I don’t even know where to begin.
Myanmar—what a place. A country so breathtakingly beautiful yet painfully broken.
Traveling here felt like stepping into a paradox: pagodas plated in gold and adorned with precious stones, sunsets that could move you to tears, and people with the kindest smiles you’ll ever meet—living in one of the hardest places on earth right now.
It’s so hard to live here. Life is so difficult.
There’s little to no opportunity for people to make ends meet. The Internet and social media are banned and heavily restricted. Brownouts happen every single day. People are just trying to survive.
The Stories That Shook Me
I met Nway, my tour guide in Bagan—a woman whose strength and kindness I will never forget.
She told me how she hasn’t seen her family in years because her village lies near the conflict zones. Her sister, who’s in her 60s, was kidnapped along with other elders. No one knows if she’s still alive.
Before the war, Nway was fully booked as a guide. Now, getting one client a month is already a blessing. Still, she wakes up every day, puts on her thanaka, and smiles for the few tourists who still come.
And what touched me the most—she was so generous.
Despite having so little, Nway gave me small gifts every single day of our trip. I’ll never forget the special tote bag she personally tailored and gifted me on my last day. I will treasure it forever—not because of what it is, but because of what it meant.
In a place where people have lost so much, she still chose to give. That’s love in its purest form.
In Yangon, I spent time with Aung, another guide who’s been in the industry since 2003.
When I asked him what he’s most proud of as a Burmese, he said, “None.”
That hit me hard.
He told me how the Junta stripped them of their dignity, their rights, their hope.
He said, “We used to be proud. Now we just survive.”
Everywhere I went, I saw people—old men, women, even kids—begging on the roadside.
Nway told me many earn less than $2 a day.
And yet, this country is rich in natural resources—rubies, jade, gold, gas, oil. Everything.
But its people? They get nothing.
It’s unfair. It’s infuriating.
And yet somehow… they still smile.
The Night I Cried
One night in my hotel room in Mandalay, just before I went to sleep, I broke down.
After hearing these stories from Nway and Aung, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much they’ve suffered—war, poverty, a massive earthquake, and the constant fear of what tomorrow brings.
As an empath, I felt everything.
Their pain. Their exhaustion. Their silent hope.
I cried not just for them—but for all of us who often take so much for granted.
What Myanmar Taught Me
This trip wasn’t just another adventure. It was a wake-up call.
I realized how blessed I am—to live in a place where I can speak freely, post online, travel safely, and dream without fear.
In Myanmar, even dreaming is dangerous.
I learned that gratitude isn’t just saying “thank you.” It’s truly recognizing the privilege of living in peace.
I learned that opportunity is everything—and not everyone gets a fair shot.
And most of all, I learned that hope is the most powerful thing a person can hold on to.
Despite everything, the Burmese people still smile. They still offer you tea. They still welcome you into their temples with open hearts.
It’s humbling beyond words.
My Prayer for Myanmar
As I left the country, my heart felt heavy.
I saw beauty and brokenness intertwined in every sunset, every temple, every pair of eyes that met mine.
Myanmar deserves better. Its people deserve peace, freedom, and dignity.
And I can only pray—for democracy, for healing, for hope to win again.
This journey changed me. It made me realize how fragile peace is, how powerful empathy can be, and how we must never take our blessings for granted.
To the people of Myanmar…
May you one day live the life you deserve.
And to travelers like me, may we never stop learning from the world’s pain—and using our voices to tell the stories that matter.
