CW: Human rights violations, trauma, racial violence

My sister, my father’s youngest daughter, and her mother, live in Yangon, the capital of Burma.

My father and I have an extremely complicated relationship, but the complications of our relationship have never prevented me from loving my sister. As my father’s daughter, my only hope for my sister and her mother is that my father would be better to them than he was to my family.

Burma is burning at the hands of a military coup. Innocent lives are being lost in a huge humanitarian crisis that is getting little attention here in the US where I live.

When the coup began on February 1, I hesitated to reach out, worried for my sister and her mother’s safety (my father is not with them, but is in Thailand where he went to remain safe in light of the COVID-19 global pandemic and because of his failing health). I remember the last time the military was in power and how it was not safe to send letters — they would arrive late to my father, censored, although there was nothing remotely political. I did not want to e-mail. I was not sure if it was safe to reach out via e-mail.

Finally, I couldn’t bear it any longer and reached out to my sister. Seeing her post on social media gave me a hint that this might be the safest way to reach her. I looked for her posts every day. I searched each day for what I could find out from the media.

This last weekend, when I saw the rise in state violence throughout the city on March 14, I reached out again to her to see if she was safe. The shooting was just one street away from her. She promised me she would do what she could to stay safe and message me immediately if they were in imminent danger. I told her that we loved her. We were praying for her safety. We hoped to meet her in person soon. To let me know if there was anything we could do.

Her words and hearts on my post let me know, even though we have never met, and our lives are so vastly different, that she feels my heart.

I am so worried for her and her mother.

Even if they survive this violence, the trauma of this time will never leave her the same.

Tonight, as I waited for morning in Burma, and a possible social media post that lets me know my sister and her mother are still alive, I received a different social media message.

A news story.

About 8 people, 6 Asian American women killed across three spas in the metro Atlanta area.

It reminded me (as if I could forget) that I also am not safe.

I have not felt safe in over a year.

I have not gone on a run alone in several months.

I know anti-Asian violence, particularly that against women, is nothing new. But I also know it is on the rise.

While I have not (yet) experienced physical attack, I am always aware of how easily acts of verbal aggression turn to physical violence.

There has been much psychological trauma, almost unbearable psychological trauma externally, in this last year, adding layers to grief and trauma that is personal and internal.

I am so tired.

I worry about my sister and her mother. I worry about myself and my daughter.

And yes, I still get a lot of things done.

It doesn’t seem like I’m carrying this weight.

I have survived many acute and prolonged traumas. I will likely survive this too.

I hope we all will.

I hope to meet my sister and her mother.

I hope they feel my love from afar.

I wish there was more I could do.

We don’t know what people are carrying, how tired they feel, and how much energy it takes to keep going.

If you care or if my words resonate with you, fight alongside me, against the erasure of Asian and Asian American women’s suffering.

My individual suffering is at the hands of unjust systems that perpetuate the world turning a blind eye until and unless it fits the right narrative to move forward a political agenda.

It perpetuates violence against Black women, Indigenous women, Pacific Islander women, Latinx women, trans women, all women.

Do not wash your hands clean of the blood shed and lives lost. Fight for better.