Episode 14: COVID-19 in Myanmar, Exiled Expat Edition
The latest episode in our ongoing COVID-19 in Myanmar series, we bring you the “Exiled Expats Edition.” In this show, we bring you the story of four foreign practitioners who left Myanmar just as the world was shutting down. While all four eventually made the choice to return home—in some cases catching what may well have been the very last flight out—they were faced with stressful and confusing circumstances, with urgent decisions that had to be made quickly, and without the advantage of knowing all the facts ahead of time.
In their own ways, these four different tales convey an overarching Dhamma theme: the unpredictability of life. Each speaker faced significant instability and disruption, losing jobs or having to forego plans, with monasteries closing their doors, which for some was complicated by worried parents pleading for an imminent return.
This theme of the inherent instability of life highlights the truth that we have nothing more valuable to depend on than our own practice. It also highlights a sense of urgency in prioritizing what matters most in life—and after all, what matters more than taking time to observe the mind and come out of suffering? In other words, moments of crisis simplify and affirm what’s truly important and how to make best use of our time, which for these speakers is meditation practice. Meditation practice provides balance, strength, insight, and compassion. And they stress not only the value of practice, but the sense of urgency for practice.
Though each one’s story is different in many details, they all point in their own way towards this sense of importance and urgency in our practice. May their experiences light up your own urgency to practice during this unusual period.
Two and a half years nearly to the day of his arrival in the Golden Land, José Molina, an agricultural economist, was frustrated that his squash club would no longer be meeting…
As the pandemic began to shut the world down in March, life in Myanmar was continuing on as normal, the squash club closure being the only disruption José had yet experienced. As countries rushed to contain the virus, from his vantage point of Yangon city life going on as normal, it appeared as though some kind of hysterical paranoia had suddenly gripped those nations. Initially, José saw an immediate advantage in the situation, namely cheap travel to premier Southeast Asian destinations now emptied of the usual crowds. Yet little by little, the effects of the pandemic began to encroach on his daily life, as various work projects were delayed or not approved.
Then began a truly remarkable 72 hours! It all started when the British and Australian Embassies in Myanmar urged their citizens to return home immediately; within those three days, thousands of expats simply vanished from the city. As the severity of the situation began to sink in, he quickly negotiated a severance package from his company, and gave away to friends and colleagues whatever he couldn’t carry with him. By now, he knew that the closure of his squash club was the least of his problems.
Somewhat surprisingly, José’s most impactful farewell came at Chan Myay Yeiktha Monastery. When he had initially moved to Yangon, his condo was located within walking distance of the monastery, and Sayadaw U Sobhita had given him permission to use the Foreigner’s Dhamma Hall whenever he was free. José estimates that he visited the room 90% of his total days in Yangon, going before and after work and on weekends. While not sentimental by nature and not even particularly fond of Myanmar overall, this was a place truly dear to his heart, and he found himself suddenly choked up when saying his goodbyes. While he had not been involved in the overall monastery activity, he suddenly understood how much he had appreciated and relied on the silent support of U Sobhita, and leaving that behind was a heavy blow. Returning home, he felt an emptiness without that supportive atmosphere.
Beyond just the monastery, José realized how much he had benefited simply from seeing monastics and pagoda spires on a daily basis during those two and a half years, and how that constant reminder of the existence of Triple Gem inspired his practice. Back in the US, he felt more on his own, with no social or societal support to encourage him to keep his precepts and engage in practice. Here, the idea of “the good life” revolved more around fulfilling sensual pleasures than anything else, in contrast to life in Burma, where the overall culture provided continual reminders that his spiritual goals were really “the good life.” In America—unlike Burma—he found that one has to, in his own words, “fight for Dhamma against the natural stream.”
Now back in the US, José works with a very unsettled mind; his sitting practice, in his own words, is “becoming a disaster,” as it is difficult to even make it through an hour. However, this has given rise to an insight that, although meditation normally revolves around the exploration of dissatisfaction, the disruption now wrought from COVID-19 is way beyond what is typical, which highlights the value of the Buddha’s teachings. With this clarity, José realizes there is truly nothing of any importance to be found in the realm of samsara, and that neither good health nor finances can be real support in times like these.
And the mind of course does not like this realization! But armed with this understanding, the work of meditation is not to gradually feel better about small things, he now sees, but to observe the workings of the mind when the rug is pulled out from under us, and when everything is topsy-turvy. This degree of uncertainty affects all parts of life, and José now realizes a precious opportunity for practice he had let slip away during his time in the Golden Land: sitting a long retreat. He had always planned to negotiate a two-month leave from work to devote to a self-course, and took for granted that this time would eventually arrive, and was waiting while he assessed when to time a two-month gap in his CV. But after that momentous 72-hour period passed, that opportunity seemingly did so as well. He is now committed to doing a retreat as soon as the world open back up again, no matter the state of his professional life. He feels an urgency to practice, in other words. Urgent because the world is upside down, and urgent because he doesn’t know what opportunities he’ll ever have again.
