This letter is the first in a long, allegorical correspondence that reimagines Burma’s political, ethnic, and social conflicts through the metaphor of a strained love story. Written under the pen name Bo Aung Din, the author combines satire, history, and heartfelt emotion to explore the Union of Myanmar’s challenges.
My Dearest Nan Sai,
On this Union Day—when the founding promise of our nation echoes faintly through the valleys and mountain ranges—I send you something humble, yet heartfelt: a Valentine music DVD.
It may seem odd to gift love songs on a day commemorating the political birth of our Union. But as you well know, Nan Sai, this day is more than history. It is about people—real people, with dreams, disappointments, and unfulfilled hopes. And so I offer this DVD, not just as a token of affection, but as a quiet protest against the coldness of statecraft.
I still remember how your eyes lit up when Sai Htee Saing’s voice filled the room. “This,” you said, “is what peace sounds like.” His melodies weren’t just music; they were prayers without words—prayers for dignity, for freedom, for recognition.
And so, I chose this gift with you in mind. The music it carries may not change the world, but perhaps, like all true art, it will remind us of what makes life worth living: memory, longing, and the courage to feel.
Nan Sai, your people—the children of the mountains, the keepers of cool mists and ancient pines—have borne the weight of forgotten promises for too long. You deserve more than sympathy. You deserve truth, justice, and a voice that is truly heard.
And yet, even now, I do not write to you in bitterness. I write in love. Because I believe that love—not strategy, not dominance—is the only enduring foundation of any Union worth keeping. No genuine union can be forged through coercion. It must be chosen freely, again and again, by those who believe in one another.
This is why I send you this small gift—not as an apology, nor as a distraction, but as a reminder: You are seen. You are loved. And the music of your soul is part of the greater symphony of our shared homeland.
With all my affection and unshaken hope,
Bo Aung Din
The Mountain Speaks in Silence
By Bo Aung Din | A Companion to the Union Day Series
My Dear Nan Sai,
I watched the mist descend upon the mountains this morning, and I thought of you again.
Your homeland always rises in my mind like a dream—its jade-green hills cloaked in silence, as if the land itself holds its breath, waiting for a promise never kept. But in that stillness, I hear your voice. I hear the quiet dignity of a people too long misunderstood, too often used as pawns in someone else’s game.
Do you remember the story your grandfather told us as children? About the mountain that refused to bow, even when the winds howled and the rains lashed against it? “We are not stubborn,” he said. “We are rooted.”
Nan Sai, you and your people are like that mountain—rooted, enduring, silent but strong.
They speak of union in Yangon, in Nay Pyi Taw, in places where marble floors and microphones echo empty words. But what of your union? The one your ancestors imagined—not of submission, but of dignity? A fellowship built not by force, but by mutual respect?
This morning, I whispered your name to the wind. And though the mountain did not reply, I imagined its silence was not rejection—but grief. Perhaps it still waits for a time when Shan, Kachin, Chin, Karen, Mon, Rakhine, and Burman can sit not at opposite ends of treaties, but around a table as equals—as siblings.
If only those in power could listen as I do—to your music, your pain, your quiet yearning—they would know that the only real nation is one bound by consent, not conquest.
I send you no DVD today, dear Nan Sai. Just these words. May they reach you like a soft snowfall over Loilem or a flute note drifting across Inle Lake. I write not with ink, but with yearning—for a country that still lives only in our dreams.
Ever yours in spirit and solidarity,
Bo Aung Din
Parts of this letter have been lightly edited for clarity, length, and emotional continuity while maintaining the original voice and vision.
Author: Bo Aung Din first published in Burma Digest on 12th. Feb 2008 and shared on May 12, 2008 by San Oo Aung blog
Dear Nan Sai,
I know you’re still angry with my stepmother, Daw Than Shwe, for bribing local authorities to imprison your uncles, including U Khun Tun Oo. When you decided to stay with your father, I didn’t worry—because I trusted you knew how deeply I loved your uncle Khun. He always treated me as a younger brother, and you know, it was he who introduced us.
I tried my best to secure his release, but I failed. And in the midst of that crisis, I even made a foolish attempt to ease your tension with a teasing song: “If you want to stay, stay put. But if you wish to leave, go—I won’t stop you. Every human has pride. I can’t give you everything you want.”
But then came Maung Chan’s letter. He relayed details of your father Hso Kham Hpa’s conversation with my friend Ko Tayza. I was stunned—you really meant to leave me. You wanted a divorce.
