If you love me,go away to alchol

Evening Shadows and the Bottle It was the slanting hour of dusk. Along a village path, a man walked—singing in a drunken, tuneless voice. Everyone in the village knew him. Not out of admiration, but recognition—he was known only as the village drunkard. "Evening sunshine, evening light—time for a little drink tonight!" "Evening sunshine, evening light—time for a little drink tonight!" The one belting out this off-key song was none other than Win Aung. As he reached the gate of his home, Daw Khin Mar, his wife, called out from inside, already used to his routine, "It’s about that time again. Win Aung, drunk as usual." The moment he stepped into the yard, Win Aung called out, “Khin Mar, Khin Mar, what’s for dinner?” “Nothing’s cooked,” she snapped back. He looked at her and groaned, “But I’m starving…” “There’s something ready. Just eat what's over there. I’ve already picked and prepared it,” she replied, casting a side-eye glance at him. “Heh heh… that’s why I love you,” Win Aung grinned. “And where’s my prince?” “There he is,” she said dryly. “Don’t go disturbing him. He’s studying.” “I know, I know. I’m not that hopeless,” Win Aung muttered. Win Aung had three children: Htet Htet, Lin Soe, and Khant Min. Htet Htet was working in another town. Lin Soe and Khant Min were still students. The eldest and youngest were well-behaved, but Khant Min had a troublesome streak, taking after his father. However, thanks to Daw Khin Mar’s firm guidance, he hadn’t gone astray—yet. Despite his alcoholism, Win Aung had a kind heart. He was generous, good-natured, and genuinely meant well. His home garden was a sight to see—eggplants, basil, scallions, beans, pumpkins, and more. His wide yard was ideal for such variety. He even had a vision: to dig a well for the village. A noble goal, no doubt. He worked toward his goals—but the bottle kept pulling him back. Did he not understand the harm alcohol could do? Had he never seen the young and promising lost too soon to drink? Because of him, Lin Soe, a high school student, had become the subject of mockery: “Hey, look at Win Aung’s boy—quiet and cold, just like his old man!” “If the father’s the role model, of course the kids follow in his footsteps!” “His dad came to buy booze again!” “A drunkard’s son is bound to be a drunkard too!” These were the jabs Lin Soe heard all too often. His face, usually calm and composed, threatened to crumble with silent tears. Lin Soe was a quiet, thoughtful boy. Handsome, with balanced features and a calm demeanor. Even when mocked, he would stay silent, then quietly walk away—causing some to mock him even more out of frustration. But it raises a question: Must a drunkard’s son grow up to be a drunkard? If that were so, must every good man’s child be a saint? The answer, perhaps, lies in the heart of each person. Foolishness resists refinement. Human nature leans toward vice more easily than virtue. Evil weighs little on the conscience. So where does improvement begin? In the mind. In self-control. One evening, Lin Soe walked away from the teasing crowd and sat beneath a tree, his mind clouded with thoughts. His father, passing by, noticed his son's expression. “What’s wrong, son? Are you feeling unwell?” Win Aung asked with concern. Before he could finish, Lin Soe interrupted, “No, nothing’s wrong, Dad. Just a mild headache. I thought some fresh air might help.” “Alright, take care then. I’ll be going,” said Win Aung, about to walk away. “Dad!” Lin Soe suddenly called out. “Yes, son?” “Oh... nothing really. I just wanted to say... take care.” “Of course. You too,” Win Aung replied and walked off. Watching his father disappear into the fading light, tears welled up in Lin Soe’s eyes. A question burned silently in his mind: Between your son and your bottle—whom do you love more, Father? If asked, he believed his father would say “my son.” But if asked to give up the drink…?