I happened to be at Bugis Junction about a week ago and was waiting for my friend. As I waited for his arrival, I just sat down beside the fountain listening to songs serenading out from my MP5. This fountain always had throngs of children frolicking in the water and that day was no exception. Yet another revelation was to be bestowed upon me from an everyday scene.
As the children that ranged from toddlers to primary school age ran in and out of the fountain, their laughter resonated throughout the air. They did not bother whether their clothes were wet or whether they would slip and fall. All they were interested in was the happiness that moment could give them. As I fixated my gaze on these little children, I subconsciously started to smile to myself. Just as I started to think I was being silly, I looked around and found that I wasn't an exception. Everyone was smiling and laughing at the children including foreigners who walked past. I knew laughter was contagious but I never knew it could be on such a large scale.
What everyone saw was an innocence that was left behind when they grew up and it was this innocence that thrilled them. After we have grown up, how many of us would be willing to run in and out of the fountain being drenched and risking the looks of others. When we become too conscious of how others view us, we are no longer willing to reach out for simple things that promise simple happiness. I'm glad I've seen this innocence and though I know I have sacrificed it for growing up, its still heartening to see its manifestation on others.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
One and a half weeks without Mum
Mum just flew off today to US for her annual GSTA meeting. She'll be gone for one and a half weeks. Though I didn't send her off, I wrote her a note reminding her to bring her boarding pass and passport and to take care. The greatest present she could give me for this trip was to be back safe and healthy. Yup, that's all I hope for.
Haven't been in the mood for writing for some time or partially it is the lack of inspiration. I don't like to write for the sake of writing. If I want to write a story, it must be one that touches me so if inspiration doesn't want to bestow its grace on me I'll put writing on hold. Maybe I'll just update how I'm doing in the mean while.
Hmm... Jin-E's birthday is coming up so I'm going on a date with him this upcoming Monday (I know it sounds wrong but I like to use the word date when I go out with anyone be it friend or family). Haha.. he still doesn't know it is for his birthday. He must be wondering why I suddenly ask him out after so long of lost contact. Hopefully everything turns out right, haven't seen him since the last section gathering. Then there is Yu Heng's birthday in November but that is alright.. Hahaha.. Afterall it is not as though I haven't heard his voice for ages.. though not of my own choice.. Haha.. I'll see about that then.. Afterall, it is only September..
Haven't been in the mood for writing for some time or partially it is the lack of inspiration. I don't like to write for the sake of writing. If I want to write a story, it must be one that touches me so if inspiration doesn't want to bestow its grace on me I'll put writing on hold. Maybe I'll just update how I'm doing in the mean while.
Hmm... Jin-E's birthday is coming up so I'm going on a date with him this upcoming Monday (I know it sounds wrong but I like to use the word date when I go out with anyone be it friend or family). Haha.. he still doesn't know it is for his birthday. He must be wondering why I suddenly ask him out after so long of lost contact. Hopefully everything turns out right, haven't seen him since the last section gathering. Then there is Yu Heng's birthday in November but that is alright.. Hahaha.. Afterall it is not as though I haven't heard his voice for ages.. though not of my own choice.. Haha.. I'll see about that then.. Afterall, it is only September..
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Painful chapter
Before I start my next string of ramblings, I would just like to say thanks to everybody who fortunately or unfortunately chances upon my blog and takes some of their time to read it. Though this is more of a platform for me to relief myself of my emotions, I still hope my writings can to a small extent be part of your life. I just added a counter at the side to keep track of how many people pass by but just ignore it. Also, I added my picture not to make the blog prettier (I know I don't look nice) but to let anybody who chances upon this blog at least know who I am. Well, on to my next story.
Rather than say what follows is a story, I would prefer to call it a chapter simply because it is a chapter in my life-book. I have said excerpts from this chapter a few times before on this blog but never the whole of it so I thought it would be good if I could come clean with it. To me, it is the most painful chapter in my life even till now or metaphorically as a human, it is the biggest wound I have that festers even up till today. This chapter is about my paternal grandmother or more affectionately known as Ah Ma.
