The monks on their way to the village every morning to collect food (alms).

This is Ghandhosara (spelt incorrectly I think). Anyhow, I didn't know him when I took these pictures. Then, later, he approached me in class and started telling me about himself. He is a lovely boy. His mother died when he was young, she was living in Thailand working so was not around much when he was a child. He has 2 brothers: one joined the army; the other the police force, and Ghandhosara became a monk. I was surprised at this: I thought he must have been unique in his family. But then I found out that families in poverty have those 3 choices to feed their children: 1) become a public servant 2) join the army or 3) become a monk. The brother that joined the police force later died from a gunshot wound. I was sad to hear that. Many of the monks here come from extremely poor families: one recently told me (I don't want to reveal his name for privacy reasons) that he grew up under a subway bridge (like an overpass). He said he saw many many cars all day long. I saw people living there like that they other day as I passed in a taxi. Nowadays, it is better but apparently a few years ago most spaces in Yangon were taken up like this. Khemika wants to take me to meet his family in his village, but he said he is embarrassed to take me there as they are so poor. He said every time he went back to visit them on the holidays from the monastery he was in (since 12 years old) he would cry.