Yes, your father, son of a great chief turned village head, is serious and upright—and was clearly displeased with my family. Though you had occasionally left to stay with him before, I always believed our love was unbreakable. Even when apart, I felt we were together in spirit, hearts tied across mountains and cities.
Recently, I came across a DVD of your favorite songs—those by Sai Kham Leik and voiced by Sai Htee Saing. I send it now, a Valentine’s gift. I listened to it with a heavy heart. The song that struck me most was the one urging his beloved to think twice before saying goodbye. If she must cry once, let her also remember the many times he made her smile.
We soared together in joy, riding the winds. Now the wind has stilled. You see yourself as a fallen leaf, lifeless on the ground, blaming me for failing to fly to you.
But do you know, dear, that even I—a Fighting Peacock—am caged now? Not by my will, but by my stepmother. Birds are not meant for golden cages. Nature yearns to be free. My stepmother is trying to suppress both our love and the budding flower of democracy. But no one—not even the whole world—can halt the forces of nature. One day, the birds, even this Peacock, will fly again. One day, democracy will blossom in our land.
All this isn’t my fault alone. Just because the roof leaks doesn’t mean the rain is to blame. Darkness hangs over our country—no electricity, the moon wanes—but that’s the way of nature, not my doing. I vow to repair the roof, to buy a generator, to fix the old kerosene lamp.
You must see, the real problem lies with the in-laws. My stepmother Daw Than Shwe is the root of our misfortune. Thankfully, her sister Daw Khin Nyunt can no longer interfere. Though she was beautiful and sweet-spoken, her charm masked betrayal.
Our late father, U Aung San, beloved by all, died before I was born. I was adopted by Uncle U Nu, but our estate fell into others’ hands. Uncle was too soft, always praying, and his wife, Daw Ne Win, seized control. After her passing, we thought freedom had come. But then her cousin, Daw Than Shwe, ensnared Uncle in marriage and took everything.
What could I do? I didn’t fight back out of respect for my father’s memory and fear of her hired thugs. But now we’ve engaged a lawyer and hope to take the case to the UN court. Our former lawyer Ko Yazali—once distrusted—has come back to help. Even our neighbors, U ASEAN’s family, are urging Daw Than Shwe to negotiate fairly.
Powerful village leaders—U SA, U KAY, and U EU—are backing us, even appealing to Ko Fi Annan at the UN. We pray Daw Than Shwe’s brother, U Maung Aye, can persuade her to follow the law.
Do you remember my eldest sister, Daw Su? She married a British academic, but during one of her visits home, she saw our suffering and stayed to help. Because she supported you and me, Daw Than Shwe had her jailed on trumped-up charges.
But Daw Su is wise, experienced, religious, and fair. She vowed not to seek revenge and instead proposed a partnership. She’s right—the estate our father left is vast and resource-rich. There’s room for everyone.
What we need is fairness. Everyone—those living under one roof and those scattered—must have a voice in decisions. Our siblings are committed to helping the village and its people—including you, me, and our children.
Now you’re asking for a divorce. And again, Hti Sai’s song echoes in my heart: “If you want to stay, stay. If you wish to leave for good, go—I won’t stop you. If you believe someone else can love you more or make you happier, then go.”
But I was shocked to hear you might be planning to remarry before our separation is even formalized. I pray it’s just a rumor—or perhaps your way of making me jealous.
If you choose to live alone, I hope you still remember the Wai Thandaya Jataka we cherished. Queen Maddi’s plea to follow King Vessantara was filled with wisdom: a single mother, divorced, faces a world eager to exploit her.
If you plan to marry your cousin U Thaksin—U Thai—or even U Laos, I fear for our daughter. As the saying goes, better the devil you know than the angel you don’t. Stepfathers can be dangerous.
U Laos lives in a landlocked, poor, underdeveloped region—and he’s a Communist. You’d be returning to the grim 1970s under Daw Ne Win’s socialism. Have we not learned enough from that chapter?
And U Thaksin? He’s Yunnanese Chinese. (Forgive me for the racial tone—love clouds my judgment.) Even his own son was exiled to the servant’s quarters for marrying Ma Lay. He mistreats his ethnic kin; some say their daughters ended up in brothels. He’s the richest in his village, accused of corruption and infamous for brutal crackdowns—including thousands of deaths.