From the time I was born, I was brought up by my paternal grandmother. My earliest childhood memories were of myself at my grandmother's house playing around with my other cousins. This arrangement was most probably due to my parents' busy work schedule and as such I was given the chance to grow up under the care of Ah Ma. My grandmother wasn't young already then and taking care of a baby was definitely not a easy task. To add on to her burden, I was born not only an extremely mischievous child but also an extremely sickly child. I couldn't eat sweets, chocolates, ice-cream or any cold drinks or you would see a kid coughing so badly you thought he was afflicted with tuberculosis. When I slept, I could not turn on the fans or aircon and had to place a pillow over my chest to keep it warm on top of a blanket. I can't even keep track of how many times I had seen a doctor during my childhood for cough. All this carried on even till my primary school days.
Well, back to where I trailed off ... yes, imagine an old lady looking after a toddler like this. I cannot imagine how much of a burden I was to her during my childhood years. Yet I never once heard her complain that I was a burden to her. She always held that caring and kind expression and looked upon me as though I was her greatest treasure. I just had to say I like popiah and the next day she would trudge down to the wet market and buy bags of ingredients back to make so much popiah my entire family had to eat it for three meals everyday for a week. I even ungratefully used to complain that she was always overdoing it but this was all her way of showing how much she loved me. I was just SOO childish then. I really didn't see it this way, the way I should have seen it.
She loved to make blankets for my entire family. She would often bring me along to a cloth shop and buy bolts of cloth. Then she would cut them up into triangles and sew them back together into a beautiful masterpiece. This would then be sewed onto a piece of velvet and they would be the perfect thing to shield us from the cold. As we used the blankets, they became softer and softer and that made them all the more nicer to use. Each blanket spoke of her hard work, her care for us and her love. All these old blankets were thrown away when I moved house as they were all tattered and torn and how I wish I had left one behind.
Continuing on, my grandma slowly became sickly when I entered primary school. I didn't know what she was down with then. All I knew was that she was sick and as such I rarely got to see her. I knew she was in the hospital often yet I was never brought there to visit her. Then, one faithful day when I was 10 years old, my mum told me that grandma had passed away. At that very instant, I actually didn't feel anything. Maybe it was because I hadn't seen grandma for too long and her sudden absence didn't make any difference. I just acknowledged this reality and prepared myself to attend her wake.
I remember her wake was held at a void deck and when I arrived, I saw some of my cousins sitting on chairs wiping their tears. I thought to myself then that there was really no need to cry so much. However, the greatest mockery happened within minutes as I walked over to the coffin to look at my grandma's body. As I saw grandma's pale body resting inside the coffin, tears just instinctively started dropping. There was no feeling of sadness yet I didn't know why I was crying. Just minutes ago I was thinking that my cousins were over-reacting yet then I was crying uncontrollably. For that day, everytime the image of grandma's body passed through my mind, the tears would magically appear from thin air and make their way down my cheeks.
Yet kids are still kids and they recover very quickly. The next day I was up and cheery again even playing carom with my cousins as the wake grew "boring" for me. My aunt then walked over to me and passed me a bowl of spare ribs cooked in some reddish-black sauce and told me to eat up. To be frank, I never really liked spare ribs but I don't know why they had the impression that I did. However, I had to be polite so I just gave the excuse that I was full and pushed the bowl to my dad. My aunt firmly intercepted the bowl and returned it before me. She told me gently yet firmly that my grandma's last wish on her death bed was to have been able to cook this spare ribs for me one more time. She didn't manage to realise her wish and so my aunt completed it on her behalf.
My mind went blank at that moment. You must know, my grandma had 7 children and 15 grandchildren and there could be 101 things she wanted to do. Yet her last wish was simply to be able to cook this bowl of spare ribs not for anybody else but for her most mischievous and unfilial grandchild. All she wanted to do was but to make me happy in a way she thought I would be even if I didn't like eating spare ribs. I quietly pulled over the bowl and bit into the spare ribs which were immersed in the murky sauce. I took chunks after chunks of the meat of it till the bones were ripped bare and as I tried my best to swallow every morsel, tears dropped into the bowl. I didn't bother to wipe my tears and continued eating as though there was nobody around. All I knew at that moment was that no matter how I didn't like spare ribs, no matter how full I was, I had to finish up the food. It was no longer just a bowl of spare ribs, it was a symbol of love and my grandmother's last wish. I can never forget how I felt when I knew what my grandmother's last wish was. Even up till today, whenever I think of this bowl of spare ribs, tears still uncontrollably make their way down my face.
