My true love-reader digest feb issue

Almost 30 years ago, Khin Khin Lay and I were medical students in the town of Mingaladon, 17 kilometres north of the capital Yangon, then called Rangoon. We were together all the time - attending lectures and tutorial classes, doing laboratory experiments and studying bedside cases.
Khin Khin was an oriental beauty with a fair complexion and black hair. She was vivacious, sociable and smart. I, on the other hand, was quiet, gentle and lonely, having only a few intimate friends. She was constantly wooed by admirers, but I was not among them. My parents were poor and my uncle paid my university fees. Having to meet their expectations, I had no time for romance.
In our final year, she became engaged to a doctor who was just about to go to England for further study.
After our final year, Khin Khin and I became interns at North Okkalarpa General Hospital. The work wasn't as demanding as our studies had been, and we spent more time together. I could feel a profound attachment forming between us, but I also felt uneasy because she had a fiancé.
One day, as we watched a movie together, I lightly touched her hand. To my surprise, she squeezed my fingers. Later, at her sister's apartment in the capital, we fell into each other's arms. "I really love you," I said.
"Me too," she replied.
I returned to my room, thinking many happy days were still ahead. A week later, Khin Khin handed me a letter. "My fiancé is coming back soon," it said. "Though I love you so much, I can't marry you. Let's stay away from each other."

Not long afterwards, Khin Khin married her fiancé. I was shattered - she had taken away my heart, my happiness and my hopes.
After my internship, I opened a private clinic in the capital. But first I returned home to visit my parents. There, I met a teenage girl who lived on the same street. We talked a lot, strolled along the riverbank and went shopping together. I knew that she was just a substitute for Khin Khin, and our affair did not last long. Soon I set off for Rangoon.
I was 26 when I married. A friend had introduced me to Nwe Nwe Oo. She was simple, serene and sweet. I thought I could love her.
We settled in my hometown, built a new house and had three children. But there were problems. My mother often wanted to come over and cook for us, and Nwe Nwe resented her interference. They argued constantly.
The differences between Nwe Nwe and I also grew wider. She felt that my life was being shared with my mother all the time, and I did a poor job of sharing my feelings with her. Over time, it became easier not to talk in any meaningful way.
Whenever I felt down, I would think about Khin Khin. Reminiscing about how happy we were together became my refuge. The years passed, and in 1997 I found Khin Khin's number in the phone book. I called, and we spoke about our families. She had four children, three of whom were living in Australia. Her husband had died three years earlier.
Whenever Nwe Nwe was out, I would call Khin Khin. I could sense her old liveliness and self-confidence in her voice, which filled me with pleasure. She always spoke cheerfully, but she rarely called me first.

I never expected to renew our romance. I simply believed that she was the only woman who could understand me and with whom I could share my thoughts.
We made no effort to see each other because we lived 300 kilometres apart. Also, part of me didn't want to disturb my memory of her as a young woman. Regardless, I harboured a secret wish that one day we would visit our old university and hospital together.
Then I got a call from my long-forgotten teenage sweetheart. She was married and had two children. It was clear she wanted to rekindle our romance. She wanted to meet, but I refused. "I can't forget you," she said. "I think about you every day."
Suddenly, everything became clear - this was exactly how I felt about Khin Khin. I had spent my entire married life dreaming about my first love, even though she didn't love me. In a way, thinking about her had become my daily meditation. Fortunately, there was still time to change.
Nwe Nwe and I had been together 25 years. Had I neglected our marriage for that long? As I became more thoughtful towards her, I realised that our marital disharmony had calmed down. We no longer disagreed about so many things, and hostilities between my wife and my mother had eased.
We started to open up to each other. One night in bed, Nwe Nwe touched my hands and said, "Your hands are soft and smooth. But mine are not, you see?"
It was true. Her palms were coarse and her fingers were calloused, the result of decades of housework. I was filled with regret that I hadn't done more to care for her.

I finally began showing her the love she deserved. On her birthdays, which she had long stopped remembering, I started buying her gifts. Whenever I travelled to Rangoon, I would return with a kimono and other clothes for her.
I have finally woken up from the dreams of my first love. I no longer dwell on the past. Instead, I focus on a meaningful present and am helping to build a prosperous future for our children.
I am sure that I will eventually fulfil my dream of returning to my old university and to the hospital where I was an intern. But it will be with my family. It will be my pleasure to introduce this part of my life to my dear wife and long-neglected children.Although my youthful dreams will never come true, I am finally satisfied with what I have.

isnt it kinda sad and yet touched?... leave a comment....

we have to appreciate wat we have.....
dun let go....
cuz there's no turn back when its too late.

~Miharu~