If you go to U Tayoke (China), you’ll be one among many concubines. Remember how he drove out U Dalai Lama and took Daw Tibet? Now he has Ma Hong Kong, and he’s threatening Ma Taiwan. Ma Macao is already part of his collection. What would your place be? A footnote?
If you must remarry, think hard. Divorce and remarriage come with social consequences. Like a monk who shifts monasteries three times, or a woman who’s had three husbands—society never forgets.
And now you’re talking about joining a condominium of young men—forming a United Family of Southeast Asia (UFSA) with the Arakan, Chin, Kachin, Karenni, Mon, and Karen? Or maybe forming a Southeast Asian Union (SEAU) modeled on the EU?
Why exclude me, my dear? If you can live and work with my ethnic brothers, why shun me? Without me, tongues will wag.
Even if we can’t remain husband and wife, let us stay united—for the sake of our children. I hope your words are a cry for urgency, not farewell.
And I wish to inform you that at our latest ASEAN village meeting, we decided to draw a Charter for all of us to cooperate more—launching joint ventures in agriculture, fisheries, animal husbandry, factories, and trade. We even agreed to attend to our socio-political needs.
We aim to follow the EU’s example. There will be no tyranny from local authorities—no arbitrary village heads or ward bosses. Instead, we will uphold the Rule of Law—not Rule by Law. All villagers must respect basic human rights. Even parents must honor the dignity of their children. Domestic violence laws will protect everyone, and justice will work both ways.
Dear Nan Sai, just look around us. Our village is not alone in suffering domestic strife. Every family faces challenges.
Remember U Mar Lay? He drove out his wife, Ma Singer Pu. Many blamed her youth and beauty—but the truth was, U Mar Lay feared her father, the wise and capable Mr. Lee. Now, they’re stuck together like conjoined twins—always bickering, yet inseparable. U Mar Lay wants a new bridge to expand trade, but Ma Singer Pu demands land fill and kite space for the children. These minor disputes, once trivial, now feel monumental.
Love is blind—but hatred holds a magnifying glass.
When Daw Indon’s son Ko Ti Moe tried to leave his stepmother, Ko Au (Ausie) forcefully built a fence. Now Ko Au drills wells on Ko Ti Moe’s land. Once divided, it’s easier to be exploited.
You know the saga of Ko Thai and Ma Lay. She wants to leave Ko Thai for her distant cousin, but Ko Thai resists and blames the neighbor.
Ma Nilar’s household, too, is in turmoil. Her husband, Ko Mar Lay, seeks a divorce and hints at moving in with Daw Indon or Ma Mar Mar Lay.
Even Daw Tibet’s troubles are well known. And Ko Kalar’s children—Ma Ni Pur, Ko Nagar, Ko Ah Than—feel neglected and mistreated. Yet, they are kin to our ethnic brothers, too.
So, we are not alone. Let’s acknowledge our shared struggles and build together.
Dear Nan Sai, my sister Daw Su and all of us agree to cooperate with everyone—your ethnic brothers and sisters of all faiths, the Myanmar Military, ASEAN, and even the estranged children of our neighbors.
U Tayoke (China) won’t object if his son Ko Yunan joins us along with Daw Tibet to form a union like the EU. Each of us will be free to live, work, and trade with dignity. Our rights will be protected under just laws, equally applied to all.
Let me remind you: you’re Shan by heritage, but born in Mandalay. I’m Bamar, but born in Taunggyi. Can we really sever the umbilical cord from our birthplaces? I love Taunggyi; I know you still love Mandalay.
Think of our five children—born in different states during our government service. Now, they are scattered: three in civil service, two in private ventures. They’re married into various ethnic families, settled in different states.
If the Union of Burma were to fragment into separate states, where would our children stand? Mixed heritage, born and working across regions—would they need passports, visas, work permits? And our grandchildren? I shudder to imagine. If not Alzheimer’s, I fear I may collapse from heartache.
Do you know the last President of Singapore was born in Malaysia? Ariel Sharon of Israel was born in Iraq. India’s current Prime Minister was born in Pakistan. India’s late President was married to a Rangoon-educated Burmese Indian. A Hollywood actress of Burmese descent—once banned from entering Myanmar for starring in Beyond Rangoon—was welcomed like royalty after marrying Malaysia’s Agricultural Minister.
When countries break up, families are torn. Think of Korea, Taiwan, Germany, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Kashmir. After the Soviet Union collapsed, former states still had to align with Russia. When they turned westward—like Ukraine—conflict arose. Ukraine’s gas crisis is one example.
