There are countries that take a part of me, momentarily or forever -- be it a patch of their blue skies, a portrait of some mist covered mountain, the sun setting on the River Rhine, a long countryside drive from Kazakhstan to Kyrgyztan or some castle from forgotten times.
Myanmar is one of those places that took a part of me and made me feel at home. I will miss the barefoot walks, the milk tea, the Buddhist monks in saffron robes, the quiet mornings in full view of the Shwedagon Pagoda, the smiles of young girls with painted cheeks and many more.
I will miss the August rain and the sweltering heat, those stark contrasts that are not unlike the contradictions I live with. I will miss the conversations with taxi drivers and even the horrendous traffic. I will miss the gold-plated pagodas and giant Buddhas.
But it will not be for long. I know I will be back because I felt at home, somewhere out there, in between Buddha's shadows on the newly-paved roads of Yangon and in my heart.