I Say What I See: The Forgotten Glory of the W (Double U) Football Match

saceditor

Article_Author

The Global New Light of Myanmar

Posted_Date

Tags
General article
General-Local

Image

I Say What I See: The Forgotten Glory of the W (Double U) Football Match

Body

In the Yangon of the 1960s and 70s, where one-storey homes lined quiet streets and private cars were a rare luxury, a unique sporting tradition thrived in the heart of our communities. It wasn’t played in stadiums or watched on television. It lived in the lanes of Kyaukmyaung Ward, Tamwe Township, and was known simply and fondly as the W (Double U) football match.
We didn’t know what the “W” stood for—it might have come from a brand or marking on the ball itself. What mattered more was what it meant to us: a small-sized football game, fast-paced and fiercely loved. The W ball was smaller than a regular one, perfect for the 20-foot-wide streets that served as our playgrounds. With no cars, no shops, and few passersby, those streets became our open fields. Dagon Thiri Street, Thadipahtan Street, Myothit 1 Street, and Kyakwetthit Street were the heartlands of this joyful tradition.
Our matches had simple but unique rules. Teams were made up of three or four players, and the most important condition: you had to be under four feet nine inches tall to play. This rule ensured that the game belonged to children, mostly 13- and 14-year-olds like I was then. The taller boys, even the talented ones, had to sit out. We guarded that boundary proudly. It was a game of and/or for our age.
At the time, I was attending Basic Education State High School 5, Tamwe (BEHS 5), just a short walk from our home on Dagon Thiri Street. Most of my teammates were also my classmates. We studied together, played together, and grew up together. After passing the eighth standard, I moved to Basic Education State High School 2, Tamwe (BEHS 2), which was even closer to our house.
Outside the official community tournaments, we played W football almost every day, especially during the Rainy Season, one of the three seasons in Myanmar, along with Summer (the Hot Season) and the Cold Season. The Rainy Season was our favourite. Slippery streets, flying mud, wet hair, and laughter; it was pure joy. And when the matches were over, we went home drenched and smiling, sometimes limping, but always fulfilled.
The goals for official tournaments were carefully built by organizers, using wood frames and cotton nets, and later, iron frames replaced the wood. On regular days, we made our own: using bricks, schoolbags, slippers, or whatever was around. The creativity was part of the fun. We didn’t need standard gear – we just needed space, a W ball, and each other.
These weren’t just neighbourhood kickabouts. Community tournaments were held regularly, with shields and trophies for the winners. Kids from other townships came to play. I still remember the thrill of competing, the cheers of neighbours, and the pride of representing your street or groups of friends. My friends and I – our team – won first prize two or three times. Those trophies weren’t just metal and wood. They were symbols of belonging, friendship, and youthful triumph.
Kyaukmyaung back then was different. Most houses were one-storey, with just a few two-storey homes scattered about. Families who owned private cars usually kept them in godowns or garages inside their compounds. My grandparents lived in a two-storey house – part woodpile, part concrete – on Kyaukmyaung Street, just steps from our home on Dagon Thiri Street. They owned a Holden car, a European model, I believe. On Sundays, we would drive around Yangon with them – a memory I still cherish. They passed away when I was still young, sometime during the late 1960s or 70s. That house is now gone, but I live in the apartment building that stands in its place – a living link to the past.
Today’s Kyaukmyaung looks very different. The humble one-storey homes have mostly disappeared, replaced by apartment buildings constructed by private developers. The open lanes are narrower, busier and more crowded. The streets where we once dived for the ball or sprinted in bare feet are no longer free of cars or noise. The W ball is nowhere to be found in shops. The game has vanished – quietly, without fanfare – just like the old brick goalposts and wooden shields.
But to those of us who played it, the W football match remains alive in memory. It was our game, our community’s invention, shaped by the spaces we had and the dreams we held. We learned how to work as a team, how to lose with grace and win with modest pride. We didn’t need coaches or uniforms – just friendships, laughter, and a ball.
