When I was little, my mother used to call me “hay fire”.
When you light up a hay straw, it burns so brightly but only for a few seconds,
until the whole hay straw turned into powder. Apparently, I was like that – I
would randomly pick up a hobby or a toy, and be completely obsessed with
whatever I chose for a brief moment. On time, I asked my parents incessantly
for a watercolor set – one of those with 48 different colors that every
artsy-fartsy child in Yangon wanted. I played it for two days, shoved it at a
room corner until the set collected dust beyond recognition. From what I can
tell as a kid, that habit was less than desirable. My grades would fluctuate
from very good to bad in a matter of weeks up until middle school. My teachers
were confused. I was confused as well.
