When one desires appreciation after countless acts of service and kindness, does that make one selfish?
Ratana, the young warrior of the kingdom of Mandalay, puts herself between harm and the citizens every time a crisis strikes, often with no regard for her own safety and despite the hesitance of her partner, Prince Zeya. But even outside of emergencies, she serves as the prince's confidant, offering emotional support and steady counsel. She formulates prevention tactics and always acts in the best interests of Mandalay. In an actively failing kingdom, with an absent king and a preoccupied young prince, Ratana is at the front lines. At first, the lack of acknowledgement for her efforts does not deter her.
Facing the threats that Mandalay is subjected to, from the forces of weather and environment alike, Ratana does not question her duty or her role as a warrior. If anything, those threats only underscore the necessity of people like her. In a vulnerable and starving community, Mandalay is already weak even in the absence of calamity, and Ratana is most aware of this. She does not act only on the conventional definition of a warrior as someone who defends and fights. She performs an entirely different facet of the role as well, one who protects and tends. Even beyond duty, she serves as her lover's confidant in his various woes and offers honest insight into decisions concerning the kingdom.
One might say there should be no expectation of something in return, for it is her duty. But by that same logic, there is also no obligation for Ratana to go beyond it. Every day, she chooses Mandalay over her own safety, not simply because she is a warrior, but because of her deep love for the kingdom. Despite countless adversities, Ratana believes there is something worth saving in Mandalay, and that belief, in itself, is an act of kindness.
As the story progresses, we witness the gradual weakening of her belief in herself and in her capacity to help. In a moment of great vulnerability, Ratana admits: "I'm jealous of the fact that people appreciate you and they look at you like you matter. I realized I don't deserve people's appreciation. I'm just another violent warrior who people can't trust." These words of self-doubt rise from an accumulation of silence, unmet expectations, and a persistent absence of gratitude from those around her. The breaking point comes after a misunderstanding with her lover and an unplanned spar with a friend. During her reconciliation with the prince, he acknowledges her care for the people of Mandalay, and Ratana admits, privately, that she wanted people to like her the way the prince does. Beyond love, she wanted their recognition, their respect, and their trust.
The power of kindness and service does not diminish in the absence of a witness or acknowledgment. Nor does it grow greater in the presence of praise. What remains constant is the selfless reality of a heart that chose to help, to serve, and to protect those most vulnerable in a crisis. Ratana, always the first to run toward the people and think of their plight, does not pause in the moment to consider what recognition her actions might earn. What matters to her is getting people out of danger. And yet, a heart as generous as hers still needs the quiet assurance that, should the tides turn and she be the one facing danger, she would receive the same care she has so freely given. Love, respect, recognition, and trust are reciprocal. Without that exchange, service alone remains incomplete. The desire for appreciation is not a symptom of selfishness. It is a call for community.
Time and time again, Ratana shows us that kindness is inexhaustible and requires no recompense. But even someone as generous as she is second-guesses herself in silence. There is a Ratana in every person who acts beyond their role out of dedication, whether in customer service, among students, or among employees. No one is required to perform beyond what is expected of them, and yet many choose to, out of love for something they care about deeply: a family, a friendship, a future they are building, or simply themselves. The Princess of Himmapan teaches us the value of acknowledgment and sincere gratitude. A simple "thank you" may feel small, but even the weight of its echo leaves a clear and lasting impression on the heart.
By Catherine Fangon