By Laura Htet (UDE)

THERE is something al­most magical about the idea of a gift. Since child­hood, gifts have been symbols of affection, small treasures that make our eyes light up, and to­kens that seem to hold a piece of someone’s heart. But as life unfolds, we begin to realize that not all gifts are wrapped in bright paper or tied with ribbon. Many of the most powerful gifts are invisible, exchanged quietly in our daily lives: a smile across the room, a patient silence when words could wound, a touch that speaks of comfort, or even a sigh that carries irritation. These are the gifts that truly shape our rela­tionships, for better or for worse.

A gift can be something we embrace with joy, but it can also be something we cannot accept. In love, the sweetest gifts are of­ten the simplest ones. They are the gentle words whispered in a quiet moment, the playful teasing that makes us laugh until our eyes water, the small gestures that say, “I remembered what you like.” A hand reaching out in a crowd­ed place, a note slipped secretly into a bag, or even the act of lis­tening with full attention – these are gifts that cost little yet mean everything. They tell us we are seen, we are valued, we are loved.

But love, like the seasons, changes. Alongside the sweet gifts come others we do not want: impatience, inconsiderate hab­its, selfishness, anger, and cold silences. These are also gifts, though not the kind we welcome. Too often, when we feel uncom­fortable or dissatisfied, we pass on that discomfort as if it were something worth giving. We come home tired, and instead of resting, we let our frustration spill onto the people we love most. It is as if we are saying, “I am in pain, so I will hand this pain to you.”

What happens next depends on us. If we accept that unwanted gift and respond with anger of our own, the fire grows hotter. One sharp word leads to another, and soon both hearts are burning, both hands are scorched. But if we pause and refuse to accept what is harmful, something changes. The toxic gift remains with the giver. Anger, when not met with more anger, loses its fuel. Fire cannot burn without something to consume. A gentle silence or a calm reply can be like cool water poured on flames. In that moment, love becomes not just sweetness, but strength.

This does not mean that a relationship free of problems ex­ists. Every bond will face storms. But peace is not the absence of storms; it is the choice to walk through them together without tearing each other apart. When we learn to give patience instead of irritation, kindness instead of criticism, calm instead of fire, we discover a harmony that does not depend on perfection. It depends on intention.

If we reflect on our own lives, we can remember both kinds of gifts. There are times when we offer warmth, perhaps a gentle word to comfort a friend, or a smile that eases someone’s fear. And then there are the times we handed someone our bitterness – a snapped reply after a long day, or irritation passed onto some­one who had nothing to do with our troubles. Both leave lasting marks, and both remind us how much power we hold in the daily gifts we choose to give.

In truth, every relationship is a constant exchange of gifts. Some heal, others wound. Some are remembered for years, others are quickly regretted. The wisdom lies in choosing carefully what we hand to one another, and in finding the courage not to receive what will only bring harm. A kind word spoken at the right time can carry more weight than a hun­dred apologies offered too late. A single smile can soften anger, while silence chosen wisely can protect peace. These are the gifts that keep love alive, steady even when storms come.

Real love has never been measured by the cost of jewellery or the size of a bouquet. It lives in­stead in the quiet, daily decisions we make: to listen rather than argue, to forgive rather than pun­ish, to give joy rather than sorrow. These choices are invisible to the eye but unforgettable to the heart. They are the steady thread that binds two lives together, even in moments of weakness.

So perhaps we should ask ourselves: What gifts are we giv­ing to those we love? Are we of­fering tenderness or bitterness, patience or complaints, kindness or carelessness? Life will always hand us difficulties we cannot con­trol, but we can always decide what we pass on. When we choose to hand over love instead of anger, calm instead of fire, we create a bond that feels less like a battle­field and more like a sanctuary.

The beauty of love is that it renews itself each day. We may fail one day and hand over the wrong gift, but the next day we can try again. Love does not de­mand perfection. What it asks of us is sincerity, patience, and the willingness to grow. Perhaps the greatest gift of all is refusing to give what wounds and choosing instead to give what heals. Every word we speak, every gesture we make, every silence we hold — these are gifts we place in anoth­er’s hands. What truly matters is that love cannot be measured by the value of gifts, but by the care, attention, and warmth we choose to give one another. True love is powerful – it renews itself every day, quietly, gently, and endlessly.