68 days: Silent Weaver

The market was alive today, a constant hum of voices mixed with the rustle of fabric and the clink of jewelry. Bogyoke Aung San Market felt like a step back in time to colonial architecture, with a maze of stalls, each telling its own story. I wandered through aisles lined with lacquerware, hand-woven textiles and silver jewelry, drawn by the array of colors and textures. The vendors made me feel welcome with their warm smiles and patient gestures.

One elderly woman caught my attention; her hands worked deftly over a loom, weaving a vibrant shawl. I watched her for a while, mesmerized by the rhythm of her movements. I couldn't resist making a quick sketch of her hands, capturing the dance of tradition between the threads. We exchanged smiles, and although language was a barrier, there was a shared understanding in our eyes.

I left the market with a small bag of mementos - a piece of hand-dyed fabric and a silver bracelet - and a heart full of inspiration. Yangon is a place where the past seems to breathe alongside the present, and today I felt that breath touch my soul.