Thump… thump… thump… My heart pounded. I didn’t think - I just acted. A chill ran through me, but then warmth followed. I was calm now. The last money I saved was spent as I believed. You can judge what kind of human I am, but it is not that important. Every night before sleeping, I dreamed of her. My daughter. She would be who I never was. She is stronger than any of my generation before. I had two wishes for her.
I grew up in small, white-painted, one-story houses made of mud bricks. Blue windows are a personal touch for these typical Kazakh village houses surrounded by the infinite steppe. Why blue windows, you are wondering? Well, they were believed to bring good fortune and keep away insects. These houses were connected to an attached barn to keep all the livestock. Summer was windy, and I could feel all the freedom that the steppe gave. Imagine you are in the middle of nowhere! You are free now, standing among thousands of red tulips looking toward the sun. Imagine feeling the legacy of the past - the spirit of ancestors who were also free. I am Kazakh, a free man.
I had dreams, like every free man would have. I was not an artist, even though I had always wished to paint. I needed only two colors to show the sun and the sky. Or red tulips on a background of steppe? Or grasslands at night? I showed my early paintings to the only people I had: my mother and father. Once they saw my art, it became just paper with graphite to them. They wished I was a successful herder, like them. But who was I in reality? A disappointment. Not to myself. But to them. In my mind, I stood beside Abilkhan Kasteev, the greatest painter of Kazakhstan. The steppe was endless, open, and free. Yet inside my small home, my dreams felt caged.
My twenties became my eighties as swiftly as sheep scattered across the steppe. I could not even keep up with my thoughts. You ride and ride a horse, then you eat, and after that, you sleep. My life went by fast. Life never waited. And the view never changed. However, I was lucky. Or not?
I worked very hard from my early years, and somehow, I developed inner strength - my character. That inner strength allowed me to make the right decisions at the right time. Nevertheless, my wife impacted my life as my parents never did. The word “stranger” had a different meaning from then on. She was my inspiration for the next piece of art. When she gave birth to my daughter, I was the first person on the moon. “Ai” in Ailin means moon, and I did not make a mistake in choosing her name.
Raising Ailin was a challenging task. Not that she was bustling or anything… It was not important to me. Our village had very little to offer. Yes, my love was stronger than any challenges. Yes, I worked on multiple pastures. I tried to be grateful for what I had and not ungrateful for what I never had. But I wanted to give her the whole world instead of just the village.
As I said, time goes very fast, and my little daughter is now someone’s employee. She does her job of selling groceries exceptionally well. But borders are not set. She should be standing in front of her piece of art with pride, instead of that rusty cash register. After each working day, I see her painting in a notebook. All of her room’s walls are filled with pieces of exceptional art. She has a burning desire within her. Wasn’t that the only thing that mattered? She mainly draws birds or butterflies. I understand why.
It was my last session with the doctor. I am not sure if he was a professional, but he was the only one in our small village. I had known him for the last couple of years. Last year, he gave me six months to live. “You should go to the capital and be hospitalized,” he said. “But it would cost as much as our whole house and all our livestock,” I said.
The road home was longer than I thought. When you think about what matters, time slows down. It happened to me a few times before. This time was an exception. I was feeling cold. Even though it was summer, inside me, it was a snowfall. Right now, my life moments were snowflakes falling from the clouds of memories. I was standing there in the middle of the deep snow, extending my hand into the sky. A few snowflakes fell on my hand and immediately vanished. Suddenly, my free hand turned into a fist. Perhaps I didn’t want the snowflakes to disappear. I wanted to seize them again.
My life was a routine. Every day, my parents wanted me to do one thing. But my daughter won’t follow my path. She will be greater than me. I approached home from a very long road.
I had savings in my closet. And I did it. It was not a thought; it was an immediate decision. My little connections built up over the last thirty years helped me buy an easel and a color palette delivered from the capital as a nice present. I added the message, “The palette is in your hands now,” on a small card and pinned it to the easel.
I had one last wish left. What I wanted to see was the spark in her eyes and her smile. But I couldn’t. For the first time in my life, I failed.
Could I be her sun, giving light to my moon?
It was my last wish in this life.