India and Pakistan fought three wars after partition. When East Pakistan tried to secede, war followed, and India helped form Bangladesh. Yet, even now, Bangladesh and India struggle diplomatically. Bangladesh demanded high prices for allowing India to build roads and gas pipelines. India refused a land bridge between Bhutan, Nepal, and Bangladesh. Pakistan secretly aids the Indian side of Kashmir while refusing to grant independence to its own.
So, dear Nan Sai, division invites conflict. Separation breeds exploitation. Before you tear down what we’ve built, consider the price our children and grandchildren may have to pay.
And you must also realize: General Than Shwe is not President Gorbachev. Myanmar’s military will not allow a breakup. Even many opposition groups don’t support that path. If I recall, even a leader among the Shan rebels opposed such a divorce.
Dearest, this is not the time for breakups. It’s time for healing, cooperation, and unity. The world is moving forward with mergers and globalization. Countries and corporations are consolidating. The world is becoming a Global Village.
Later, I will share with you my thoughts on the ASEAN Charter. Let’s model our ASEAN+++ after the EU or USA. We can even fast-track and overtake them.
You should reflect on the words of former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan:
“Ignorance and prejudice are the handmaidens of propaganda… Our mission therefore is to confront ignorance with knowledge, bigotry with tolerance, and isolation with the outstretched hand of generosity. Racism can, will, and must be defeated.”
He reminded us: “There is no country in the world exempt from discrimination… there is still a long road to cross.”
For decades, people have suffered discrimination, exclusion, and violence for their race, religion, ethnicity, or language—resulting in deep pain, injustice, even death. Racial discrimination judges people not by merit, but by ancestry.
I also remember your father’s wisdom: “We must establish a real Federal Union where all nationalities enjoy equal rights, human rights, peace, and democracy. We must unite and strive to reach ASEAN’s standards.”
If we form a loose federation or union—not a breakup—and base our laws on justice, human rights, and democracy, we could wipe out our old problems with the stroke of a pen.
Who leads the village—PM, President, elder—is not the point. All citizens should have the right to live and work freely. Let me remind your father, with love: your grandfather was once the village head during my foster father’s time. And one of your ethnic brothers, U Mahn Win Maung, was also once our national leader.
Dear Nan, in real democracies, the law stands above all—even politicians, military, police, and judges. In places like U Sa (USA), U Kay (UK), and U Eu (EU), the people are the masters. Politicians serve the people and must earn their trust through free elections.
In Myanmar, we’re sadly used to being treated as untouchables. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
When Ko Ger and Ma Ni’s villages were divided, blood was spilled over border crossings. But now, Ko Ger—with wealth and wisdom—helped reconcile and remove the fence. Together, they renamed their union Germany. And guess what? The once-poor Ma Ni became head of their united village.
Isn’t that the spirit we need?
If you wish to marry Ko Tayoke, ask him if your children will ever be treated equally. Even Ma Hong Kong’s children haven’t received that. If he truly loves Ma Taiwan, shouldn’t he allow her people equal voice and leadership? Instead, he threatens her constantly. My dear, all that glitters is not gold. Please reconsider.
In true democracy, there’s room for everyone. Look at Ko Kalar’s village: Ko Mus Lim chairs the council. Ko Pan Char is the village head. Ma Italy, a woman from another village who married in, now holds great influence. She even placed her friend Ko Pan Char as village head to calm the nationalists.
Meanwhile, our sister Daw Su was vilified for marrying someone from another village. What a contrast. In Ko Kalar’s land, rights and merit speak louder than race or birthplace.
Understand this: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” No one is immune. That’s why we must defend democracy, good governance, transparency, and the rule of law. No one—leader or not—should be above the law.
And dear Nan, let’s not forget the small things that matter: like my beloved Shan Pae Poke and your favorite Ayi Taw Laphet. If we separate, these might face import taxes, permits, or worse. Simple joys turned into bureaucratic nightmares.
Please remember our first Valentine’s Day, under Uncle Khun Tun Oo’s roof. It’s just around the corner again. I now realize I must turn back, like the lion in Hti Sai’s song, to face the truth and start anew.
Yes, our marriage contract at Panglong was flawed—not in intention, but in execution. I failed to treat you as an equal. My stepmother tried to steamroll your rights and those of other minorities. That was wrong.