Today, our sons, daughters, and grandchildren grow up in a very different world – one filled with digital games, smartphones, tablets, and online competitions. They build teams on screens, play matches in virtual stadiums, and win battles without stepping outside. While technology brings new forms of entertainment, I sometimes wonder what they might be missing: the thrill of kicking a ball under the rain, the warmth of shared laughter on sun-soaked streets, and the unspoken bond formed when you pass, run, and score together – on real ground, with real friends.
Some games are never televised, never rcorded, and never return. But the best ones don’t need to. They live on, wherever we remember them.

GNLM

Related Articles

Who Really Profits from Myanmar’s Rare Earths?
Who Really Profits from Myanmar’s Rare Earths?
Rare earth elements (REEs) are a group of 17 metals that play a crucial role in modern technology. Despite their name, they are relatively abundant in the Earth’s crust but are rarely found in concentrated forms. These elements include lanthanides plus scandium and yttrium. REEs are essential in producing high-performance magnets, batteries, LED lights, and electronics such as smartphones and electric vehicles. They’re also used in green energy technologies like wind turbines and solar panels. Mining and refining rare earths can be challenging due to environmental concerns and geopolitical factors, making their supply chain complex. As global demand increases, sustainable methods of extraction and recycling are being explored to reduce environmental impact and secure future availability.Rare Earth Mining in Kachin State, MyanmarKachin State in northern Myanmar has become a major hub for rare earth element (REE) extraction, especially since 2017. The region, particularly areas like Chipwi and Pangwa near the China border, hosts hundreds of mining sites that produce valuable heavy rare earths such as dysprosium and terbium, which are critical for high-tech and green energy industries.After 2021, mining activity surged dramatically, with Myanmar supplying up to 60-87 per cent of China’s rare earth imports during some years. However, this boom has come at a cost: unregulated mining has led to deforestation, water pollution, and health risks for local communities. Many operations are linked to armed groups and lack proper oversight, raising concerns about environmental damage and human rights violations.Myanmar’s rare earth production now ranks among the top globally, but the social and ecological impacts in Kachin State remain deeply troubling. The rapid expansion of mining – often driven by demand from neighbouring countries – has led to the destruction of forests, contamination of rivers and soil, and displacement of local communities. Toxic chemicals used in the extraction process have damaged ecosystems and endangered biodiversity, while the lack of regulation and accountability has made it difficult to monitor or mitigate these effects. Moreover, many mining operations are associated with armed groups or operate without formal oversight, fueling conflict and undermining peace efforts in the region. As Myanmar’s role in the global rare earth supply chain grows, calls for more transparent, ethical, and environmentally responsible practices continue to intensify.Step-by-Step Overview of Rare Earth Mining in Kachin State, MyanmarRare earth mining in Kachin State typically follows a process known as in-situ leaching, which is both cost-effective and environmentally risky. Here’s how it unfolds:Site Selection & Clearing: Mining companies or armed groups identify mountain slopes rich in heavy rare earths like dysprosium and terbium. Forests are cleared, and access roads are built, often without environmental assessments.Chemical Injection: Workers drill holes into the mountains and inject chemicals such as ammonium sulfate and oxalic acid into the soil. These dissolve the rare earth elements underground.Collection Ponds: The chemical-laced solution flows downhill into large open-air ponds, where the rare earth sludge is collected. These ponds often leak, contaminating nearby rivers and farmland.Drying & Transport: The sludge is dried in wood-fired kilns, then packed and transported, mostly across the border to China for processing. Myanmar supplies up to 60-87 per cent of China’s heavy rare earth imports.Local Impact: Mining sites are often unregulated. Workers lack protective gear, and communities face deforestation, water pollution, and health issues. Armed groups control many operations, taxing miners and fueling conflict.This process has transformed Kachin into a global rare earth hotspot, but at a steep social and ecological cost.Environmental and Ecological Damage in Kachin State from Rare Earth MiningThe rapid expansion of rare earth mining in Kachin State has caused severe harm to the region’s natural beauty and ecological balance. Once lush forests have been cleared to make way for mining sites, leading to widespread deforestation and loss of biodiversity. Rivers and streams, once sources of clean water, are now polluted with toxic