In defense of Kyay-Oh

“It is just another asian noodle”, uttered 20-something traveller  with a thick European accent, in response to my suggestion to eat Kyay-Oh, while she was in Yangon night market.

“Blasphemy”, I thought internally, while probably doing a terrible job at hiding my mortified face.

“What??? Kyay-Oh is not just another asian noodle,” said my accompanying friend from the States, half-chucklingly, with an obvious-but-failed intention to diffuse the heat.

Make your own ramen noodle

Disclaimer : None of the following is true. I think. Take whatever I say with a bucket of salt.

I don’t believe much in palm tracing, crystal ball gazing or tea-leaf reading, but I cannot say that I don’t totally believe in fortune-telling. For instance, I proudly say there is no such thing as ghosts, but then again, I would pee in my pants if I were forced to walk by a cemetery at midnight alone. What if I see something remotely similar to those crazy pale, longhaired ghosts in white dresses from Asian horror films?

Burmese chickpea tofu salad (soy-free)

Yum


When I was a kid, my only wish was to become an adult so that I can buy and eat whatever and whenever I want. Kids are not allowed to touch money in my family. Naturally, the first time I felt like a grown-up was not the day I lost my virginity, but the very first day of fifth grade when I finally received my first pocket money. As soon as I arrived school, I went straight to the cafeteria with thirty kyats (3 cents) in my hand. Of course, with the prospect of food within the next 5-10 minutes, my face was beaming like a Ferrari’s headlight. Despite the cafeteria’s small size, it was mostly flooded with candy shops. I literally was a kid in a candy store; unable to decide who should get my 30 kyats. But, of course, as a child taste prodigy, I was not tempted by the lowly high-fructose corn syrup. I somehow ended up at a salad station, and finally got myself a Burmese chikpea tofu salad with a complex flavor profile. That day, I learned two very important lessons- that autonomy is priceless and unsanitary hands give you a very bad stomachache.

Burmese Garlic Noodle (See-chat-khawt-Swe)

Yum


I was a classic chick-flick protagonist growing up – a shy kid who hits books to avoid people. I hated going outside. I hated the sun, the moon, the stars and everything nature. Luckily, my mother had a massive collection of novels, comics and journals, which she stored in a big red old cabinet under our altar. I remembered spending hours a day, lying on my belly, leafing through pages of old dusty pages amidst the cloud of molds from old pages and incense smoke from the altar above. Whenever a book was coming to an end, I would try to read slowly so I was not forced to go outside by boredom. Not surprisingly, growing up with books made me want to start writing. I am not saying that I am a good writer, but a solid 80% of me believes that the love for writing does not come to those who hate reading.