Emily Rothenberg arrived in Mandalay on a Fulbright Public Policy Fellowship, charged with working with the Pollution and Cleansing Control Department of the Mandalay City Development Committee (MCDC) on sustainable waste management and planning for waste reduction initiatives.
With a growing attention on solid waste management and plastic consumption in Myanmar, she was inspired that MCDC had published the country’s first strategic Waste Management Plan. Her decision to travel to Myanmar was partly motivated by its rich Dhammic tradition, and she had been especially interested in the teachings of Sayadaw U Tejaniya, among others. Settling into a very busy work environment, it initially became a challenge to fit in meditation time, and she describes how during a trip to Shwedagon Pagoda, two Burmese women helped her to learn how to pay respects, and she broke down in tears at appreciation of this moment of stillness.
While not a “dog person”, a turning point in her life happened when she rescued a street dog hit by a car; she named the dog Lucy, and raised it at work. Her boss, a Burmese Buddhist, had previously been a monk and looked back at this time as the happiest in his life. So naturally, he was struck by the quality of karuna (compassion) guiding Emily’s care for Lucy, and joined her in helping look after the dog. This led to a new level of rapport stemming from a shared dedication to the Dhamma between Emily and her boss that transcended their work relationship. As for Lucy, she became a kind of company mascot, joining them on work trips throughout the city.
At that point in her time in Mandalay, Emily felt like she was hitting her stride, having adjusted to the culture and weather, becoming more familiar with her new city, and making real progress in her work initiatives. She visited Ngapali Beach to assist in a clean-up organized by the Hilton hotel there.
Emily was back in Mandalay when news of the pandemic hit. Myanmar, like most countries, was not well prepared; there were few tests available, and if one was lucky enough to get one, they needed to be sent to Thailand to be analyzed, a time-consuming process. Foreign entities began encouraging their foreign workers and citizens to leave, and her mother was desperately encouraging her to return, A free flight home was offered through her work, but Emily had other ideas. She had previously planned to devote some time to meditate and visit various centers and monasteries throughout the country after the grant ended, and now it seemed that a good opportunity was presenting itself. In spite of the growing concerns all around her, riding out the chaos at a monastic site seemed a very logical and healthy decision. She took a taxi to Chan Myay Myaing Monastery in Pyin Oo Lwin hoping to stay there, but arrived just as the resident foreign yogis were being asked to leave. Fortunately, she was able to stay just long enough to hear a Dhamma talk and was instructed in mettā chantings, which would play a critical role in the future.
Concerns over a coronavirus outbreak in Myanmar continued to grow, and the situation around the world was growing more dire. Then the US Department of State issued a Level 4 warning, and all Peace Corps volunteers around the world sent home, and Bangkok—Yangon’s main travel hub—started limiting the number of transit passengers. At that point, Emily started thinking maybe it was finally time to accept that free flight back. After a bit more hemming and hawing, she finally accepted a Qatar Airways relief flight to the US at the end of March.
She has been in Chicago ever since. Having to adjust to its still windy and snowy climate after tropical life in Burma, Emily began to be consumed by a state of grief at leaving behind her work projects, her home and Lucy, now in the care of her boss. As spring slowly began to take hold, Emily was still craving stillness and an internal refuge, and she converted a TV stand into a makeshift altar, and began a ten-day self-retreat. But her home did not have the level of support provided by a Burmese monastery, with helpful teachers and committed peers practicing alongside her; several times, she found herself going back to the mettā sutta pages she had gotten at Chan Myay Myaing monastery. Walks through her Highland Park neighborhood, a wealthy suburb of Chicago, brought up aversion in her upon seeing landscapers at work even during a pandemic. But again, those mettā teachings came to her assistance, and she began to reflect on how people in these homes might be doing during these challenging times, and wishing for their welfare. When Day 8 of her self-retreat had her turning to Netflix, she knew her course had gone as far as it could.
She decided to connect with teachers providing virtual meditation guidance online, particularly those in the tradition of Sayadaw U Tejaniya. Just listening to his instructions and practicing on her own, knowing that other virtual practitioners were doing the same, brought her to tears; she realized that she was now connected with others, that the Saṅgha is now online. She reached out to several friends to arrange weekly, shared, virtual sittings. Moving on with her new life, she looks forward to planting a garden, bird watching, taking walks and bike riding.