chemicals like ammonium sulfate, arsenic, and cadmium, which are used in the extraction process. These contaminants have seeped into the soil and water systems, threatening aquatic life and making water unsafe for drinking and farming.The scenic mountain landscapes have been scarred by open pits and chemical ponds, while landslides and soil erosion have become more frequent due to weakened terrain. Wildlife habitats have been destroyed, forcing animals to flee or perish. Indigenous communities that depend on the land for agriculture and fishing face declining crop yields and health risks. The damage is not only environmental — it’s cultural and social, as the destruction of nature undermines traditional ways of life and spiritual connections to the land.Unequal Gains from Rare Earth Mining in MyanmarAlthough rare earth mining in Kachin State has generated billions in export revenue, the benefits are distributed in a highly unequal manner. Local communities that suffer the brunt of environmental degradation receive little to no direct compensation. Their farmlands are contaminated, water sources are polluted, and traditional livelihoods are destroyed. Many residents face health issues, displacement, and social instability while lacking access to clean water, healthcare, or education.In contrast, armed groups and private companies operating the mines reap substantial profits. The former imposes taxes of up to $4,800 per tonne of exported rare earths, using some of the revenue for infrastructure and services in resistance-held areas. However, transparency is limited, and much of the wealth remains concentrated among elites and intermediaries.The Myanmar government itself gains little, as most mining is unregulated and untaxed, bypassing official channels. This creates a stark divide: while Myanmar ranks among the top global producers of rare earths, the majority of its people, especially those in mining zones, see few lasting benefits. The imbalance highlights the urgent need for responsible governance, equitable revenue sharing, and environmental safeguards.Final Reflection from the Perspective of Kachin CommunitiesFor the people of Kachin State, rare earth mining has brought more loss than gain. Their once-pristine environment has turned into a scarred landscape of chemical ponds and dying rivers. Traditional ways of life rooted in agriculture, fishing, and reverence for nature have been eroded. Though vast wealth flows through their land, it rarely reaches their hands. The daily reality for many is polluted water, poor health, and displacement, while powerful groups profit unchecked.The writer would like to urge the responsible organizations – both domestic and international – to implement transparent regulations, promote sustainable mining practices, and ensure fair compensation for affected communities. Local voices must be included in decision-making, and rehabilitation of damaged ecosystems must begin immediately.If these destructive trends continue without reform, Kachin’s environmental and social fabric may be irreversibly damaged. But with inclusive governance, ethical oversight, and global attention, there’s still hope for Kachin to transform its mineral wealth into a force for community well-being and ecological resilience.GNLM
I Say What I See: The Forgotten Glory of the W (Double U) Football Match
I Say What I See: The Forgotten Glory of the W (Double U) Football Match
In the Yangon of the 1960s and 70s, where one-storey homes lined quiet streets and private cars were a rare luxury, a unique sporting tradition thrived in the heart of our communities. It wasn’t played in stadiums or watched on television. It lived in the lanes of Kyaukmyaung Ward, Tamwe Township, and was known simply and fondly as the W (Double U) football match.We didn’t know what the “W” stood for—it might have come from a brand or marking on the ball itself. What mattered more was what it meant to us: a small-sized football game, fast-paced and fiercely loved. The W ball was smaller than a regular one, perfect for the 20-foot-wide streets that served as our playgrounds. With no cars, no shops, and few passersby, those streets became our open fields. Dagon Thiri Street, Thadipahtan Street, Myothit 1 Street, and Kyakwetthit Street were the heartlands of this joyful tradition.Our matches had simple but unique rules. Teams were made up of three or four players, and the most important condition: you had to be under four feet nine inches tall to play. This rule ensured that the game belonged to children, mostly 13- and 14-year-olds like I was then. The taller boys, even the talented ones, had to sit out. We guarded that boundary proudly. It was a game of and/or for our age.At the time, I was attending Basic Education State High School 5, Tamwe (BEHS 5), just a short walk from our home on Dagon Thiri Street. Most of my teammates were also my classmates. We studied together, played together, and grew up together. After passing the eighth standard, I moved to Basic Education State High School 2, Tamwe (BEHS 2), which was even closer to our house.Outside the official