This piece began in the trash, and there it stayed till I met Myint Soe, a Myanmarese artist. He sat across me in a longyi, chin resting on his hand, as if he was smoking an invisible cigarette.
“If we look at this table, we’d both see the same thing. But if we were to put it in painting, we’d end up with different depictions of it. You see, artists are like drugs. We offer perspectives that people would never have experienced otherwise, and in essence, we become part of them forever.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I found the ending to this story—a story I began with a question.
Your Friendly Malaysian Writer 