It's raining every day now in Myanmar, very heavily; monsoon season has clearly arrived. It's not the gentle rain we're used to at home - more like someone tipping a bucket of water over your head. I can't help but think of people stuck outside in this rain with no shelter and it pushes you to do more.

Since I came back from the delta, I've been very busy in the office and we've had more staff join the emergency programme. It's very easy to get caught up in the detail of budgets, proposals, warehouses, planes, cars and procurement, and forget that a line on a budget sheet represents a village that CARE is helping, that it represents a person and their family. The sound of the rain reminds you of this.

Along with the rain, you can't ignore the sounds of chain saws, as slowly all of the trees in Yangon that were ripped down by the cyclone are being cut up and carted away. People tell me Yangon used to be a green city and there were trees everywhere, but that's not the case any more.

We've just had the one month commemoration (using the Buddhist Calendar) of the day of the cyclone. Everywhere I went that weekend I could hear the sound of the monks chanting; it was a peaceful sound, sad but not upsetting. People said they felt comforted by ceremonies like this.

It's been difficult to hear the stories from the field. As CARE staff distribute food and other items in the villages, they are meeting people who have been so incredibly traumatised by what they have gone through. Some people are unable to speak; others have difficulty sleeping because they still remember how terrifying the cyclone was.

People can rebuild their houses, repair their schools, mend their fishing nets and start planting rice again but it takes a lot longer for them to forget their fear. It's something that makes you feel so frustrated because we can't take that away.

Many people will never find their family members. They are assuming that they have died and that they will never find their bodies. This is so unspeakably sad.

When my Dad passed away a few years ago I remember how important the rituals were, the funeral, being able to say goodbye. To not know what has happened to your wife or to your child and not even be able to say goodbye and honour them with a ceremony is a terrible position to be in.

Amid all this heartache, however, there are so many inspiring stories. Ordinary Myanmar people are helping each other.

There is a cafe near the office where I go to have a coffee. It's a very little place, nothing special (and actually the coffee isn't that great) but a good place to escape. The other day I was in there with a colleague and we saw a lot of plastic bags full of bread piled on the counter.

We asked the owner what he was doing and he replied that this was for the people affected by the cyclone. He has been loading up his car every other day and driving down to the delta, a round trip of over 200 km to hand over food to a Buddhist monastery.

The monks there have been caring for people displaced by the cyclone. We asked if he had a family connection to the area and he said no. But then he thought about it and said: "Well, at the end, those people are my brothers and sisters too, as much as my family here in Yangon."

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