Riverview

[Above photo: A late afternoon view of the busy Yangon River from my balcony.]

12 January 2020

Talk about impulsive. When I extended my apartment lease from December 31 to March 31, my landlord mentioned that he had two additional penthouses for rent on the same street but in the Lower Block and closer to the Yangon River.

When I returned from the US, I asked to see the spaces if they were bigger than my current apartment. I had arrived to feel that I was living on a sailboat—tiny, precise, a place for everything but with no breathing room.  One of the apartments had already been rented but I saw the other and two days later, yesterday, I moved in. It costs a bit more than my prior apartment but has a living room that is 4x as large, a big kitchen with a dining table fitting easily into it, and three full bathrooms instead of two. Plus, and it is a big plus, I am close to the river, assuring myself a good cool breeze and great views of the river traffic.  

We first went through the place and the landlord asked if I wanted any additional furniture.  I made a list and he took us to a huge furniture mart where we strolled around and I picked out what I wanted. He suggested I get a desk and a desk chair, which I had forgotten. I paid for a file cabinet because I want one and shall donate it to the Child Psychiatry Clinic when I no longer need it.  I chose a couple of large, rattan lounge chairs and asked him to remove 4 awfully banal paintings and a carpet with a modern, ugly design of black and white blobs.

The owner was very helpful, calling three of his men and bringing a truck to help me move. I was well-packed and we carried a mountain of stuff down in the lift in short order, loaded it on the truck, drove 1 long block, unloaded it, and took it up the elevator to my new place. The amount of work, except for driving, was the same if we’d moved down the block or to a different country. The new apartment has good vibes and I feel considerably less cramped.

One of my first steps unpacking was to drop an oil-slick jar of spicy black bean sauce on the floor, shattering glass shards over a large area. I cursed myself, kept my head, and wore flipflops as I swept, wiped, and scrubbed up the oily, orange/black mess. No glass in my feet, happily. I’ll have to replace the sauce, as I love it with chicken and green peppers, prawns with scallions, or any vegetarian dish.

I’ve sorted stuff, put books on shelves, clothes in a wardrobe, and hung a couple of pictures, so it feels like a home. I even went to a grocery store for olive oil and other staples.

I’ll have the British women over for cocktails this Friday—one of them, Sinead, leaves in 10 days, having completed her work and her 6 month project. Her mother is HK Chinese so she has family in UK, Hong Kong, and all over Australia. When she leaves, she’ll travel and dive in the Philippines, New Zealand, and Australia/Tasmania. I think there must be some family $ there. Oh, to be her age (30+) with all of life before her and an adventuresome spirit. That, of course, isn’t enough to guarantee happiness or success or anything but the idea of that freedom is romantically appealing.

Sinead contacted me yesterday afternoon and we went to a wonderful restaurant with fresh noodles and fresh dumplings, all homemade. We then hopped across the street and met Faye. All three of us went to see a film at the Japanese film festival. It was a strangely touching film about a man with muscular dystrophy who is initially a tyrant, treating his volunteer caregivers as vassels. He gradually evolves, as do they, in a realistic manner and becomes a sympathetic character. “Supposed” to die at 20yo, he lived a quite full life until 42yo, by force of will and the recruitment of volunteers to keep him vital and out of the hospital. The Japanese sensibility was on full display and it certainly differed from mine in many ways: guilt and shame kept the volunteers in line for a long time, until they came to love the patient’s spirit.

Aillen and I are scheming to get her over here for a long weekend—except that I am working every Sunday and several Saturdays. Yikes, what have I gotten myself into?!

One great advantage of my place is that the living room is ample to easily accommodate the 8 students in the class I’ll teach on weekends over the next 4 months. That will save the organization (Metanoia) having to hire a room; the one they were getting at a good price is fully an hour away with good traffic. This way, I can save all that time and cab fare—and everyone will take off their shoes on entering, so there will be minimal mess.

Today I walked to Lanmadaw Street where I had previously bought some plastic chairs for our clinic. Sure enough, even though it was Sunday and the shop was closed, they sold me 8 chairs at a discount. I whipped them over my head and walked off, trying to avoid snagging low power lines, shop signs, and sidewalk umbrellas with the legs. I ran into all three but people smiled at me and were helpful.  Seeing this old white guy doing manual labor, like them, seemed to cheer them and a girl from the little street restaurant in front of my building opened the door and held it for me. I’ll have to try the restaurant soon, as the food looks delicious and there is actually an indoor part of the restaurant, which means they have running water. The sidewalk in front of my building is always packed with happy-looking customers sitting on tiny plastic stools at tiny plastic tables. I have a good feeling about this move.

I served Chinese moon cakes and coffee this morning to the psychiatrist who will be in my weekend class. She is terrific, having left government employ because the work was “boring”, basically 10-15 minute medication visits for chronically mentally ill patients. She has taken several courses on EMDR in Thailand and is intrigued to learn more about, and to practice, psychotherapy. We talked about wide-ranging topics and I suggested she and her business partner look into getting NGO status. They then could attract grant money for interesting projects and could do psychotherapy on the side, as they gradually build up a paying clientele. She’ll talk with Ohnma about it.

One thing we discussed was the need and practicality of developing counselling and triage skills in Health Assistants, who provide a lot of primary care in remote villages. This is a dream of mine, to develop the Child and Adolescent Mental Health infrastructure with some child and adolescent psychiatrists and many, many more lessor-trained practitioners who can adequately address 90+% of the problems, referring the rest.

It is exciting and confirms my desire to be here. I worry a bit, as the public and private sectors have some rivalry and I don’t want my ideas to die a political death. A practical death—-That there simply isn’t the government will to fully develop a child and adolescent mental health network—would be easier to swallow, somehow.

I’m going to cash it in for now. Thankfully, the Iranians have more sense than the American in charge. It’s difficult to say who is more fanatical.