Rainy season, existential questions and dejavu

It feels like it was just the other day that I was complaining about the last rainy season. And now, here we are again - the dramatic bursts of lightening, the insects and the mould  takeover begun again. 

It's been dejavu here the last few months, with old friends from Nargis days returning and reflecting back how far we've come and how far we still have to go. They're full of the excitement about what is possible and astonishment for what has changed; We have wine bars now and cell phones, internet that can skype and gossip over UNICEF's 90,000 USD/per month offices. Skyscrapers, investment bankers and tourists have joined the pagodas and the NGO workers. And it is that much more invigorating for it.  

Yet more so than anytime since I returned in 2011 I am struck by the restrictions growing or returning as everything points to the election in 2015: The monks who are pushing laws to force Buddhist women to only marry Buddhists; the way the state mouth piece, that began two years ago by telling us how much they wanted us to help them transform into public service broadcasters has now switched back to telling us that it's impossible until the end of 2015; the way Special Branch police interrupt our research in the villages and foreigners are still unable to visit a lot of the country; my friend's wedding yesterday with the only priest in the country who (for now at least) can marry two people of different religions. 

Alongside that though it's a delight to see how the radio show is growing to reach it's 3 million listeners and to create discussions about whether life is more fun without rules? Or how important virginity is for choosing your life partner? Or how young women are succeeding in traditionally male jobs? Or whether it matters if Myanmar loses its traditional oral history? Or whether Myanmar is ready for gay marriage? Or how meth amphetamine is affecting young people on the border between Thailand and Burma? 

My team is growing and alongside their growth as journalists is the growth in communication between us in half strung out Burmese and English. 

While my roots continue to grow into the idiosyncrasies and charms of Myanmar another part of me still struggles to grasp how I fit into Britain now. It's strange to watch snippets of an election, from afar, and to feel so far from it and so disappointed that Brits can be so cruel to foreigners. Perhaps this feeling is particularly strong because I have lived the last 8 years as a foreigner in other people's lands. It's also odd to hear of so many British friends, married to foreigners and unable to get visas for their spouse to come back to the UK without 54,000 pounds in their bank account. How can I come from a country that would exclude any foreigner I married from being able to come to my country?

As usual alongside silly embassy parties with beach themes and imported sand to make fake beaches on lawns or extreme bowling or boat parties, there are the usual petty frustrations of life in Yangon - water pumps that don't work and wars with ants and endless goodbyes to friends who come for a year and then leave. 

And indeed there are the usual existential questions of whether I should be a journalist or a humanitarian (yes I still struggle with that); whether I am treading water after two years with the same radio show and of course the usual romantic struggle of how you know when someone is the person you wish to commit to?