Only to say something, encouraged by the alcohol which is offered in abundance on long flights, did I approach the first stewardess, saying seriously:
“Excuse me, madam, I would like to leave the plane!”
She looked at me queasily, than smiled and said candidly:
And why didn’t we break down the emergency exit
Why didn’t we leave the plane, catapulted by the difference between pressure of the sleepy airplane atmosphere and that of the kingdom of clouds…?
In the imagination of billions of young men, stewardesses take special place,
Framed in heart shape
A profession of most beautiful and most appealing women,
As antipode, maybe unjustly underestimated
kooks and maids.
Letushka in Czech, Azafata in Turkish,
The stewardesses are main characters of lullabies
And long time before Ikar and brothers Right they were elevated to the heavens,
Kind but too busy - beyond reach,
Stewardesses are starved so that, so thin, they could get through needle hole,
Between panicky passengers,
while the plane is heading into the darkness…
Slow down, you ……..
Stop, little horsy.
”Blue bird” book club members,
Before you is cheaper, paperback issue,
A reading written by the way for everyone,
A frottage from wonderland,
maiden name Burma,
currently unhappily married Myanmar.
Frottage is an old art technique of registering the reality,
something like retelling,
the only thing is that in this case one uses a paper to cover an object
and than tracing with a pencil over the paper,
as if by a miracle,
gets a fine shape of the object’s surface.
This is also a sketchy travels, I know.
I am aware that I am offering you only bizarre fragments,
without deeper understanding of the wholeness of this unknown world.
But, since I am traveling with student organization, which means very cheep travel,
Than, please, no nagging!
These six photographs are taken with the long exposition from an improvised goalpost,
cut with the scissors that make that zigzag edge.
They are taken with very large negative - rang of about 100 mega pixels
so that you can eternally enlarge them and they will still stay clear.
Do you remember what we learned in school: the sweetest thing in the world is freedom, most beautiful – love, the fastest – thought, light….and, derived from it – electricity, was it something like that?
But in the classroom in the local school I learned something that toppled the anchors of elementary school and every day life.
Even in our small country, Serbia, we are used to that:
When you switch on the light, the light bulb turns on immediately, click!
Or if it is neon light bulb, it turns on gradually.
Or if it is that power saving bulb it powers up slowly but it eventually enlightens the room.
Here, in my new classroom, in Rangoon, it is not exactly the case.
You click on the switch and nothing happens – nothing!
The switch is not broken...
The power is approaching, slooooowly, as if it is crawling through the wall to reach the light bulb
And only after 2, 3
Sometimes only after 4 minutes does it light up!
I like that, like lulled, lazy pupil- a sloth,
who needs lots of time to drag himself to the chock board, the professor is not even angry at him any more, wats for him and examines his knowledge like the others'.
The same way the students have gotten used to their lazy power and when we nervously start clicking on and off, they say:
Easy, wait, it will come. And it realy did.
The enlighting wisdom.
2. A bogus perspective of love
So far I get the most serious proposals and unambiguous signs of kindness from the kitchen maid from the school kitchen.
In her 40s with her cheeks colored in yellow,
because it is traditional makeup and local religious hallmark, something like those dots on the Indian foreheads. through the translator
This maid is through the translator praising my manliness and moving her head is sending me the invitation to join her later in her kitchen.
I don’t want to be rude, but I am not getting into the kitchen, I can’t and I won’t!
Only if she pours me some love potion into the food…
3. The unusual custom
In our culture, for someday who believes in that, the candle light is the symbol of soul, something live and warm. Here it is the same thing with sparrow!
Little sparrow-alive and warm, a traffic sign for your spirit. You can buy one and give it a freedom! You launch a bird to the sky, it flaps its wings freely and in return you get rewarded- scientifically proven.
Once I saw a little green car stopping in front of a big old temple. Inside the car was a modern busy family. A car window rolled down and at that moment it starting raining. Middle aged father said something and the women who were selling the sparrows quickly surrounded the car and started to empty the cages to the sky. But they were releasing the sparrows one by one as if thy were measuring: one hundred, two hundred, three hundred grams of the Holy Spirit…like in drive-thru restaurants, dad paid through the window an asked for more!
Oh, man, I think that at least 50 happy sparrows were freed out! On was immediately caught buy a crowbar, I sow it, and the other one was already dead inside, although the woman hurriedly sold that one as well along with the live ones. She threw it high into the air but it didn’t help much. The poor guy, heavy and wet, fell down without a word.
4. The cheapest narcotic
One can enjoy it on the street, it is not too expensive and one does not go to the jail because of its consumption. Who got you worried? You can even get it over the border and out of the country, although there is no sense, because we forgot how to use it.