After the wake was over, I recovered to my old cheery self almost immediately. However, everybody needs a grieving process for the wound to heal . All I did was to cover it immediately and of course it never got to heal. Slowly, this wound started to fester and rot and of course the pain it brought along with it increased exponentially too. Even till today, my heart cringes everytime I think about my grandma and just saying a few sentences about her brings tears to my eyes. Her death was a wound that never healed properly to me. I am left to painfully wallow in this debt of love I have to her. This is all retribution for me as I never learnt to return the love she gave to me. Even up till today, my grandma is still the lady I love the most in my entire love above my sis, my mum and definitely my future wife. Nobody is able to take her place for as long as I live, her love runs in my blood.
From her, I learnt how to look at the good side of people. I learnt how to appreciate rather than complain and to look at the good intentions of things people do even if the actions don't turn out all that fancifully. I never appreciated anything my grandma did for me be it the food she cooked, the blankets she sewed or the tender loving care she showered on me. Yet when I learnt all these, it was too late, the chance has been lost forever. Sometimes, thinking of all these lost chances give me the impulse to do something nice for my family and friends which seem so out of the blue. Maybe my grandma meant for all these love that I never managed to give her to be transferred to my family and friends.
It has been 10 years since she has passed away as I am about to turn 20 in about 2 months time. Frankly speaking I can barely remember how my grandma looks now but I can never forget how my grandma loved me. Her love flows in my blood and my actions and I really hope that she is well wherever she may be now. She died of stomach cancer when I was 10 and sometimes I have this wish that I can die of stomach cancer when I am old too. At least this way I can share something in common with her and pay back this retribution for how unfilial I was.
I love you Ah Ma.
Rather than say what follows is a story, I would prefer to call it a chapter simply because it is a chapter in my life-book. I have said excerpts from this chapter a few times before on this blog but never the whole of it so I thought it would be good if I could come clean with it. To me, it is the most painful chapter in my life even till now or metaphorically as a human, it is the biggest wound I have that festers even up till today. This chapter is about my paternal grandmother or more affectionately known as Ah Ma.
From the time I was born, I was brought up by my paternal grandmother. My earliest childhood memories were of myself at my grandmother's house playing around with my other cousins. This arrangement was most probably due to my parents' busy work schedule and as such I was given the chance to grow up under the care of Ah Ma. My grandmother wasn't young already then and taking care of a baby was definitely not a easy task. To add on to her burden, I was born not only an extremely mischievous child but also an extremely sickly child. I couldn't eat sweets, chocolates, ice-cream or any cold drinks or you would see a kid coughing so badly you thought he was afflicted with tuberculosis. When I slept, I could not turn on the fans or aircon and had to place a pillow over my chest to keep it warm on top of a blanket. I can't even keep track of how many times I had seen a doctor during my childhood for cough. All this carried on even till my primary school days.
Well, back to where I trailed off ... yes, imagine an old lady looking after a toddler like this. I cannot imagine how much of a burden I was to her during my childhood years. Yet I never once heard her complain that I was a burden to her. She always held that caring and kind expression and looked upon me as though I was her greatest treasure. I just had to say I like popiah and the next day she would trudge down to the wet market and buy bags of ingredients back to make so much popiah my entire family had to eat it for three meals everyday for a week. I even ungratefully used to complain that she was always overdoing it but this was all her way of showing how much she loved me. I was just SOO childish then. I really didn't see it this way, the way I should have seen it.
She loved to make blankets for my entire family. She would often bring me along to a cloth shop and buy bolts of cloth. Then she would cut them up into triangles and sew them back together into a beautiful masterpiece. This would then be sewed onto a piece of velvet and they would be the perfect thing to shield us from the cold. As we used the blankets, they became softer and softer and that made them all the more nicer to use. Each blanket spoke of her hard work, her care for us and her love. All these old blankets were thrown away when I moved house as they were all tattered and torn and how I wish I had left one behind.
Continuing on, my grandma slowly became sickly when I entered primary school. I didn't know what she was down with then. All I knew was that she was sick and as such I rarely got to see her. I knew she was in the hospital often yet I was never brought there to visit her. Then, one faithful day when I was 10 years old, my mum told me that grandma had passed away. At that very instant, I actually didn't feel anything. Maybe it was because I hadn't seen grandma for too long and her sudden absence didn't make any difference. I just acknowledged this reality and prepared myself to attend her wake.
