28/03/2025
Oh, poor Burmese people. We’ve endured everything—the brutal junta coup, relentless calamities—and yet the world looks away. In Myanmar, don’t call us the people of Burma, because we’re not truly people. We’re just beings born to suffer, as much as humanly possible.
Now, the earth itself turns against us. An earthquake, its center rooted deep within Myanmar, shattering homes, tearing lives apart. And still, no government aid. No rescue. Just silence. Just like always. Because in our history, there was never any real help. Only neglect. Only cruelty.
The world hears of the quake, but the headlines speak only of Thailand, Laos, and other countries—never Myanmar. As if our suffering is too ordinary, too expected, to be worth mentioning. We break and bleed, but the world remains deaf to our cries.
And yet, the global community, the so-called humanitarian organizations, keep insisting they care about Myanmar. Keep saying it. Because we know the truth: we aren’t living among other nations. We were born as prisoners, and we live as prisoners. Forgotten. Unseen. Crushed under the weight of disaster, indifference, and erasure.
