Khin Hnin Yu - Dream Short Stories

Dream world

Mom

If I could have known from the past, I would have been surprised to see my daughter living the life of a “writer.” A “writer” is not a writer yet, Mom. The word “teacher” still has the characteristic of “being able to teach.” A “writer” can only present the reasons for what is happening. It cannot instruct anyone yet, Mom.

In fact, my mother taught me about life while I was alive, so I am writing to my daughter alone. My daughter has experienced many joys and sorrows in her life. The way she thinks about these joys and sorrows, the way she thinks about them, the way she studies them, the way she analyzes them, is what my mother taught me.

After my mother died, the world became wider, Mom. I really mean it, Mom. As the world became wider, my daughter ran after me, and I was tired of reading and studying. Before, there was only a daughter's role in the designated field of daughter, daughter's ability to dance, and there was no beauty, Mom. When Mom was gone, there were only 12 types of dances. There was a mother's role. There was a father's role as a money-maker. There was a social relationship role. And since I still couldn't stand myself, there was also a student's role called "trying to learn," Mom.

So, my daughter, aren't there many rooms? My daughter, isn't the world spacious? When I say "spacious," I mean "comfortable." In fact, if you live in a large house, you can't describe the comforts and joys of living there.

As for me, I'm participating as a "worker" and the world is as vast as it is beautiful, my dear. The corner is not even narrow.

My mother would assume that my daughter is weak because she can't do her work properly. That's right, mother, in fact, my daughter is weak. She doesn't have the talent. But she can't do it, mother. She doesn't want to do it, but she has to do it.

You can't limit your mind to just trying to make money. You can't limit your mind to just trying to write.

If a family member gets sick again, they have to leave work and run to the doctors. They also get sick one by one, which is pitiful. After my mother is gone, my daughter will have to take care of them, right? Even though I don't have money for treatment, I still have to run around to earn money.

No matter how much I taught my mother about the world and the Dhamma when she was alive, my daughter is not very skilled in the world. Since my Dhamma is not as complete as my mother, my daughter also does not have much patience in her heart. So, just as a mother is good at dealing with the world, my daughter is not good at dealing with it. I cannot follow in my mother's footsteps, mother.

After my mother died, I was so angry inside that I didn't know what to do. My daughter's pride, her insufferable stubbornness, her stubbornness that never wanted to bow down (I mean, I don't want to accept the idea of ​​vanity, my mother always had to do what I had to do), and her fragile, easily volatile mind, no one to control, were there to control her.

In the past, I was brave enough to go through life. No matter what, Mom and Dad were behind me. Now I feel a little sad, Mom. I feel sad thinking about how many mistakes I will make in the future.

And then, when I was old enough, I was always busy with outside work. Whenever I encountered trouble or failed, I would run to my mother, bow my head, and cry. When I lost, I would tell her about my losses and not a single thing. In fact, my mother gave me my worries. My daughter was a very brave and timid girl. She relied on her mother a lot, and she always looked up to her mother. My mother was my confidant, my confidant, my confidant.

Mother would say, “Before my mother passed away, I would have left with my daughter a person who would have been my life’s companion. That’s right, mother. The person my mother left behind was really good. My mother is a very good person. The way she contemplates the world and the Dhamma in her heart is also like my mother’s. My daughter likes the Dhamma in her mind more. But why doesn’t my daughter run to her arms when trouble comes, and why doesn’t she tell me everything she’s lost and won, just like she told her mother?

"We have women," she wanted to answer. It's hard, Mom. Women are really hard. Mom, I don't keep everything hot in my heart. I just throw it away.

My husband, I don't want him to know about my troubles. I don't want him to feel the same way I feel. I hide it, I suppress it, I keep it hidden, I keep it bottled up inside. Don't tell me.

My mother would laugh. She would say that she was a girl who was always busy. "I'll tell you that their husbands know better." When I told her, my mother told me, and my daughter admitted it. Isn't it the same with women, mother? When I was young, my mother had some unpleasant things. I never told my father, right?

Sometimes I think about it carefully. Why do I only tell my boyfriend about happy things and not about my troubles?

My mind immediately responded, "I miss my husband."

That's right. That's right. I don't want to get too emotional. But after that answer, a really specific answer came out. Because "I don't believe it."

