Myat Nyein - Find the answer in your heart

In the morning, my mother stood in the garden for a long time, looking at her daughter's rose bush. The weather had passed well into autumn. Although the other plants had withered and died, her daughter's rose bush was still standing tall and strong. It was still blooming brightly and red.

Do you remember the day you planted that little rose? My daughter was only ten years old at the time. And the story of the golden prince that my mother had given her for passing the exam had captivated her. My daughter's favorite characters were the little rose and the big wolf. But my daughter didn't like the "big tree", the big snake and the little spiders who were riding on the wind and walking around in one piece. So in the morning, while eating breakfast, my daughter said, "Mom, I want a rose." My mother told me about the big rose bushes in the yard , and my daughter said, "I want a rose that belongs to me forever. I want to grow that plant until it grows big and tall, Mom ."

In fact, my daughter didn't just want a rose, she also wanted a wolf. But instead of asking for something impossible with her childish wits, she asked for something that would be easy to get. After agreeing to buy a rose, how could my mother refuse to give me a wolf? After much discussion, they finally settled on a dog.

The night before the dog was bought, my daughter had not slept a wink. Every half hour, she would knock on my mother's bedroom door and tell me that she couldn't sleep. It was not even seven in the morning, and my daughter had already had breakfast. She had taken a shower, got dressed, put on a coat, and sat down on the armchair, waiting for my mother. At half past eight, my granddaughter arrived in front of the dog kennels. The dog kennels were not open yet. My daughter looked through the bars and asked in a worried tone, " How can I tell which dog is yours? " So my mother encouraged her not to worry, and to remember how the golden prince trained the wolf to be tame.

My granddaughter went to the kennels for three days in a row. There were over two hundred dogs in total. Did she want to see every single one of them? She stood motionless in front of each kennel, the dogs climbing up the iron bars, jumping up and down, barking, and scratching and tearing at the iron bars. Even so, the woman in charge of the kennels, who was not moving, came with her mother. She showed her the most beautiful dogs to help her choose. She thought she was normal.

" Don't you like the long-haired, floppy-eared dog? Or maybe the little sheepdog?"

The only response from the daughter was a "Hang" sound. Then, ignoring what the woman said, she continued walking.

It was only on the third day of our dog hunt that we finally found our beloved "Bat." The backyard where the dogs were kept was filled with treats.

We found him inside. When we got to the front yard, he didn't come running to us like the other dogs, but just sat there. He couldn't even lift his head to look at us.

"That boy," the girl said, pointing. " That's the dog I want."

Do you remember the look on the woman's face, astonished. She couldn't understand why her daughter would want such a cute puppy. Could she blame her for being so surprised? Butt was one of the smallest dogs people had ever seen. His head was like a German shepherd's head. His ears were floppy and drooping. He had a long, long neck, sharp claws, and a flat nose. He had the red and black markings that Dobermans have. When we went to our grandmother's office to sign the papers, the girl there told her the story of Butt. He had been thrown from a car last spring, and his back leg had been amputated.

As Mother was writing, Bat came to Mother's feet, sighing heavily, and nuzzled her feet with his nose. His face and ears were almost completely white, and the webbing over his eyes, which is common in dogs, had been there for a long time. Mother was very moved to see this boy. Being with this boy was like being with a part of her daughter. That part was the part of Mother that she loved the most. That part was the part that had chosen the most pitiful and ugly puppy out of more than two hundred dogs many years ago.

For the past few months, I have been wandering aimlessly in the big house, and all the misunderstandings and anger that had developed during the years that our two grandchildren lived together have disappeared. Now, the one who is dear to my mother is my daughter. A fragile, weak, and confused little girl. Now, I am writing to that little girl. I am not writing to a girl who is arrogant and does not accept any criticism from her.

My daughter's little rosebud is urging me to write this. This morning, as I was walking past her, the little rosebud said, "Take out your mother's writing paper and write to her."

I don't forget that we agreed not to write to each other. I have to respect this agreement, but I don't really want to follow it.

These pages will not go to America on their own, and if my daughter is no longer alive when she returns here, these pages will be there to welcome her.

Do you know why I'm telling you this? Because about a month ago, I got seriously ill for the first time in my life. So, in another six or seven months, I'm not going to be there to open the door for my daughter, to give her a hug. I have to take this into account. A friend once told me. When a healthy person gets sick, they often become very upset and irritable. That's what happened to me.

One morning. While I was watering the roses, it suddenly went dark, as if someone had turned off the light switch. If Mr. Razman's wife hadn't seen my mother through the fence, she would have been an orphan by now. Well, an orphan? Is that the correct way to call someone who has passed away? My mother doesn't know exactly. Maybe grandparents don't have a specific word to use when they die because they are no longer important. When grandparents die, it's not like we are left with orphans. What is the difference between grandparents and us? We are so forgetful that we forget our umbrellas on the side of the road.

