Heartlands: Myanmar Part I

Evening over Yangon: as beautiful as any evening at home, but drawn out as long as it can go, like an extended breath.

I have the briefest moment of solitude before waves of social activity wash over me - the long-awaited, much-sweated-over exhibition opening of 'Pendatang/Arrivals' is tonight! Yesterday, after giving the wall labels a last twitch to correct some imagined imperfection, me and G. looked at each other and broke out into relieved smiles. It's been tough going for both of us. But I think we were meant to meet at this time. I'm certain that, if it had been any other person, stuck up here together for months upon months, I would have run screaming from the hills, leaving a trail of unfinished art/junk behind me.

I landed safely in Penang on Sunday, after 4 days in Yangon. I don't know how to start writing about my trip, other than to say I am a changed person. I was irrationally happy to see M.S. again - it was a 1000watt smile that lit up from within when I spotted him beyond the arrival gates, and then irrationally sad when I left. There were tears, dudes!! I was trying to understand it: a deep connection without romantic love, hell, without a common language even! G. said it's simply something karmic, and I think I'll agree.

The city was everything and nothing like I expected. Dusty streets speckled with betel juice like coughed-up blood. Beautiful, decrepit colonial buildings - stronger, longer-lasting any modern building; although covered with moss they were standing their ground, relentlessly just... enduring. And then shining gold pagodas everywhere, the most awesome of which is undoubtably the heart of the city - Shewdagon pagoda, at least 2500 years old, in existence since Buddha's time and in impeccable condition today. Every taxi or trishaw driver or local artist who took me past there would invariably call my attention to it: look, that's the Shewdagon pagoda. It seemed to me an embodiment of the people's spirit, and I felt almost fearful in the shadow of it's splendour, it's grandeur. Because it is set in the middle of a city devoid of Starbucks, McDonalds or shopping arcades, my eyes were rid of that cynical tint that so often accompanies the viewing of national monuments - it was not a pretty building for my tourist consumption, it was bigger than me...

Until the moment of my return, I think never realized just what a sad soul I have been all this year. Being with the other artists thought me a lot. There are many ways to be oppressed. The worst of all conditions, like Nazim Hikmet once wrote, is that of self-suppression. We enjoy relative freedom, but as my blogger friend says, we might well find that 7 out of 10 Malaysians is under mental seige! Warmth, friendship and sincerity offer the sort of liberation that is truly universal. We all need this. I understand now that when we say these things are more important than art, we do not mean that art is not important. Art is only the vehicle for it...

At the closing party, after I had done my performance 'How To Talk to Strangers', A.K. and his wife came to say goodbye. He took me in his arms and said 'take care of your health ok. I will miss you'. To my utter mortification, I burst into tears. He went on to say quietly: 'It's ok. Don't cry. I understand.' OMG, it makes me tear-up even now. What a emotional wreck I am, something like a jellyfish.

Today, the sun is shining outside. I feel clean. I feel like dark days are over and everything is going to be alright. Starting... now.