I didn’t plan to think about Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, however, that is frequently how memory works.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

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