When she regained consciousness in the hospital, she couldn't remember anything. Before she could open her eyes, she felt a strange sensation. Her lips seemed to have grown long, like cat's whiskers. When she opened her eyes, she saw two small plastic tubes running from her lips to her nose. There were strange devices around her body. After a few days, she was transferred to a normal ward with two other patients. One night, Mr. Raman and his wife came. They told her, "Your dog is your life. The way this dog barks is so loud."

The next day, after my mother was allowed to sit up, a young doctor whom I had seen many times while checking on patients entered the room. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to my mother's bed .

"Without close relatives to look after her and help her make decisions, I'll have to speak openly to her."

' he began. While he was talking, my mother was watching him speak instead of listening to him. Her lips were thin, you know, and my mother was a thin-lipped person who never looked at people. According to him, my mother's condition was so bad that she couldn't go home. So she was going to a nursing home. He mentioned two or three nursing homes that had all the equipment to care for patients . But I think he was watching my mother's expression, because she was speaking in a hurry.

" Don't think of the nursing homes I'm talking about as the old people's homes of the past. The nursing home is different in every way. With rooms that get sunlight, and large gardens to walk around in."

So my mother asked, " Sir, do you know a little about the Eskimos?"

“Oh, I know,” he said, standing up. “Then it’s over. If Daw Gyi has to die, she intends to die the same way they did.”

He didn't seem to understand what Mama said. So Mama added.

' I would rather die lying face down among the pots and pans in Daw Gyi's kitchen than have to live on a bed in a clean, white-painted room for another year.'

He was already walking towards the door. But before he could leave the door and disappear from sight, he turned around. A wicked smile appeared on his face.

"' A lot of people say that. But in the end, they come running back here. They're scared and they're begging for you to look after them."

Three days later, I signed some papers and left the hospital. The forms they asked me to sign were ridiculous. They said I was signing to acknowledge that if my mother died, she would be the one responsible. I signed the papers and handed them to a nurse with a big earring on her tiny head. I put my mother's few belongings in a plastic bag. I walked out to the taxi stand.

When he saw Mom at the park gate, the dog started running around like a crazy little dog. He also started barking non-stop to show his happiness. He ran around and barked non-stop, destroying two flower beds. This time Mom didn't feel like scolding him. His whole beak was covered in mud and he came closer to Mom.

"Now, old friends, we are reunited again."

Hide,

I said. Then I rubbed the back of his ears.

After that day, my mother did nothing, or did very little. Since she was sick, the left side of her body had become very weak. Especially her left hand was very weak. She could not bear to give up on this weakness. So she used her left hand more than the other. She tied a red ribbon around her left wrist. This way, when she reached for something, she would remember to use her left hand instead of her right . As long as our body parts were working properly, we did not realize how dangerous our body parts could be. But if we were to lose consciousness and become defenseless, we would be the ones who would suffer.

So, after realizing that my mother was no longer the same, I gave Walter's wife a set of keys. She came into the house every day to check on my mother and buy her some things she needed.

As I walked around the house and the yard, I kept thinking about my daughter. It became an obsession, I wondered. So I went to the telephone several times. I picked up the speakerphone. With the intention of calling my daughter. But every time I picked it up and reached the telephone exchange, I erased my original thought. At first, I sat on my mother's armchair. There was nothing in front of me. It was empty. There was no sound around me. Silence. I kept asking myself one question. What should I do to make it the best? Yes, to make it the best, as usual, for my daughter. Not for my mother. Not for my mother. It would be better if my daughter was near me when she left this world. My mother knew that if she told her daughter that she was sick, she would cancel her plans to stay in America and come home.

But what will happen after that? What if my mother lives for another three or four years? My mother may be in a wheelchair. She may be mentally disabled. During that time, my daughter will have to take care of my mother as she is responsible for her. She will try to fulfill this responsibility with full dedication. But when the time comes, my daughter's dedication will turn into anger and bitterness. As the years pass, bitterness will grow. And my daughter's childhood will be wasted. My mother's love for her daughter will not be what she wants her mother to be, but will force her daughter into a blind alley. That is the reason why my mother does not call her daughter, but she wants her.

But the voice objected to the phone call, and soon after, my mother decided that it was the right thing to do.

The old woman thought. Her daughter opened the front door. At that moment, instead of facing the old woman and the cat running towards her, how would she feel if she were to face a long-dormant house that had been abandoned for so long? Could there be anything more painful than a journey home with no one to greet her?

Now, what if a telegram came to my daughter informing her that her mother had died? Wouldn't she interpret this as an act of betrayal? Wouldn't she think that her mother was born with a malicious intent? In the past