David Sudar’s spiritual life started with reading a book by the Dalai Lama, which developed into an interest in yoga, and then attending vipassana retreats in the tradition by S.N. Goenka. Soon, meditation was the only thing he wanted to do in life, so he began to prepare for an open-ended spiritual journey.
He ended up spending two years as a monk under Sayadaw U Tejaniya. He loved how unlike other Dhamma teachers, U Tejaniya did not provide a single technique, but rather guided his students how to understand the mind amid the ever-changing conditions of life. David appreciated how awareness and wisdom were tools that helped one deal with every aspect of life, and understand how defilements are part of nature. Rather than following a set program of instructions, he enjoyed using examination and investigation, which allowed “beautiful states” like compassion and equanimity to arise naturally.
Several years ago, David disrobed and returned to the US, settling in Portland, Oregon. He was soon asked to share what he had learned with interested friends, which blossomed into a full teaching schedule to various Dhamma groups, corporations, organizations, and anywhere else that people wanted to become more mindful. His guiding principle has been to speak to the level where the individual student is at, and to encourage an “okayness of being.” After benefiting so much from his own intimate relationship with U Tejaniya, he sees how the teacher-student relationship can promote spiritual growth.
David spent part of 2020 back at Shwe Oo Min in Yangon, but towards the end of February, found himself seriously sick with symptoms eerily parallel to the coronavirus. Worse still, he fell ill just before his flight home, and he was worried he might not be allowed to even board a plane, but fortunately he managed to get back to Portland. After he had self-quarantined at home, the city went on lockdown, so his teaching duties shifted to an online platform. With a Zoom session every morning, he has connected with over 100 yogis, and hears how the pandemic has been affecting their practice. David notes there is not a singular response: some are doing quite well, some are managing, and others are really struggling. As a teacher, he feels his job is normalizing the subjective experience of his students, and allowing people to fully embrace and allow themselves space for how they are feeling. No matter what the actual experience is, he encourages them to notice it, be kind to and patient with themselves, and then begin to investigate the inner narratives they construct around that experience.
David notes that past disruptions in his life have helped prepare him for managing this one. He notes that as difficult as these times can be, there is a silver lining in that they can help people tune into what’s truly important, make lifestyle changes and reaffirm goals, and see where past behaviors were causing suffering. He encourages practitioners to not only maintain a consistent sitting practice, but also make sure that one eats and sleeps well, exercises and takes walks regularly, and connects with friends and family, even if just virtually. To learn more about David, see here for his website.
Gary Leung had been to Myanmar several times before, which were a springboard for his current eight-month trip. During this time, he hoped to learn under several important Dhamma teachers and visit Buddhist sites. The spiritual journey was progressing more or less as planned up until his scheduled retreat at Kyasawa Monastery in the Sagaing Hills. Prior to the course, he had decided to ordain as a monk, along with one other man and two female yogis.
Being the senior monastic in the group due to age, he was charged with leading the procession of practitioners to the Dhamma Hall and Dining Room each day, and the lay yogis would bow to him as well. It was a profound experience, and Gary saw himself as being embedded in an ancient Buddhist tradition, and with that came a responsibility to uphold this as best as he could. It also brought about a feeling of anattā, or non-self, leading to an overall feeling of the interconnectedness all beings—an important insight that would come back to him later on.
When the retreat ended, Gary heard his first news about the growing coronavirus pandemic, but not yet understanding the gravity of the situation, he was somewhat bemused to find that teachers were encouraging yogis to use hand sanitizer. He traveled to see a friend at Hpo Win Daung Caves near Monywa, and then joined a mettā retreat at Chan Myay Myay Monastery, where he was once again submerged into an extended period of silence— which also meant another long period without news of what was happening in the world. After his course was over, Gary was amazed to hear that neighboring Pa Auk monastery was now closing entirely. His next stop was Thabarwa Monastery in Yangon, where he had access to daily news, and he began to realize how serious it was getting. Interestingly, the barrage of daily news brought about a higher level of anxiety than the periodic updates that had gotten during his retreat schedule, when silence acted as a kind of protective bubble.
Once the Australian government urged its citizens to return home as soon as possible, he understood he too needed to act, however difficult it was to find a flight back. He had initially intended to continue his Dhamma journey at various forest monasteries in Thailand, and now considered the possibility of riding out the pandemic in a remote cave somewhere in Burma. But he passed on that idea given the fear that many Burmese now had that foreigners were the primary disease-carriers, as well as an uncertainty about whether his practice was up to the test. He instead flew back to Sydney, and quarantined in his childhood bedroom in his parents’ home, where food was cooked and left outside his door. He is slowly getting back in the flow of life back home, and appreciates access the ubiquitous online access to Dhamma teachers, some of whom he has yet to study with but would like to learn from.