If they heard this from their daughter, they would not be able to tolerate men who have to act as "husbands" in the world. They would question whether they are not worthy of being trusted as much as a mother.

Actually, Mom, let me whisper to you, "I really don't trust them."

No matter what a daughter does, no matter what crimes she commits, and in the end, she causes trouble for her mother, if she just rests her head in her mother's lap, her heart melts and she forgives her daughter with an immeasurable love, doesn't it?

Men can't: Mom, even if I don't do anything wrong and bow my knee and cry, if they don't want me, I can't help but run away.

And speaking of troubles, I can't just pour out everything that's hot inside me and say it like my mother said. If I just talk about all the worries and sorrows that I have every day, I'll soon be called "A hot-tempered girl who is very hot-tempered, Mom. Of course, Mom. I've seen my brothers and sisters who ran away. I've seen my sisters who were abandoned.

Because of these reasons, my daughter is very secretive. She doesn't keep anything to herself like she used to. The open and intrusive feelings that she used to have to say out loud have disappeared. I think nature has taught women to be more sensitive.

My daughter's letter is very long, so please be patient and read it, Mom. It's been a long time since I told you. It will be four years since my mother and daughter separated next year, on the full moon of Kason.

So, I'll tell you why I became a writer.

As I walk through the cycle, I feel like my daughter is filled with sorrows and joys. Some things I can't solve. My mother is no longer here, and I don't dare to tell anyone about my inner problems. When I succeed, it doesn't matter. When I lose, there's nothing more satisfying than smiling and hiding my aching heart, Mom. At these times, my daughter wants to lay her head on my mother's lap and cry like she did when she was little, Mom.

My older sister, “Ko” also rarely spends time with her daughter. So, my daughter walked in the footsteps of her mother. One day, my daughter went to a celebration. I thought it was a celebration of a “writer.” At that celebration, “Dr. Chin Aung” said something.

“My dear, fiction is a place where humans can escape and hide. When humans get bored with their real surroundings, they pick up a novel and travel to the world of fiction. They escape from the suffering they are currently experiencing and hide in the world of fiction.”

He said a lot. But this sentence stuck in my mind. When I got home, I kept thinking about it. When I got home, I couldn't stop thanking Dr. Tin Aung. Because this great man had shown me a way out of this suffocating world.

From that day on, my daughter started writing letters. When I was having trouble breathing, when I was feeling overwhelmed and overwhelmed, I started writing letters. When those letters came out as novels, my daughter became a writer. In fact, my daughter ran away from her immediate surroundings and entered the world of writing for a while. When I was writing, Mom, I really forgot about the immediate world. My daughter was happy. So, in the two years that I started writing carefully, my daughter's health improved. Her cheeks started to swell again. There was no longer a time when people were lying in bed like before, Mom.

"When you're done writing, where are you going, my daughter?" the mother might ask. "You've created a world, Mom. You're going to live in that world."

Did your mother's eyes widen? She would be surprised, holding her chest in her hands. Oh, my... she would be surprised. "My daughter created a world," so it's surprising.

That world is a “dream world.” A world created in my imagination, Mom. Walking under the scorching sun before reaching the office, I was sweating profusely. This would not happen if my daughter was tired and exhausted. Could it be that my daughter hated the crowded bus life? So my daughter created the sun rays to be warm.

In the winter, when the sun is warm, the birds and bees fly around happily, right? My daughter imagined that we too would be happy to wander around in the sunshine.

In the evening, when I had to rush back to the teacher's office before class, my stomach was full of hunger. At that time, it was the time when those who could study at the university were finishing their studies, and big cars would pass by my daughter with a loud bang. My daughter was still running home with her school bag on her shoulder.

Looking at all that, my daughter misses big cars and college friends, right? That's impossible, Mom. Such fantasies are called baseless, Mom.

My daughter, if you run quickly to your teacher and study, you will forget about the boring and tiring world. Isn't that good, Mom?

I'll get back to the rain. When it rains, there's nothing more annoying than the rain that falls before I get to the office. No matter how much I wear an umbrella, my whole body gets wet, and when I get to the office, I'm shivering. So, I have to turn the raindrops into raindrops. Suddenly, the raindrops become my friends, and I play happily with them on the street. When the water overflows on the street, I