When the House Falls: A Parable of Neglect, Termites, and Human Nature

By Khin Maung Myint

 

IN THE traditional villag­es of Myanmar, where time moves with the rhythm of monsoon winds and teak houses stand tall on stilts like sentinels of heritage, there lies a quiet wisdom in wood and roof. These elevat­ed homes, crafted from durable teak and capped with corrugated galvanized iron, are not merely shelters — they are legacies of an­cestral knowledge and practical ingenuity. But even the strongest timber is vulnerable to what lies beneath the surface.

 

Termites — silent, unseen, and systematic — can reduce the mightiest house to splinters. They do not announce themselves with noise or spectacle; rather, they work in secrecy, turning solid foundations into fragile illusions. And here begins a tale that tran­scends carpentry, becoming an allegory of human behaviour, responsibility, and the perennial tendency to blame the symptom rather than confront the cause.

 

Let us imagine the homeown­er. At first, he notices small signs: faint dust near the stilts, soft spots on the floor, a hollow knock where there once was strength. He is advised, gently and repeatedly, to treat the wood — to apply deter­rents, to protect his property, to act before damage becomes dis­aster. But he shrugs. “The house still stands,” he says. “There is no fire, no storm, no urgency.”

 

Procrastination, after all, is the silent cousin of decay.

 

So, the termites continue — as is their nature — until one day, with a groan and a crash, the house collapses. And now, the homeowner, standing in the rubble of what once was proud architecture, erupts with anger. He curses the termites. He calls them invaders, demons, destroy­ers of dreams. He stomps in the ashes and weeps for what has been taken from him.

 

But nowhere in his lament does he mention his own inaction.

 

As the Burmese proverb warns:

 

“Don’t blame the thorns if you walk barefoot.”

This is not a story about in­sects. This is a story about us — about how individuals, insti­tutions, and even entire societies allow rot to fester beneath the surface while preserving the illu­sion of strength. It is about how we ignore early signs of dysfunction, hoping problems will disappear if we simply refuse to look at them long enough.

 

And when collapse finally comes — be it in governance, fam­ily, environment, or public health — the blame is cast outward: on the ‘termites’, on the forces we failed to manage, on anything but ourselves.

 

There is a second, darker path. In some versions of the tale, the homeowner, driven mad by de­nial and fury, sets his own house on fire — not to kill the termites, but to punish them. The flames take everything: pests, planks, and pride. And in the smouldering ruin, the man screams at what was done to him, not what was allowed by him.

 

This, too, is human nature — the self-destructive vengeance born from avoiding accountabili­ty. And it teaches us yet another proverb:

 

“He who refuses to mend a crack will one day rebuild the wall.”

 

The wisdom of stilt hous­es is not just architectural. It is philosophical. They are built to withstand floods and pests, but only if properly maintained. Their strength lies not only in the qual­ity of teak or steel, but in the vig­ilance of the caretaker.

 

So, let this parable serve as more than a cautionary tale. Let it remind us that damage does not begin with collapse – it begins with silence. It begins when we see the signs but do not act. And no curse upon the termites can undo what neglect has allowed.

 

Because in the end, the ter­mites do not lie. They only con­sume what we leave unguarded.