The Monk in the Mountain
by Brett Schmieder, M3
I
got married on June 5th of last year. The day of the ceremony, my mother asked me a question,“ When did you know that she was the one?” My answer in the moment,“ I always knew,” does not do it justice. The real answer is that my life can be split between knowing my wife existed in this world and not knowing. The decision to marry her was effortless and easy; not so much a decision as it was reflexive like breathing or blinking. That sensation of having a decision be made for me was similar, although greater, to my decision to pursue medicine as a career. When other kids said they wanted to be astronauts or athletes, I said I wanted to be a doctor. I always knew this was my path, but there was one particular man who taught me how to walk it.
My first independent international trip was to Myanmar. When I, a 5’ 11” 130-pound 18-year-old American kid, landed in Rangoon International Airport, I was swept up in a din of chaos. Like a lifeguard pulling a novice swimmer out of a riptide, Myint grabbed me by my stringy arm and threw me into a car. His teeth and mouth were bright red from betel nuts, and he loudly alternated between heavy accented English and a language I knew nothing of. I was ill-prepared and uneducated on his country or culture. Once out of the city and in a moment of calm and quiet, Myint turned in the driver’ s seat and simply said,“ Welcome to Burma.”
His story was one of tragedy and perseverance. He and his country saw violent regime changes and social unrest for decades. Friends and family died. Homes and livelihoods were destroyed. All this happened, he told me, while the outside world was shut out by the Burmese government or were turning a blind eye. The way he dealt with his experiences of trauma was openly, vulnerably and somehow with a smile and humor. Myint burst the bubble of my youth, forcing me to appreciate the smallness of my experiences and the universality of humor and a smile. He showed me the power of being open and honest with no reservation or fear of judgement. Myint was the personification of the idea that“ Man is never alone if he can offer help.”
The last time I talked to him was during one of my senior seminars for my political science degree. His country again was grappling with violence and unrest. This time, the violence was from the country’ s military and directed at the Rohingya people in the north. I reached out over a messaging app and asked how he was. Our conversation was brief. He hated the violent loop he and his country were in. He also justified the violence. He believed the people being persecuted were
20 LOUISVILLE MEDICINE