community tournaments, we played W football almost every day, especially during the Rainy Season, one of the three seasons in Myanmar, along with Summer (the Hot Season) and the Cold Season. The Rainy Season was our favourite. Slippery streets, flying mud, wet hair, and laughter; it was pure joy. And when the matches were over, we went home drenched and smiling, sometimes limping, but always fulfilled.The goals for official tournaments were carefully built by organizers, using wood frames and cotton nets, and later, iron frames replaced the wood. On regular days, we made our own: using bricks, schoolbags, slippers, or whatever was around. The creativity was part of the fun. We didn’t need standard gear – we just needed space, a W ball, and each other.These weren’t just neighbourhood kickabouts. Community tournaments were held regularly, with shields and trophies for the winners. Kids from other townships came to play. I still remember the thrill of competing, the cheers of neighbours, and the pride of representing your street or groups of friends. My friends and I – our team – won first prize two or three times. Those trophies weren’t just metal and wood. They were symbols of belonging, friendship, and youthful triumph.Kyaukmyaung back then was different. Most houses were one-storey, with just a few two-storey homes scattered about. Families who owned private cars usually kept them in godowns or garages inside their compounds. My grandparents lived in a two-storey house – part woodpile, part concrete – on Kyaukmyaung Street, just steps from our home on Dagon Thiri Street. They owned a Holden car, a European model, I believe. On Sundays, we would drive around Yangon with them – a memory I still cherish. They passed away when I was still young, sometime during the late 1960s or 70s. That house is now gone, but I live in the apartment building that stands in its place – a living link to the past.Today’s Kyaukmyaung looks very different. The humble one-storey homes have mostly disappeared, replaced by apartment buildings constructed by private developers. The open lanes are narrower, busier and more crowded. The streets where we once dived for the ball or sprinted in bare feet are no longer free of cars or noise. The W ball is nowhere to be found in shops. The game has vanished – quietly, without fanfare – just like the old brick goalposts and wooden shields.But to those of us who played it, the W football match remains alive in memory. It was our game, our community’s invention, shaped by the spaces we had and the dreams we held. We learned how to work as a team, how to lose with grace and win with modest pride. We didn’t need coaches or uniforms – just friendships, laughter, and a ball.Today, our sons, daughters, and grandchildren grow up in a very different world – one filled with digital games, smartphones, tablets, and online competitions. They build teams on screens, play matches in virtual stadiums, and win battles without stepping outside. While technology brings new forms of entertainment, I sometimes wonder what they might be missing: the thrill of kicking a ball under the rain, the warmth of shared laughter on sun-soaked streets, and the unspoken bond formed when you pass, run, and score together – on real ground, with real friends.Some games are never televised, never rcorded, and never return. But the best ones don’t need to. They live on, wherever we remember them.GNLM
The Lingering Echoes of Pain: How Early Wounds Shape a Lifetime
The Lingering Echoes of Pain: How Early Wounds Shape a Lifetime
Emotional pain, once felt, rarely disappears. Trauma, especially in childhood or youth, sinks deep into the psyche, shaping how people think, feel, and act. Even when memories dim, the emotional weight remains, flaring up as sudden anger, fear, or despair that feels out of place but is rooted in long-forgotten wounds.The early years are crucial. When children grow up in fear, neglect, or violence, their emotional systems learn to survive, not thrive. These survival habits can harden into lifelong patterns, quietly steering relationships, choices, and self-worth. Without awareness, the past becomes an invisible puppeteer.Nowhere is this more urgent than in Myanmar. A generation of young people has been shaped not by peace but by the trauma of an unnecessary war. They carry invisible scars of lost safety, broken trust, and interrupted futures. These wounds may not bleed, but they fester silently, threatening to poison the nation’s future.To rebuild a country while ignoring the emotional damage to its people is like planting new crops in scorched earth. You may see green shoots, but the soil remains wounded, dry, brittle, and unable to nourish real growth.True national healing cannot come through infrastructure alone. Roads and buildings can be repaired. Minds and hearts take longer, but matter more.Myanmar’s future cannot rise on broken hearts and buried pain. A nation rebuilt with bricks but not with care for its wounded minds is a nation standing on a fault line.The young, who should be dreaming, learning, and building, are instead carrying the weight of a war they never chose. If their inner world is left in ruins, no outer structure will stand for long. We must stop pretending that survival is enough. These young souls deserve more than endurance – they deserve healing, dignity, and a voice. If we truly want a free and lasting Myanmar, we must begin not just with laws or roads, but with the quiet, patient work of restoring the human spirit. Anything less is betrayal dressed as progress.GNLM