I remember her wake was held at a void deck and when I arrived, I saw some of my cousins sitting on chairs wiping their tears. I thought to myself then that there was really no need to cry so much. However, the greatest mockery happened within minutes as I walked over to the coffin to look at my grandma's body. As I saw grandma's pale body resting inside the coffin, tears just instinctively started dropping. There was no feeling of sadness yet I didn't know why I was crying. Just minutes ago I was thinking that my cousins were over-reacting yet then I was crying uncontrollably. For that day, everytime the image of grandma's body passed through my mind, the tears would magically appear from thin air and make their way down my cheeks.
Yet kids are still kids and they recover very quickly. The next day I was up and cheery again even playing carom with my cousins as the wake grew "boring" for me. My aunt then walked over to me and passed me a bowl of spare ribs cooked in some reddish-black sauce and told me to eat up. To be frank, I never really liked spare ribs but I don't know why they had the impression that I did. However, I had to be polite so I just gave the excuse that I was full and pushed the bowl to my dad. My aunt firmly intercepted the bowl and returned it before me. She told me gently yet firmly that my grandma's last wish on her death bed was to have been able to cook this spare ribs for me one more time. She didn't manage to realise her wish and so my aunt completed it on her behalf.
My mind went blank at that moment. You must know, my grandma had 7 children and 15 grandchildren and there could be 101 things she wanted to do. Yet her last wish was simply to be able to cook this bowl of spare ribs not for anybody else but for her most mischievous and unfilial grandchild. All she wanted to do was but to make me happy in a way she thought I would be even if I didn't like eating spare ribs. I quietly pulled over the bowl and bit into the spare ribs which were immersed in the murky sauce. I took chunks after chunks of the meat of it till the bones were ripped bare and as I tried my best to swallow every morsel, tears dropped into the bowl. I didn't bother to wipe my tears and continued eating as though there was nobody around. All I knew at that moment was that no matter how I didn't like spare ribs, no matter how full I was, I had to finish up the food. It was no longer just a bowl of spare ribs, it was a symbol of love and my grandmother's last wish. I can never forget how I felt when I knew what my grandmother's last wish was. Even up till today, whenever I think of this bowl of spare ribs, tears still uncontrollably make their way down my face.
After the wake was over, I recovered to my old cheery self almost immediately. However, everybody needs a grieving process for the wound to heal . All I did was to cover it immediately and of course it never got to heal. Slowly, this wound started to fester and rot and of course the pain it brought along with it increased exponentially too. Even till today, my heart cringes everytime I think about my grandma and just saying a few sentences about her brings tears to my eyes. Her death was a wound that never healed properly to me. I am left to painfully wallow in this debt of love I have to her. This is all retribution for me as I never learnt to return the love she gave to me. Even up till today, my grandma is still the lady I love the most in my entire love above my sis, my mum and definitely my future wife. Nobody is able to take her place for as long as I live, her love runs in my blood.
From her, I learnt how to look at the good side of people. I learnt how to appreciate rather than complain and to look at the good intentions of things people do even if the actions don't turn out all that fancifully. I never appreciated anything my grandma did for me be it the food she cooked, the blankets she sewed or the tender loving care she showered on me. Yet when I learnt all these, it was too late, the chance has been lost forever. Sometimes, thinking of all these lost chances give me the impulse to do something nice for my family and friends which seem so out of the blue. Maybe my grandma meant for all these love that I never managed to give her to be transferred to my family and friends.
It has been 10 years since she has passed away as I am about to turn 20 in about 2 months time. Frankly speaking I can barely remember how my grandma looks now but I can never forget how my grandma loved me. Her love flows in my blood and my actions and I really hope that she is well wherever she may be now. She died of stomach cancer when I was 10 and sometimes I have this wish that I can die of stomach cancer when I am old too. At least this way I can share something in common with her and pay back this retribution for how unfilial I was.