Let’s rebuild—with love, respect, and true partnership.
With sorrow, reflection, and hope.
If I were given the chance to start life all over again, I would still love you. I would still marry you—even if others said it was a mistake. I would take the same “wrong” path a hundred times over. Because love, as we both know, is blind.
Now I find myself lost. A fool in love. Whatever I see, I see your face. Whatever I do, I think of you. My mind is tangled, overwhelmed by your absence.
Yes, I admit—I was extreme and one-sided. You suffered for that. I must change. In the future, I will listen more. I will ask what you want, and I will strive to fulfill it. I will treat you with kindness and care.
We now live under the same sky but feel oceans apart. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. From now on, your wish will be my command.
But if you’ve made your decision—if Shan State truly wishes to separate from Burma—what else can I do? I could blame fate. But in truth, the fault lies with us. With me. With the Bamar, including myself. We must change.
I only ask that you allow me to share a final request with your father.
Please believe that not only I, but many Bamar, deeply love the Shan and Shan State. Some of my Burmese Chinese and Muslim friends have even married into Shan families. So, please don’t generalize that Bamar men only chase Shan women. Some of those friends are women married to Shan men!
And just look at Sai Kham Leik—a proud Shan man married to a Burmese woman, Nwe Nwe Tin. Love knows no borders. I believe you and your father would not want to tear such hearts apart.
Now, I appeal directly to you. Though I am Bamar, I was born in Taunggyi. I had a Shan spouse. Our children are half Shan. If Shan State becomes an independent country, I plead for the right to claim Shan citizenship. If not citizenship, then at least a Green Card—a permanent resident status. I wish to return to Taunggyi, my birthplace. I wish to die and be buried there.
And if, by miracle, you decide to return, I make this vow: I will reform our home. Though some may see me as the “general” of the house and you the “major,” I promise to decide only general matters. I will let you make all the major decisions.
Please show this letter to your father. Let him read how deeply I love you—and your Shan Land.
The decision is yours. Please weigh the consequences with wisdom, not emotion.
Before you go, recall the two songs we both cherish: “The Nature’s Children,” a vision of peace, and the one you renamed “A Song for Ko Tin Ngwe,” by Sai Kham Leik.
I end my letter with one final hope—for the future leaders of our country:
Please honour the Shan artists who have given so much to our shared heritage. In Burma, as in the UK, artists are knighted for their service. Let us do the same.
With eternal love,
Your devoted husband, Ko Tin Ngwe
Bo Aung Din
Postscript: I apologize to Hso Kham Hpa for symbolically calling him Ko Tin Ngwe’s father-in-law. Though metaphorical, it is not far from the truth, since Ko Tin Ngwe symbolizes Burma/Myanmar and Nan Sai Kham symbolizes Shan State. I also apologize to Dr. Sai Kham Leik and Dr. Ngwe Ngwe Tin for using their names symbolically, even in reverse gender roles. I did not translate their songs literally, but expressed how they made me feel. I hope you all understand and forgive me for using your art to inspire this plea.
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FOR THOSE WHO WISHED TO READ IN ADVANCE, you could access all the letters here:
First published in Burma Digest and later reprint in my San Oo Aung blog with my Pseudonym, Bo Aung Din
1/ Dear Nan letter No 1 Compassionate letter No 1: A Valentine Music DVD with Love for Dear Nan
2/ Compassionate letter number two, for my beloved Nan Sai
4/ Compassionate letter No 4:The most remarkable leader of our time
5/ Compassionate letter No 5: The key to our future relations
6/Long March To Shwe Bamar Pavilion
7/ Racial Discriminations Everywhere
8/ Loss of Home, Loss of PARADISE
9/ Dear Nan letter No 9 Dog-leather book and the SPDC Generals
11/ Queen Kyine Kyine (a) Marie Antoinette
My Burmese translations of some of the above letters were TYPED in WinMyanmar3, made as pictures in PAINT and published as even ZAWGYI FONT was just came out and not popularly used.
When the BURMA DIGEST was first attacked by Military cyber troopers ALL THE PICTURES were disappeared.
Later Chief editor Dr Tayza, Patron Hannyaungwai/ and Burmese Editor Daw Khin Ma Ma Myo decided to go back to Myanmar, WHOLE Burma Digest was deactivated or deleted.
And WORSE OF ALL, WordPress deleted MOST of my photos and pictures, my collection are gone.