Why We Should Carry a Smile and Live Life Joyfully
Why We Should Carry a Smile and Live Life Joyfully
Even just one smile on your face in a day can bring you a sense of relief and comfort. The small act known as a smile can have a profound impact in the human world and serves as a companion that speaks louder than words when it comes to living a joyful life.In everyone’s life, we gradually face challenges and difficulties that can at times feel overwhelming. However, even during moments of discouragement for various reasons, a simple smile on the face can help ease our emotional state to some extent. A person’s smile can also influence the emotions of others and help reduce their mental stress.Duo activitiesEveryone happy can bring a smile, which represents satisfaction on their faces. No one can bring a smile while facing suffering and unhappiness. Hence, the smiling move and the emotion of happiness and satisfaction are inseparable. That is why individuals have to nurture their souls to be able to bring smiles by overcoming sufferings and challenges, as well as by searching root causes of happiness in life. Everybody needs to consider that if they use smiles as a tool to build a happy society, the entire world can cease unhappiness, sadness and grief.The power of a smileA smile is a natural and deeply valuable human behaviour that belongs to everyone. For example, when a mother smiles at her young child, that smile conveys a sense of safety and acceptance to the child. In the same way, in everyday life, a smile serves as a rustproof bridge that builds strong connections between oneself and those around them.Scientifically speaking, when a person smiles, the body releases natural feel-good chemicals such as serotonin, dopamine, and endorphins. These substances help generate feelings of satisfaction and emotional well-being. Additionally, a smile can even help lower heart rate and reduce stress levels.How a Smile can help us live a joyful lifeHappiness is an emotion, but it doesn’t always arise automatically. Sometimes, we must make an effort to seek it out. In doing so, smiling becomes one of the simplest and most accessible ways to maintain a sense of joy in our daily lives.Some fundamental principles underpin happiness. These include self-confidence, self-worth, the capacity to love, and even the ability to forgive those who oppose us. When combined with a genuine smile, these values play an essential role in building healthy relationships, improving mental well-being, and achieving success in life. Generally, happiness is defined as a state of emotional satisfaction. Efforts to ease social tensions and reduce feelings of loneliness are also key factors in achieving a happy and fulfilling life.Smiles and External RelationshipsIn social settings, those who smile often are frequently perceived as trustworthy and approachable individuals. If you look at successful people featured in the media, you’ll often notice a bright, consistent smile on their faces. That smile helps strengthen their social relationships and serves as a valuable tool for communication and collaboration.Someone is smiling warmly and kindly when meeting others not only reflects your attitude but also builds self-confidence. In the professional world, individuals with strong social skills tend to receive more opportunities. Therefore, a smile proves beneficial not just personally, but also in business, education, and organizational environments.How a Smile Supports OneselfThere are times when, looking at one’s own life, a person may feel discouraged or disheartened. Due to losses, dissatisfaction, or the many challenges that arise in daily life, one might feel like giving up. Even in those moments, a simple smile can become a message of hope.Research has shown that in mirror therapy, where individuals look at their reflection, smiling at oneself can help reduce psychological stress. Loving oneself and accepting one’s life can gradually be restored, and the starting point for that healing often begins with a single smile.Raising a smiling habitSmiling can be difficult to do in unwanted situations or to maintain as a habit. However, gradually making a conscious effort to smile even during challenging emotional times can help create a better mental state. Along with the points mentioned above, this can help shift the energy moving within you in a different direction. It supports becoming a person filled with love, compassion, motivation, and fulfilment.Even during difficult and tiring times, if one can carry a smile, it can bring comfort to everyone around them and fill the entire environment with feelings of peace and happiness. By