Dear Mum,
The room was enveloped in a profound, unshakable silence. In the blue-hued labor room, you lay on the edge of despair, your arms grasping at the brink of hope. This was your seventh battle between life and death. It was a treacherous ordeal, fraught with the uncertainty of time, with each moment threatening to sever the delicate thread of your existence.
Dad hurried down the hills to a monastery, seeking blessings from the local deities for a favorable outcome. Meanwhile, the eldest of my sisters kept you nourished with warm porridge, providing you with a bit of energy as you continued to bring me into the world. In the end, amidst all the hopes and prayers, the gods smiled upon us.
When I was born, a cry of joy echoed through the sterile hospital. "It's a son," my sister exclaimed with tears of happiness. At that moment, she placed a kiss of triumph on my tiny forehead and helped me open my eyes to the beauty of the world. I felt the same warmth and joy that you must have experienced, knowing that your seventh birth had succeeded.
That poignant moment transformed into a celebration, like witnessing cherry blossoms after a long winter. It was a time of hope and fulfillment.
Mum, you might not realize that your son is not a skilled writer, nor do you know that I jot down my thoughts here. But if you happen to read these words, I want you to know that you are the most perfect creation of the gods, now and always.
As I navigate through the busy pace of life, I regret that I cannot repay you fully for the warmth and love you gave me. The sacrifices and pain you endured, the labor you went through, and the years you spent raising me are etched in my heart and soul. I continually pray for your health, happiness, and inner peace.
My love for you will endure as long as the stars shine in the sky.
With all my love,
Tashi