I love you Ah Ma.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Comments and Suggestions
From my knowledge I know there are a little teeny weeny bit more people viewing my blog here now so just wanted to say that if you all have any suggestions and comments on how I can better my stories or just want to drop a greeting in general, feel free to leave a comment at my entries. Thanks!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
It has been quite a relaxed period of time in camp these few weeks so on one exceptionall boring night I decided to write a short story. Been ages since I wrote a short story. Hopefully my writing skills haven't turned too rusty. Of course, it is purely fictional. Haha..
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"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven". I softly counted to myself as I laid beside my wife who was fast asleep after a tiring day at work. There were seven luminous neon-coloured stars pasted on the ceiling surface. The ornamental stars were a beautiful sight to behold and were a consolation on this star-less night. Alas, it has been seven long years since our beloved Madeline left us for the embrace of God. Yet my yearning for her has only grown stronger. Afterall, who could so callously forget her?
Madeline was our first child, a beautiful lovable girl who was God's greatest gift to my wife and me. She had black round eyes that twinkled like the stars and a smile that would light up even the gloomiest day. Whenever my wife or me returned from work, she never failed to give us a hug and a peck on our cheek. She often left me wondering what good deeds did I ever do to deserve a bundle of joy like her.
Maybe God did decide afterall that I did not deserve such joy. Just as Madeline turned 5 years old, her health began to fail her. Though she continued to shower us with her daily hugs and kisses, the colour was noticeably absent from her once rosy cheeks. We brought her to a hospital to have her examined and that was when God's callous verdict was read to us. Madeline had leukemia and it was at a terminal stage. Even the doctors were shocked at how the symptoms only surfaced at such an advanced stage. We were told that chemotherapy had limited palliative effects for her and would only put her through more pain and suffering. Madeline had only six more months to live.
Devastation, despair, grief, none of these could even describe a hundredth of how we felt. Even as my wife and I were reeling from the shock, we were even more at a loss at how to break the news to Madeline. How were we to tell her that she was going to leave us? As we left the doctor's room, Madeline once again threw herself into my embrace and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was weak then and I allowed a stream of tears to slide down my cheek. Madeline gently wiped away my tears with her tiny fingers and just as gently whispered into my ears "Please don't cry Daddy". As I held her tighter into my embrace, my wife edged me with her elbow reminding me to keep myself in check in our daughter's presence. I forcefully withdrew my tears and carried little Madeline to the car.
The journey home was exceptionally quiet. Afterall, we didn't know what to say. As I glanced at the rear mirror to see what Madeline was doing, Madeline finally broke the deadly silence. "Am I sick? Am I going to die?" Two questions, eight words, but that was more than I could take. I immediately halted the car and pulled little Madeline into my embrace. My wife also broke down and hugged her while we both burst into tears. The only thing I could manage to utter was "Sorry Madeline, I'm really sorry". As her black twinkling eyes rolled for a moment, Madeline patted us on our heads softly and said "Its alright, I love you all". There was no need for us to break the news to her, our tears spoke everything.
During the course of the next few months, Madeline's health visibly ebbed from her little stature every day. Her complexion deteoriorated from pale to ghastly and she grew tired easily. Yet, she still managed to muster the strength to shower us with her classic hugs and kisses. To us, they were the strength for us to push on. Yet many a time we were unable to bear the pain and collapsed together in tears when Madeline wasn't looking.
One day when we were playing with Madeline, she suddenly said "When I die, I want to become a star and always look over Daddy and Mummy". After which, she planted a kiss on my wife's and my cheek. Then she continued "I want to give Daddy and Mummy more kisses while I still can so they can always be happy". She proceeded to alternate kisses on my wife and me and as she did so, our brave front melted into nothingness. Tears trickled down our faces without the slightest sign of stopping and we hugged her tightly as though we were afraid she would leave us that very instant.
Weeks later, Madeline did leave us after all. Yet throughout the entire six months, she never once cried even when she was the one going through all the pain. When she left us, she mustered the last of her strength to give my wife and I a kiss before passing away with a smile on her face. She was really a brave girl, a Madeline that was a hundred times stronger than her parents.
My wife and I decided to donate all her organs away. Madeline would have wanted that being the sweet little girl she was. She brought sight back to a fine gentleman with her corneas, spared a lady and old man the pain of dialysis with her kidneys and bestowed a little child a new lease of life with her heart.
