"They had taken me to my grave. Yet, somehow I woke up. It was some sort of fate."
Scattered throughout the old wooden houses of Mae Sot, Thailand and its districts are safe houses sheltering recovering wounded revolutionary fighters of Myanmar.
In December 2025, I visited one of these safe houses, homing nearly 35 soldiers. It's one of many such houses along the Thai-Myanmar border where young men from the PDF (People's Defence Force) and various ethnic armies recover from war wounds. These young fighters have been wounded by landmines, rocket-propelled grenades (RPG) and sniper fire, burned by the flames of bombs dropped by warplanes and scarred by shrapnel.
Unable to continue fighting, most cannot return home for fear of violent reprisal by the Myanmar military. These refuges become lifelines for the rebellion, but they exist on borrowed time. If Thai police or military discover them, raids arrive swiftly, followed by fines, deportations and ultimate closures.
It’s easy to forget that just five years ago, many of these men had never set foot on a battlefield, nor considered it. The men I met in this safe house were once studying to become lawyers, teachers, business owners, and farmers. But all of that changed following the 2021 military coup in Myanmar.
These safe houses hum with ordinary life. A one-armed man works out in the corner. Another group waits for haircuts. In the courtyard, several boys play chinlone—the Burmese national sport where players stand in a circle, keeping a handwoven rattan ball aloft using only their feet, knees, and head. It’s impressive. Then I noticed the prosthetics. Each player is missing at least one limb. In fact, every boy in this house has lost arms, legs, or both.
A young man beaming with a smile brings his wheelchair beside me, eager to talk. He’s missing half his skull and an arm.
He introduces himself as Tun Khaing. A 27 year old man who was in his second year of a law degree when the 2021 military coup halted everything. He did his best to continue his studies until it became impossible. During and after the coup, he worked for the government in a land surveying sector.
Tun seemed almost guilty admitting this. He stressed to me that he was well aware of the situation and its problems. For the first year after the coup, he wrestled with his decision to stay in the relative security of government work, supporting his family, keeping a chance to finish his degree or join his friends and stand up for what is right. His story reflects how not every decision is black and white. Many people still living under military rule despise the regime but have no choice except to abide by their control. They need an income to survive. OAnd survival means managing the constant threat of execution or imprisonment if they don't show sufficient support to the military. But in choosing the revolution, life doesn't become safer.
I asked him why he continued supporting the revolution behind closed doors and why he eventually took up arms himself. "I fight for democracy," he told me. "I fight for my people. I fight because the military is evil."
In early 2022, while still working for the government, Tun remained in contact with comrades in the revolution and CDM movements, receiving updates and information while extending his support. A dangerous risk to take. Since the coup, over 30,000 people have been detained in Burma—22,000 civilians still imprisoned as political prisoners. The military brutally exercises tight control, jailing journalists, activists, and civilians to suppress opposition. Paranoia runs in their blood. They arrest anyone who gives even a cent or food to a revolutionary, anyone who likes a social media post that hints at criticism of the regime. Eventually, another employee reported Tun.
One morning, knowing he'd been reported, Tun received a phone call from a colleague. His friend asked if he'd left for work yet. Tun said he was about to leave.
"Don't," his friend said. "They're on their way for you now."
The military was coming to arrest him for collaborating with the revolution. Tun left immediately. Within ten minutes, his home was raided.
He escaped to a village in Mon State and joined the revolution under a PDF division. He received military training and took up arms. Eventually, he was moved to the frontline in Hpapun, Karen State—a center of heavy conflict between ethnic revolutionaries and the junta. Hpapun is KNU Brigade 5 territory, once the headquarters of the Karen National Union and Karen National Liberation Army. Since November 2025, the junta has launched a major offensive there, trying to reclaim territory the KNU has seized and prevent the fall of its Tactical Operations Command base.
Tun became commander of his own post, responsible for coordinating attacks and organising his team.
On May 16, 2025, Tun was tasked with contacting another post to begin the battle. But reaching them proved difficult. His soldiers were new with little frontline experience. They kept asking, "How do we get there? I don't know what to do." Tun decided he'd go himself with four experienced comrades.
As they made their way over, Tun heard mortars firing. One landed and exploded right beside them. He felt a massive blow to his head, and while still conscious, he looked down. His left arm was missing.
Tun was rushed to a frontline clinic, then Hpapun Hospital, where he fell into a coma for three weeks. His chances of survival were slim. He told me that his grave had been dug and readied for him. And as they prepared to carry him there, Tun woke. He moved his hands slightly and asked for water.
"They had taken me to my grave. Yet, somehow, I woke up. It was some sort of fate."
Today, he is without 30% of his skull and his left arm. He's relearning how to walk, how to talk. He couldn't recall his own name or identify simple objects. Reading and writing were impossible. But today, he smiles, and he laughs, with sharpness and strength.
When I ask about his future, Tun says he wants to continue his studies one day. But for now, he wants to support the cause. "Because that is the only way a revolution can be won."
We look on, watching the boys continue to play Chinlone. These boys are getting on with life. Resilience. Not by choice, but by necessity. This was never a life they chose.
Story and Photos Evie Jones.
