“Are you okay? Your eyes seem red.” Wing asks.
“Not so good. Guess it’s the damn sunshine. My eyes are over-sensitive.” I blink my eyes. They have always been easily irritated, since my LASIK eye surgery years ago.
I met Wing this morning. Yesterday when I arrived, I signed up at reception looking for a group city tour. “There are not enough people registered, thus, no tour tomorrow.” the host told me later that evening, “but there’s another girl who also signed up for this. Maybe you can share a taxi to places if you want to.” When I met Wing, I found that it was the same flight brought us to this city from Hong Kong. Though our itineraries vary, in 8 days we will share another flight from another city Yangon for the way back. This serendipity made the beginning of this trip pleasant. We visited Mingun, my key purpose of this trip. We walked all the stairs up to the top of this ruined pagoda. The heat of the sun bit our bare feet on the stones. There were many micro-cliffs due to an ancient earthquake within the 50m height structure. I nearly fell into one and die.
Now, after one day’s wandering, we separate. Wing is going to the central market and hunt for street food. I want to avoid the crowd, I head back to the hostel.
It is October, my favorite month for charming autumn breeze. Yet, Mandalay is in its constant summer. Even though I’ve been following the tourist styling - wearing a huge hat and ultra-reflective sunglasses - I suspect that I got a heat stroke. I feel sick. Headache. Nauseated.
Soon I find out - Oops, here comes my damn symptoms of menstruation. I don’t know how I developed those symptoms, as I grow older they seem to become more severe: low energy level, headache, nausea, and fire in my belly. When the symptoms visit me, they often crush me hard. This is the period when I become grumpy and ponder about how sexism makes sense in terms of unfair biological difference.
I go back to my room. Silence prevails after I shut the door. The pale lighting is in cool white. A ceiling fan makes a patterned sound as it operates. Two oil paintings of Egyptian style are hanging on the concrete walls, which are painted in dull blue with artsy waves. I dislike this theme. I feel cold and weak. I sit on my bed for minutes, I walk to the bathroom and vomit, I fall asleep.
I feel the tension in my eyes. I wake up, it’s already dark outside. I go to the bathroom to wash my face. I look into the mirror. My eyes are terribly red. I slowly rotate my eyeballs and watch my swollen blood vessels move together with my eyeballs as if they are separated cloth and going to peel off from my face very soon. I am flummoxed and scared at what I see from the mirror. My mind goes blank and my heart lifted. I go down to the lobby to ask for help. The host gets dazed for a moment and then comfort me, for she will help arrange my visit tomorrow morning to an eye doctor, preferably who understands English. I thank her and go back to my room. I am panicking. I want to research what the “cloth-like symptom” means, but I dare not use my fatiguing eyes. I voice-massaged my best friend and ask her to help me google my symptoms and potential explanations. While waiting for her research result, fear makes me cry in the silent blue room: What is happening to my eyes? What if I lose my sights? How do I tell my parents about this? What am I doing here in this under-developed town and alone? Is there anything wrong with my LASIK surgery? My mind is highly-active in imaging worst scenario yet malfunctioning for any other thought activity. “I checked. It should be alright. Should not be a big deal. Take some sleep first.” My friend’s voice came from my phone. “Thanks. Will do.” I try to calm myself for the reply. I close my eyes, with my heart strangled by my fear of unknown.
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