Some of my buddies call me “Bo Phyu” (white foreigner). I don’t like being called that name. Maybe they are just teasing me because of my fair skin but they intentionally use that name knowingly I don’t like it. They consider me as “Bo” which is the word that we use for “foreigner” as I am now living in a so called “third country”.  I can feel that they do it just to mock me.

I am currently living in ‘third country’ with proper income after being relocated so they probably think I’m rich and happy. Whenever they say things like, “it’s okay because you're being Bo Phyu (meaning I am like a white person) how would you know our situation?” I feel really sad. I am a Myanmar citizen. I am writing news for my own country. The circumstances beyond my control have led me to live here and yet this is why they mock me. Of course, at least I don’t have to live under so many insecurities, like unstable electricity and internet connection, and the collapsing banking system. However, I still have to deal with troubles just like everyone else. Knowing our people are in great distress, I never moan about my own troubles out loud. But I don’t know, maybe this makes them think that I have no problem. 

I left my family behind when I came here. My wife went back to stay with her parent. After I had arrived here, military soldiers investigated my house and confiscated my things. My parents do not have a good life. They had to move to my relatives’ houses. I am worried for both my parents and wife, but I am not able to do anything. After waking up from just one good sleep per week, I hate myself and think: ‘I slept like this but what about my parents, wife and friends. How are they living in the forest?’

I lose my appetite whenever I think about these things. I think: “I am eating well but what about them…” and I become weak and sick from not eating, which means I cannot work well. I force myself to eat but it’s difficult. If I don’t work, there won’t be any income, and I won’t be able to help my people and they might get into more trouble. Knowing that makes me focus on my work more, but it does not last long.

When I am editing news stories I have to check that all the information is accurate, so I have to look at images and watch videos thoroughly. It’s my responsibility even though I don’t want to see it. 

The fact that young people the same age as my nieces and nephews are dying while I am working in an office with nice air conditioning and eating well makes me crazy all the time.

It also makes me feel desperate hearing about my friends and colleagues who were sent to prisons. Deep down I feel furious. I try my best to be calm and work like a regular person. But as soon as one incident is over, a new series of bad news is on the way. I am really tired. It’s like I keep drowning no matter how hard I try to keep swimming.

Personally, now I speak less and have become more silent than before. Although I want to share the grief and deep sorrow I am feeling with somebody, I don’t know who to tell. My wife is hardly surviving on her own so I don’t want to give her more anxiety. The same with my friends. Everybody has their own troubles, and nothing will change by telling them mine. I cannot share my suffering with those who are not from Myanmar; they won’t understand as they have never experienced anything like it.

I think I am like a floating sponge. The more conflict and unease in my mind, the more heavy the sponge becomes and I drown. After squeezing out the water, I can float for a while longer, but I know I will drown again.