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What Five Minutes in a Small Myanmar Town Taught Me About the Meaning of a Career I live in Myanaung, a small town in Ayeyawady Region, Myanmar. Life in a
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What Five Minutes in a Small Myanmar Town Taught Me About the Meaning of a Career
I live in Myanaung, a small town in Ayeyawady Region, Myanmar. Life in a small town can be very different from life in a big city. Technology is advancing rapidly around the world, yet sometimes a single computer can still play an unexpectedly important role in many people’s lives.
I learned this one morning at a bank.
At around 11 am on 2 July, I accompanied my 75-year-old mother-in-law to the local Myanma Economic Bank branch to withdraw her monthly pension. She is a retired government officer who worked at the Office of the Union Auditor-General.
Many other retired government employees were there for the same reason. Because the bank could not serve all the pensioners at once, they were divided into groups and assigned specific days to withdraw their pensions.
At the time of this incident, the pension withdrawal process depended on only one computer. Yes, just one computer.
We are living in the age of artificial intelligence. Around the world, people are talking about AI, robots and increasingly intelligent machines. But on that morning in our small town, one ordinary computer had a much simpler responsibility. It was helping elderly pensioners receive their money. Perhaps it was the hardest-working “employee” in the bank.
And that morning, it stopped working. The computer could no longer print the withdrawal slips. A printer problem may sound like a minor inconvenience. In a large office, another computer or printer might simply take over. But there was no second computer handling the pension process.
When that one computer stopped, the process stopped with it. The pensioners waited. Some had arrived before the bank opened. Most were over 60 years old. Some had travelled a long way from surrounding villages. Some had crossed the river by boat, while others had travelled by trishaw.
My mother-in-law was 75. Looking around the bank, I began to understand that this was no longer just a computer problem. These elderly people had travelled there to withdraw money they were expecting to take home. After a long journey and hours of waiting, they were now uncertain whether they would receive it at all.
The bank manager and staff tried to solve the problem, but they could not. Eventually, someone said the words everyone wanted to hear. “We need to call a computer technician.”
The technician’s shop was nearby, so he arrived quickly. Hope returned to the room. He sat down at the computer and began working. The bank manager stood beside him. He searched online for the printer driver and installed several different drivers.
Meanwhile, I sat quietly beside my mother-in-law and watched. I was perhaps watching a little more carefully than the other people in the room. After all, I was already a computer teacher, and some of the bank staff were my former students.
One of them came over to me. “Teacher, could you please take a look at the computer?” I told him, “Let the technician try first. If he can’t fix it, I’ll help.” I did not want to interfere. I genuinely believed the technician would solve the problem. So, I waited.
Nearly 30 minutes passed. The technician tried different drivers, but the printer still refused to work. Finally, he told the bank manager that he could not fix the problem. He packed up his things and returned to his shop. The atmosphere in the bank changed almost immediately. The hope that had appeared when the technician arrived began to disappear.
The pensioners looked disappointed. Some of them had travelled a long way. Those who had crossed the river also had another concern. They needed to get back in time for the ferry home. They had already spent hours waiting. Now they faced the possibility of returning without their pension money.
Then I heard a familiar voice from the computer desk. “Teacher! Teacher! Please come and take a look. Can you help us?” It was my former student. I looked up. And then something happened that I will never forget.
One by one, the pensioners turned towards me. For a few seconds, it felt as though every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on me. A moment earlier, I had simply been sitting quietly beside my mother-in-law. Now everyone was waiting for me. For one strange moment, I felt as though I were in a movie. And somehow, I had become the hero.
Of course, inside my head, the “hero” was thinking, “Why is everybody looking at me?” But there was no turning back. I stood up and walked towards the computer. Fortunately, I had a lot of experience installing printer drivers and solving computer problems. I sat down, examined the problem and began working.
Within about five minutes, the printer started working. A sheet of paper came out. My former student saw it and called out excitedly. “The printer is working! The printer is working!” Suddenly, the mood in the bank changed again.
The staff smiled. The pensioners looked relieved. People began talking to one another again, and the bank immediately resumed processing the pension withdrawals. And for a few minutes, I really did feel like the hero in that movie.
The bank manager came over and thanked me. She explained that if the computer had not been fixed, it might have needed to be sent to the IT department at the head office. Sending it there and getting it back could have taken several days. That conversation reminded me of one of the realities of living in a small town.
In a large city, another computer, another technician or another solution may be nearby. In a small town, sometimes there is no immediate alternative. Sometimes, one computer really matters. I told the manager, “No problem. If you have another computer problem, call me and tell me what is wrong. I’ll do my best to help.”
Then I returned to my chair, sat beside my mother-in-law and waited for her turn. I thought the story was over. It wasn’t. After withdrawing their pensions, some of the pensioners came over to me before leaving the bank. “Thank you, my son,” one of them said. Then another came. And another. Many of them said goodbye and thanked me.
Some were relieved that they could return home without being too late. Others were happy because they could still catch the ferry back to their villages. I had only fixed a computer. But for them, it meant they did not have to make the long journey again without their money. Then I looked at the woman sitting beside me.
My mother-in-law had watched everything. She smiled at me. “Good job,” she said. “You helped a lot of people today, including me.” That simple sentence stayed with me. I had not invented a new technology. I had not built a complicated system. I had done something that, because of my experience, was relatively easy for me. It took about five minutes. Yet those five minutes mattered to the people around me.
I felt happy, but more than that, I felt proud, not because I had been the “hero” for a few minutes, but because something I had learned through my career had become useful to other people when they needed it.
That morning changed the way I thought about the meaning of a career. We often associate helping people with certain professions. Doctors save lives. Engineers build the infrastructure on which society depends. IT professionals develop and maintain the technology we use.
But helping people is not limited to a particular profession. A teacher can change a student’s future. A driver can help someone reach an important destination safely. A farmer can feed families. A mechanic can keep someone’s livelihood moving. A shopkeeper can provide something a community needs.
Every honest career has the potential to make someone’s life a little better. Sometimes, we fail to recognize the value of our own skills because we use them every day. Something that feels ordinary to us may be difficult for someone else. Something that takes us five minutes may save another person hours, or even an entire day.
That morning, those pensioners did not need an advanced AI system. They did not need the most powerful computer in the world. They simply needed someone who could make that one computer work again. And on that particular morning, I happened to have the skill they needed.
Since then, when I think about a career, I do not think only about qualifications, income or job titles. I also think about a simple question: How can what I know help the people around me? Perhaps that is a question worth asking, whatever our profession may be.
If possible, do what you love. And if you cannot always do what you love, learn to love what you do. Learn it well. Take pride in it. And when someone needs the skill you have, use it to help. Because on an ordinary morning in a small town, I learned that one computer, five minutes and one helping hand can mean much more than we imagine.
About the Author
Thaw Tar Oo is an IT professional, computer educator and entrepreneur based in Myanaung, Ayeyawady Region, Myanmar. He has operated a KMD Computer Training Centre franchise in Myanaung since 2013 and is the owner of Myat Thuta Computer & Electronic Sales and Service Centre. He holds a master’s degree in Information Technology from INTI International University, Malaysia, and has a strong interest in technology, education and the practical use of IT to support people and local communities.