Every year on Madeline's death anniversary, my wife and I would paste a luminous, neon-coloured star on our ceiling in memory of our beloved daughter. Her kisses and hugs are etched deeply into our hearts and they speak of a legacy of strength and love.
"Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky"
We love you Madeline......
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Obviously this story is fictional because I don't have a wife not to mention a daughter. I was inspired to write this after reading of a boy who was born with "half a heart" and was given 3 days to live but he survived for 15 years before passing away. Life is such a fragile thing.....
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"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven". I softly counted to myself as I laid beside my wife who was fast asleep after a tiring day at work. There were seven luminous neon-coloured stars pasted on the ceiling surface. The ornamental stars were a beautiful sight to behold and were a consolation on this star-less night. Alas, it has been seven long years since our beloved Madeline left us for the embrace of God. Yet my yearning for her has only grown stronger. Afterall, who could so callously forget her?
Madeline was our first child, a beautiful lovable girl who was God's greatest gift to my wife and me. She had black round eyes that twinkled like the stars and a smile that would light up even the gloomiest day. Whenever my wife or me returned from work, she never failed to give us a hug and a peck on our cheek. She often left me wondering what good deeds did I ever do to deserve a bundle of joy like her.
Maybe God did decide afterall that I did not deserve such joy. Just as Madeline turned 5 years old, her health began to fail her. Though she continued to shower us with her daily hugs and kisses, the colour was noticeably absent from her once rosy cheeks. We brought her to a hospital to have her examined and that was when God's callous verdict was read to us. Madeline had leukemia and it was at a terminal stage. Even the doctors were shocked at how the symptoms only surfaced at such an advanced stage. We were told that chemotherapy had limited palliative effects for her and would only put her through more pain and suffering. Madeline had only six more months to live.
Devastation, despair, grief, none of these could even describe a hundredth of how we felt. Even as my wife and I were reeling from the shock, we were even more at a loss at how to break the news to Madeline. How were we to tell her that she was going to leave us? As we left the doctor's room, Madeline once again threw herself into my embrace and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was weak then and I allowed a stream of tears to slide down my cheek. Madeline gently wiped away my tears with her tiny fingers and just as gently whispered into my ears "Please don't cry Daddy". As I held her tighter into my embrace, my wife edged me with her elbow reminding me to keep myself in check in our daughter's presence. I forcefully withdrew my tears and carried little Madeline to the car.
The journey home was exceptionally quiet. Afterall, we didn't know what to say. As I glanced at the rear mirror to see what Madeline was doing, Madeline finally broke the deadly silence. "Am I sick? Am I going to die?" Two questions, eight words, but that was more than I could take. I immediately halted the car and pulled little Madeline into my embrace. My wife also broke down and hugged her while we both burst into tears. The only thing I could manage to utter was "Sorry Madeline, I'm really sorry". As her black twinkling eyes rolled for a moment, Madeline patted us on our heads softly and said "Its alright, I love you all". There was no need for us to break the news to her, our tears spoke everything.
During the course of the next few months, Madeline's health visibly ebbed from her little stature every day. Her complexion deteoriorated from pale to ghastly and she grew tired easily. Yet, she still managed to muster the strength to shower us with her classic hugs and kisses. To us, they were the strength for us to push on. Yet many a time we were unable to bear the pain and collapsed together in tears when Madeline wasn't looking.
One day when we were playing with Madeline, she suddenly said "When I die, I want to become a star and always look over Daddy and Mummy". After which, she planted a kiss on my wife's and my cheek. Then she continued "I want to give Daddy and Mummy more kisses while I still can so they can always be happy". She proceeded to alternate kisses on my wife and me and as she did so, our brave front melted into nothingness. Tears trickled down our faces without the slightest sign of stopping and we hugged her tightly as though we were afraid she would leave us that very instant.
Weeks later, Madeline did leave us after all. Yet throughout the entire six months, she never once cried even when she was the one going through all the pain. When she left us, she mustered the last of her strength to give my wife and I a kiss before passing away with a smile on her face. She was really a brave girl, a Madeline that was a hundred times stronger than her parents.
My wife and I decided to donate all her organs away. Madeline would have wanted that being the sweet little girl she was. She brought sight back to a fine gentleman with her corneas, spared a lady and old man the pain of dialysis with her kidneys and bestowed a little child a new lease of life with her heart.
