There are some things about me that not many people know. But today, I decided to share one of them with anyone reading this.
It might sound strange. Maybe even stupid. But it is true.
I have never really lived for myself.
It took me a long time to understand why that felt normal to me.
The answer was always:
My mom.
When I try to say what she went through, it sounds unreal. Like a story someone else told me.
Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried and left. She grew up with relatives who did not treat her like family. She learned early that life was about getting through, not about being cared for.
She woke at five every morning. She washed dishes, folded clothes until her hands were sore, helped in the family restaurant. She did work too heavy for a child. She was not paid. She was not thanked.
At grade 5 she moved to her father's city, but things did not change. Her mother-in-law didn't treat her nicely. She learned to be quiet so she would not be noticed.
By grade 10 everything narrowed to one exam. In Myanmar, that exam decided futures. Most kids had tutors. My mom had almost nothing. She can barely afford for her clothes. She asked her father for money to attend a class and he sent just enough for one subject.
She had no time to study. If she stopped to learn, she would be scolded for not working. The exam came closer and she felt she had not learned a thing.
So she did something stubborn and simple.
She stopped sleeping.
She broke her bed so she would not lie down. She studied at the table, sleeping in the chair. For three months she kept that rhythm. When results came, she passed with flying colors in math and Myanmar.
But university cost was too high. She had to stop.
She learned to fight and then to stop. That pattern lived in her long after the exam.
There are more stories like this. Too many. If I wrote them all, this piece would be endless.
She used to cry at night. Her childhood was full of small violences and empty promises. She did not know comfort. She did not know love in the way most people mean it.
She had nothing. Yet she gave me everything she had never had.
She never compared me. She never said I was not enough. When I failed, she believed. When I felt useless, she listened. When I was tired of everything, she sat with me and did not try to fix it. She just stayed.
When no one believed in me, my mom did.
She loved me unconditionally. Whether I was a good person or a bad person, it did not matter. She loved me simply because I am her son. The more I realize this, the more I am truly thankful. The more I understand how lucky I am to have this kind of mother.
One ordinary evening, we were going home.
It was quiet. She said something very small and then looked away.
"You were never a burden," she said.
"Having you is the best thing in my life."
"My life is messy, but you are why I keep going."
She thanked me for being her son. She said I was the only good thing in her life.
I am not someone who cries easily. But I held myself so hard that day, trying not to let the tears out.
I still feel that moment when I think about it.
She has worked her whole life. Work became the shape of her days. She almost never takes a day off. Even when she is sick, she goes to work because bills do not wait for health.
Every time I see that, I hate it. I hate it from my heart. Seeing her leave for work when she is weak hurts in a way I cannot explain.
I do not want her to work like this. I want her to rest. I want her to know the small pleasures she missed.
And then I notice myself.
The more I hate seeing her working, the harder I push myself. Slowly, I became like her.
In the last few years I can count the days I did not work on one hand. I work when I am sick. I work when I am burned out. I push until I break sometimes. I do this not for myself, but for one reason only: my mom.
She never pushed me to be better. She never forced me to succeed. She just believed in me. Even when I did not believe in myself.
That belief changed me more than pressure ever could.
You can take everything from me. As long as I have my mom, I promise you will never see me give up.
This photo was taken in the hospital, during the hardest week of our lives.
I know one day she will be gone.
When I think about that, I feel lost. I do not know what my life would be without her. I do not know why I would keep pushing if she is not there.
I do not have an answer. Not yet.
I love my mom more than anything.
I am not writing this to teach anyone or to inspire and most importantly, I am not trying to look like a good person or someone who works hard.
I am writing this to honor all the sacrifices that my mother made for me.
Happy birthday, mom. I am the luckiest to have you. ❤️