear, did you get back safely, sister..."

Teacher Nyha asked while pouring medicine into the medicine cup.

"Yes.. big brother... I'm back..."

"Aye... Even so... I don't know if Maung Cho will still be going to the cinema..."

Ma Khin Tint went near her brother and sat down next to him, smiling, "Big brother, don't worry so much about Maung Cho. He's only fifteen now. He's old enough to take care of himself, big brother."

The teacher, who was adjusting the pen, flicked the match while swinging it one by one.