Burmese naming is different from a lot of the world's. Many people do not carry a surname passed down through the family. Your name is yours — often two or three syllables, chosen for meaning or sound or the day you were born, and not shared with your siblings or your parents. A brother and sister can carry completely unrelated names, and that is normal. It is not a gap. It is a design.
The system works because the titles fill the space that surnames leave open. Ko, Ma, U, Daw — they slot in front of a given name and tell everyone your standing. A surname says which family you came from. The title says where you stand right now. One is a lineage; the other is a relationship. Burmese culture chose the relationship, on purpose, I think, because relationships were what it trusted to stay true.
Abroad, this collides with forms. There is always a first-name box and a last-name box and they must both be filled. So Burmese people end up doing gymnastics: being the first person in their family to have a surname (often whatever their father is called), or letting the system pick one for them. A brother and I end up with different surnames on different documents, and we have to explain it, and the explanation takes longer than the form.
Sometimes I like the fact that my name is only mine. It makes it easier to carry myself wherever I go, unattached to a chain of ancestors I have to live up to in a single syllable. But it also means a part of me is always explaining itself to a box on a screen. That is a small price. My name still means the thing my parents wanted it to mean, and no government form has ever once asked what that is.