Yes, they are full of unhealthy food and sometimes drunks, but I love teashops. Often sitting around are 80-year-old couples, families, first-daters (the girl clearly resenting being there). You get the gist.
I also love eavesdropping at teashops. You could argue it’s an invasion of privacy—and you’d be absolutely right. Nonetheless, I am here to write about it. What can I say? I am living my best Carrie Bradshaw fantasy.
Across the street from me is a big teashop, where, completely hungover and barely hiding it, I went for Sunday brunch—actually ‘brunch’ is too fancy; I was the drunken guy at the teashop.
“We parents are just too hard on our kids,” I overhear someone say as I binge on underwhelming nan gyi thoke. A typical 50-something Burmese dad, sporting a white tank top and longyi, punctuating his sentences with sips of tea. His friend is a similar age, but has hair.
Burmese parents are too controlling with their children’s lives and careers, they agree. Although that’s true in general, not everyone will honestly admit it. Intrigued, I order another tea.
The bald father’s son was studying an engineering major—and was failing most of his classes, causing them to fight and eventually the son to leave home. The mother stepped in and accepted that engineering was not for their son.
“He is creatively inclined and wants to become an artist,” says the father. So the mother helped them all reach a compromise; he would instead take architecture while pursuing art.
“He’s graduated,” the father proudly proclaims. “He’s held exhibitions and is earning a lot from teaching kids how to draw.”
I begin doubting his honesty: an artist with an income. How it could be true? But his friend praises the son’s talents too. It makes me think about my own really chill parents, who, though conservative on some topics, have never said on my behalf, “He’s going to be a doctor,” anytime someone asked my dream job.
In fact, my mother and I had a sort of contract that I could “be my own person” when I turned 20, so without causing ructions I dropped out of school and taught English at her small preschool. In return I received a salary and applause from strangers for helping the family business.
My dad, on the other hand, could not care less. I moved to Yangon for an internship at a creative agency, something both parents were neutral about, and then got a full-time job at a radio station. I quit after one day, but that’s for another time.
The teashop fathers are discussing the toxicity of Burmese movies now. These men are impressively progressive. They talk about a popular Facebook group that demands “shit Burmese movies be stopped.”
The bald dad only goes to movies that his son recommends. My own dad is balding, and I too will join them one day, when I'm older.
