Firefly out of the Jar

I met a summer afternoon in the streets of Yangon wafting through the mundane sights, of a dog lying at the feet of a man in a hammock, of an order of monks returning with their bowls filled with alms, of an old woman on phone talking to her loved one on the other side, of the closed gates of a school with children looking out from barred windows For them, I was a tourist foreign and forever eluding For me, they were moving scenes from a movie poster from a world that shall never be mine There's something about being in a new city that feeling of a fleeting temporary a day, taken from the fork of my life's journey here in Yangon, everything sparkles like diamonds reflecting sunrays or seeing lit-windows down from dark alleys I'm drawn to the vegetable seller  looking into a mirror and to a little girl's notebook left open for me to wonder if her dreams were thicker than the sieve I am holding or if my steps were heavier  with my heart unfolding

Some weekends demand no errands. Usually, days like these go in taking ample rest, speaking to family and relying on take-outs, thereby burying full days silently with nothing much to talk about. But hoy es diferente( learning Espanol , if not in instances like these, I have nowhere to put it to use, so!) As I was scrolling through my Instagram feed from the comfort of my bed in the morning, it suddenly occurred to me that I can deposit my lazy rump at the Library and check if any productivity can be squeezed out of me. I sat upright, as soon as the idea hit me and began swirling in my mind, clearly enticing me.  I began my morning tango of brushing, bathing and picking an outfit to battle the near-zero temperatures that the libraries try hard, maybe, to preserve the human race. I made a quick list of what I might require and decided on my beloved MAC, a shawl in case the bulky sweater gives up, water and three stuffed-potato-breadsticks which took more than an hour to prepare. I ...