On January 20th, I woke up in my tiny bed in my tiny room and was terrified to leave the space between the sheets and the blanket. I was worried the cab driver could be waiting for me outside of the guest house. Why do I do these things to myself?
I talked to the owner of the hotel around noon. I wanted to let her know what happened with the Cabbie, just in case the man did show up at looking for me.
I told her the story.
She repeatedly asked me why I had given him my Facebook account.
I tried to explain to her that he was really friendly and I was being polite, that I didn't think it would turn into this catastrophically creepy exchange.
She kept repeating, why did you give him your Facebook? I didn’t even think that it would link us if I didn’t accept his request.
WHY DID YOU GIVE HIM YOUR FACEBOOK?
I started to get a little angry. Was I angry because she was right and I was a fucking idiot for believing this guy had good intentions? Or was I angry because she was blaming me for the outcome of the situation, even though he was the one that acted inappropriately?
I left the hotel for lunch when I could no longer ignore my hunger. I walked around the city and felt panicked, slightly enranged, and I just couldn't calm my breath or my mind.
I sat and ate some food at a small, hole in the wall Indian restaurant, but kept looking over my shoulder and feeling completely out of place.
The chaos of the city was way too much for me to handle. I was not a city girl. I wanted to leave ASAP and didn't care if I had already paid for two more nights at the guest house.
The electricity went out in the city for a few hours and my phone battery was dying, but before the battery completely drained I was able to book an overnight bus and a hostel in Bagan.
As I was packing up to leave Yangon, I decided to throw the fucking Sri Lanka mug away… I didn't know what I was trying to prove. That mug was loaded with bad memories, and ain't nobody got time for that.
The bus station was more chaotic then the city and I didn't even think that was possible. I tried not to panic, but I felt suffocated and claustrophobic. All of my belongings were on my back.
I mumbled to myself often, “Get me the fuck out of here.”
Once on the bus, I felt relieved to be moving on. I talked to my Mom and kept trying to make light of it all and remind myself that things will get better from here. I am safe and everything would be all right, all right, all right.
The seat next to me was open and I had plenty of snacks.