setting aside one’s pain and suffering to bring joy to others, that happiness will reflect from those people, allowing oneself to experience at least a small measure of calm and joy. This is the principle of kindness’s reciprocal nature.Victims of unhappinessThe surveys of the World Health Organization stated that more than 300 million of the global population, accounting for 4.4 per cent, are suffering from depression in their lives, adding that a large portion of the population is also lacking happiness based to unknown diseases. As different tensions impact society, the majority of people cannot emphasize happiness and pleasure while struggling for the daily needs of their lives.The Lord Buddha preached the Four Noble Truths. They are the first Truth of Suffering (Dukkha) that life inherently involves suffering and dissatisfaction; the second Truth of the Origin of Suffering (Samudaya) that Suffering arises from craving, attachment, and ignorance; the third Truth of the Cessation of Suffering (Nirodha) that Suffering can be overcome and ended; and the fourth Truth of the Path to the Cessation of Suffering (Magga) that the Noble Eightfold Path provides the way to end suffering.Hence, nobody can avoid the impacts of suffering and dissatisfaction. They are facing different social crises such as a higher rate of unemployment, lower income, rising expenses and increasing commodity prices. So, the majority of people are experiencing something special about depression. It shows basic factors to disappear happiness and pleasure in their minds. Consequently, they do not believe in their future aspirations, and they cannot endure these sufferings.Research on happinessVarious organizations in global countries released surveys and indices over findings from research on the happiness of people. The happiness of people can be measured by gross domestic product, healthy lifespan, contribution of society for individuals, rights of independent choosing, generosity, and perspectives on corruption. Especially, people from developed countries are embracing happiness due to their lifestyle, which is better than other countries.CriteriaLife is short. Instead of feeling upset and running away during that brief time, we should face it with joy. A smile is a gift for your life – something you can use throughout your entire lifetime.Therefore, dear friends, I encourage you not to forget to smile on your face when you wake up in the morning and to smile when you meet others. A single smile can make not only yourself but also someone else’s entire day extraordinary. A single smile can open a person’s heart. If you truly want to be someone who smiles genuinely, let’s start by sharing words of love and kindness in life.Smiles based on happinessThe happy life of individuals does not depend on the life possessing money, wealth, educational degrees, taking pride in their lives, and faithful associates. Only when individuals are happy will they bring smiles for a long time due to enjoying the safety of life. Actually, can they be happy and satisfied only if they have sufficient food, clothing and accommodation? Both physical and mental well-being can shape the happy life of people. If so, they can sustain their satisfactory smiles throughout their lives.GNLM
Where the River Meets the Soul
Where the River Meets the Soul
With a violent wind from the south and the tide receding steadily, the river becomes an arena of chaos. The coarse water swells and waves, crested with frothy white heads, clash against one another like restless spirits. They seem to rise and fall with a primal force, as if they are dancing wildly to the rhythm of an unseen orchestra. Amidst this wild watery waltz, a little boat struggles for balance, rolling and tossing like a leaf caught in a storm. The river, at this moment, does not welcome peace.Inside the boat, the boatman’s hands grip the oars tightly, knuckles pale with effort. His arms are weary, his mind clouded with anxiety. The boat, though small and fragile, is his entire world. It holds not just his body but his hopes, his thoughts, his fears. The helm resists his control, pulling him left and right, and for a moment, it seems the storm outside has awakened a storm within. Madness whispers from the corners of his mind, tempting him to surrender to the river’s will.As the tide continues to ebb, revealing the secrets of the riverbed, long brownish mudflats appear on both banks like ancient tongues licking the edges of the current. These flats, glistening under the softening light of the afternoon, stretch far into the horizon. Upon them, the world finds a moment of calm. A little white egret, elegant and still, stands like a statue carved by the hand of serenity. It balances gracefully on one leg, the other tucked beneath its wing, eyes half-closed, indifferent to the turmoil nearby. It is a picture of peace in the face of unrest.Somewhere beyond, a group of little birds resumes their quiet singing, repeating the same notes like a lullaby handed down through generations. Their monotonous tunes are not boring but sacred, an ancient comfort that