This is how, let’s say, they inject it here:
Walk down the street and catch somebody’s eye. You look back and smile a little.
The other person already laughs; you join in, smile a little wider and the other person laughs sweetly! With no reason but he/she shines like Sun! Just try not to be happy!
A beauty, a rascal and at firs glance a serious Buddhist nun, they all reacted in the same aforementioned way. It all happens in five seconds while passing by each other. You can get a new dose whenever next you please. Here I don’t care for other drugs. How stupid, complicated and corrupt we Europeans are!
5. The Scooter
The automobiles have absolute advantage over here!
They will not slow down for you and will not stop neither the plain nor the very dangerous car in full speed. Who are you? The pedestrians are useless street decoration,
And therefore, you Pink Panther, better run without dignity to cross the street, to stay alive till the opposite bank where there are other pedestrians waiting to congratulate you…
And when somebody buys a new car, although the majority drives old Japanese vehicles, there is a little sanctuary in the outskirt, right beside the auto shop. I am not lying, it was like this:
The car drives in an park before the little temple.
The entire fancy dressed family comes out and brings fruit to the auto idol,
The priest says the prayer and everyone repeats after him –something like:
Buon voyage, may nobody crash in this car…like in our family, my mom always says when we sit in the car : Saint Nicolas, the traveler, be with us”, and that is nice but listen now:
It is the end of the prayer which doesn’t last for long and everyone comes out of the temple. They put the bowl with fruits on the car, the driver seats in the car, drives in reverse for a meter, than comes back, than in reverse, than comes back again…repeats this three times. At the same time the priest sprays the car with the holy water blessing the car
Why don’t we do that?
It is hypocritical, lots of people would kill somebody who even by an accident scratch their car.
Here, I don’t think they would do such thing.
I would like to get my bike blessed and adorned with flowers; I love my bike so much…
…especially that blue one, stolen, ever grieved.
We stoped at the trafic light.
In the front of the next car there was somebody sitting at the frint,
I didn't pay attention who.
Simingly there was nobody at the back of that car,
I dont know why i looked there
Beacause all of a sudden,
There was a child's foot
leaning against the window!
A little white foot, with no wisible body,
The rest of the leg was in the shadow.
So unexpected this was experience of a tiny ilumination!
I shouted at others im my car to pay attention to this
It realy seemed like a haiku to me,
If we agree upon what haiku is...
The foot mooved, up and down, toes brushed against the window, the green light swiched on,
The car got going and took a turn...
I am leafing through the photos and…I am not too impressed.
The bombastic introduction was way more promising.
…anyway, we didn’t drink tea in the café,
on the street, while a stream of rainwater was running under the table and little chairs.
I didn’t give you a bite of any of those rare fruits,
let alone getting your moustache greasy from local treats which we don’t have in our country.
And we didn't
Get to leave a hartbreaking impresson on local female population.
Neither I, a slouch, 99% married Bane Bumbar,
nor you, Mika Rubiroza, cursing me from afar because of my tardiness.
I didn' scare you with 1001 stories about dictatorship,
e.g. how because of one inconvenient, although troughful word,
a conshientious doctor has been sent for a year
to work for peanuts
a thousand kilometers far from her family,
and how she finaly gets back,
ten years older,
unrecognizible to her family.
Unfortunately, i didn't set in music my researches an improvizations throughout this city of five million people, so that you can play it at your home with ease on a flute, if you please.
And above all,
I didn’t dare to admit that here I freely wear a skirt – whenever I want it!
He, he…. But that is because it is normal here – a simple, long skirt, called Longie,
Is basic folklore as well as everyday outfit in Myanmar – both male and female!
…I didn’t, we didn’t and we will not
Because I am writing this only a day before my travel back home, sweating, with stupid cold, in somebody else’s sweatshirt…
Perhaps someone from the reader’s club might stop paying the annual subscription for this kind of boring frottage
Since thay became too long and dry, with no reason,
And, what’s more, they have been all written at home, made up!
As if they were written by a cabinet worker,
Curled up like a mouse,
with endless cue of unfulfilled wishes to move somewhere…
It is a possibility…
I haven’t saved the airplane tickets,
I have no souvenirs for each one of you as a proof
And that lipstick print on my cheek,
pressed by the lips of that crazy flight attendant who wanted to jump out from the airplane with me, has been long gone.
So what are we to do now?
However, you are forgetting that the publisher „Plava ptica“ ('Blue bird“) worned you from the very beginning about their coppyrights
(not only because of the growth of the readers number)
To romanticize the facts from reality at hand..
Apart from that, everything that was written here as well as in the other volumes
is a holly,
nevertheless subjective truth.