tells of endurance and continuity. The wind carries this melody across the water, reaching the boat and softening the rough edges of the boatman’s mind. It is a yearning, a longing for something gentle, something still.The river’s current continues its course, flowing with a resonant roar. Yet even this sound, powerful and rough, seems to become a kind of music – a song of the tide, a chant of nature’s clock. And there, right in the heart of it all, floats the little boat. It does not drift aimlessly. It resists, it struggles, it dreams. The coat it wears is not of fabric but of determination, holding it together as the world around it churns and moans.Downstream, a cluster of water hyacinths bobs along joyfully, carried effortlessly by the current. Their purple blossoms wave like tiny flags of farewell. Unlike the boat, they do not resist. They follow the flow, unburdened. They have no destination, no fight, only movement and surrender. They vanish into the distance, turning their faces away from the struggles of the little boat.But the boatman has chosen a different path. He must go upstream. He must fight the course of the current. The tide, though fading, leaves behind a coarse and muddy texture on the water’s surface, making the journey all the more difficult. Yet he continues. His arms may ache, his breath may grow short, but his will does not falter. The river may threaten to break him, but it will not break his resolve.The oars in his hands are small. The whirlpools ahead must be avoided with skill and intuition. Each paddle stroke is both an act of survival and an act of faith. The sky above darkens slowly, the late afternoon bleeding into dusk. Shadows stretch across the mudflats. The wind begins to hush. Night is coming.Still, he rows.The river becomes more than just a body of water. It becomes a metaphor for life – a wide, unpredictable road filled with storms and whirlpools, soft melodies and sudden winds.Each of us is like that little boat. We do not always travel on calm waters. Our paths are not always clear or easy. Life’s current does not always carry us where we wish to go. And even if it does, sometimes we must choose to turn against it.Some journey downstream, flowing effortlessly with the current. They do not struggle; their passage is smooth, graceful. They wave as they pass, like the hyacinths, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the effort others must make to move forward. But it’s not always the safer journey. Even downstream, rocks lie hidden beneath the surface. Even the easy road can lead to unknown danger.Others, like the little boat, must journey upstream. Their path is harder, but perhaps more meaningful. They learn resilience, they build strength. Each paddle forward is a triumph. And though the progress is slow, every inch gained is won with honour.Not all travellers reach their destination. Some may be lost along the way, caught in the whirlpools of circumstance, pulled down by the unexpected. Others may find themselves turning in circles, unsure of where to go. But in the heart of every journey, there must be purpose. There must be a reason to keep rowing.The little boat, though tired and tossed, keeps its sight set ahead. The boatman, though nearly overwhelmed, listens to the wind, watches the water, and whispers, “Oh, little village, you are not far away, are you?” He believes in the destination. He believes that beyond the bend, past the storm, there is a place of rest – a quiet harbour with lights in windows and warm meals waiting. A place of belonging.The sky deepens into indigo. Stars begin to shimmer above, faint and few at first, then multiply into a soft cosmic field of light. They do not speak, but their silent presence comforts the boatman. They, too, are travellers, voyaging across the heavens. Their light is ancient, yet it reaches him now, reminding him that he is not alone.In the river, the waves settle slightly. The moon begins to rise, casting a silver ribbon upon the water. It is faint, but enough. The boatman’s eyes, though weary, find strength in that shimmer. It becomes a guide, a thread of hope stretching from his tired boat to the unseen shore.So he rows.The journey is not yet over, but it is not without beauty. The struggle is not yet finished, but it is not without meaning. And the little boat, though bruised by waves and worn by wind, continues forward, with grace, with courage, with hope.GNLM
The Invisible Weight of What We Take
The Invisible Weight of What We Take
When I was younger, the market felt like a stage, and I thought I was one of its clever performers. Every time I bargained something down to half the price, it felt like winning a secret game. I remember the silent pride that rose in me when I walked away holding something I wanted, feeling light, satisfied, and quietly pleased with myself. I never thought about the other side of that moment. I didn’t see the whole picture.Back then, I believed I was simply being smart. But growing older teaches us to see not just outcomes, but emotions, especially the ones we once ignored. One day, I remembered a time I bargained with an elderly woman selling handmade baskets on the roadside. I had pushed the price low until she nodded, wrapped the basket in old paper, and handed it to me. Her smile was small, but her eyes looked distant. At the time, I saw only my success. Now, I see her loss.Looking back, I realize she didn’t agree with delight. She agreed with quiet reluctance. Maybe she hadn’t made a sale all day. Maybe she needed some extra money to get home. I had been celebrating a win, unaware that she was giving something up with a heavy heart.That basket, once a prize in my eyes, now feels different. It carries something invisible – an unspoken sadness. It wasn’t a gift freely given, but something surrendered. And it taught me that what we take, when it comes with discomfort or pressure, is never just a thing. It’s wrapped in emotion. It comes with weight; we don’t always feel right away.But there’s another side to this.Let’s imagine a moment when, instead of bargaining, we offer more than what is asked. We say, “Keep the change”, or compliment the seller’s craft with sincerity. We look them in the eye and mean it. In that moment, something shifts. The seller lights up. They feel seen and valued, not defeated. What they give us in return carries their joy. The item becomes more than just a product—it becomes a token of human connection, given with pride and peace.This, I’ve learned, is what truly matters in any exchange: not the price, but the feeling behind it. When we take something that someone offers freely, we carry their warmth with us. But when we take what someone is not ready to give, even if they say yes, we carry their sorrow.This lesson isn’t only about markets. It’s about our daily interactions – our relationships, our conversations, the way we treat people’s time, energy, and trust.Sometimes we ask for favours. Sometimes we borrow someone’s ear or heart. And often, people say yes even when they don’t want to. They smile, they nod, they do what we ask. But deep down, they’re tired, unsure, or unwilling. We don’t always notice, and sometimes we choose not to.But the truth remains: when we take from someone who is hurting, hesitant, or afraid to say no, we don’t walk away with a gift. We walk away with a burden.It’s easy to forget that the quiet discomfort someone feels when they give us something they didn’t want to give doesn’t disappear. It stays in the space between us. It may not be visible, but it lives in the memory of that exchange, and in the way they feel the next time we speak.That’s why giving more – more patience, more presence, more care – matters. When we offer a kind word when it isn’t expected, when we give our full attention even for a few minutes, when we help without waiting to be asked, we create something beautiful. These moments become little gifts of their own. Not just to the other person, but to ourselves. Because kindness, freely given, circles back in quiet and powerful ways.Even with strangers, these small acts can mean the world. Holding the door a little longer. Letting someone speak without rushing them. Smiling sincerely when the world seems too fast. These are the things that make people feel human again, even if only for a moment. But just as we must give with intention, we must also learn to receive with care.There are times when we want something: someone’s time, someone’s understanding, maybe even their forgiveness, but we sense hesitation. We hear the pause. We feel the silence between their words. And in those moments, we must be brave enough to let go. To respect their boundaries. To walk away without taking more than they’re willing to give.Because what we gain at someone else’s emotional cost never stays sweet. It begins to weigh on us. It becomes a quiet sadness we carry, whether or not we admit it. Someone’s unspoken grief can become our silent regret.But imagine a different kind of world. A world where people give only when they want to, and where we take only what is freely offered. Where every exchange, whether big or small, is filled with willingness, not pressure. Where people leave each interaction feeling just a little more whole, a little more respected.That is the kind of world we build when we choose kindness. When we speak with care. When we notice what’s behind someone’s yes, and listen when their silence speaks louder. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being present. Aware. Thoughtful.So, before we take something from a market, a moment, or a person, let us ask ourselves: Is this being offered with joy? Or am I pushing too far? And when we give, let us give not just what’s asked, but what’s meaningful. Let us give with warmth, not obligation. Let us leave behind peace, not pressure.Because in the end, what truly lasts is not how much we’ve gained, but how deeply we’ve connected. Not what we’ve held in our hands, but what we’ve left in people’s hearts. The things we carry in life are not always seen. But they are always felt. So let us make sure that what we take – and what we give – leaves behind light, not weight.GNLM
© Copyright 2024 SAC All Rights Reserved.