Every year on Madeline's death anniversary, my wife and I would paste a luminous, neon-coloured star on our ceiling in memory of our beloved daughter. Her kisses and hugs are etched deeply into our hearts and they speak of a legacy of strength and love.
"Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky"
We love you Madeline......
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Obviously this story is fictional because I don't have a wife not to mention a daughter. I was inspired to write this after reading of a boy who was born with "half a heart" and was given 3 days to live but he survived for 15 years before passing away. Life is such a fragile thing.....
Monday, July 6, 2009
Strength to go on
I had the honour of having a discussion with a friend of mine on some issues of the heart. He told me he wanted to find a soulmate, someone whom he could really relate to and share his problems with. Haiz.. Who wouldn't want to find this special someone?
How I wish I could really find a soulmate too, someone to be my pillar of strength, a shoulder I could cry on, just somebody who could not tell me to stop crying but to just be there and hear me cry. I always believed that it was best if I share the joy with my friends but keep the sorrow for myself because often, the amount of sorrow that corrodes my soul is so large that it shocks even myself. I never want my friends to be affected by my sorrow and be sad too. I only want for them to be happy.
Yet my friend told me that I was wrong. A soulmate would want to share my sorrows. Even if at the end of the day nothing is solved, he just wants to know what I am going through. Slowly but surely he convinced me and I too started to hope for a soulmate. Yet at the same time I prayed that nobody would be so unfortunate to become that someone who had to share my sorrows. Now I hold that glimmer of hope that one day I might really find a soulmate. But do I really deserve one? With all that burden and pain and all that I have done, do I really deserve a special someone? Do I deserve this pillar of strength to press on in my life through all the tribulations and pain, sorrow and despair? I really don't know and I don't want to think about it. The very thought of this scares me. The only thing I can say is "Please, let me at least hold on to that hope".
How I wish I could really find a soulmate too, someone to be my pillar of strength, a shoulder I could cry on, just somebody who could not tell me to stop crying but to just be there and hear me cry. I always believed that it was best if I share the joy with my friends but keep the sorrow for myself because often, the amount of sorrow that corrodes my soul is so large that it shocks even myself. I never want my friends to be affected by my sorrow and be sad too. I only want for them to be happy.
Yet my friend told me that I was wrong. A soulmate would want to share my sorrows. Even if at the end of the day nothing is solved, he just wants to know what I am going through. Slowly but surely he convinced me and I too started to hope for a soulmate. Yet at the same time I prayed that nobody would be so unfortunate to become that someone who had to share my sorrows. Now I hold that glimmer of hope that one day I might really find a soulmate. But do I really deserve one? With all that burden and pain and all that I have done, do I really deserve a special someone? Do I deserve this pillar of strength to press on in my life through all the tribulations and pain, sorrow and despair? I really don't know and I don't want to think about it. The very thought of this scares me. The only thing I can say is "Please, let me at least hold on to that hope".
Sunday, June 7, 2009
昨日黄昏
"我爱你, 不因为你乖巧也不因为你可爱只因为你是你,我的孙子."
我仿佛能听到我已故的奶奶说着这句话. 虽然她从没说过, 但我知道她是这么想的. 因为她的行动已证明了一切. 她的爱犹如一个美丽的黄昏. 暖暖的包围着我, 轻轻的呵护着我, 永远只想我快乐和幸福. 但从我失去您的那一天, 我又要如何快乐? 如何幸福? 虽然这灿烂的黄昏已成为过去, 但我仍然忘不了它. 忘不了这温柔的昨日黄昏.
虽然我知道以后我可能会遇到下一个黄昏, 但它不一样. 它永远也不能跟我奶奶的黄昏相比. 就算它有多么的漂亮美丽, 我心里的第一位永远是我奶奶无私与温柔的昨日黄昏.
我仿佛能听到我已故的奶奶说着这句话. 虽然她从没说过, 但我知道她是这么想的. 因为她的行动已证明了一切. 她的爱犹如一个美丽的黄昏. 暖暖的包围着我, 轻轻的呵护着我, 永远只想我快乐和幸福. 但从我失去您的那一天, 我又要如何快乐? 如何幸福? 虽然这灿烂的黄昏已成为过去, 但我仍然忘不了它. 忘不了这温柔的昨日黄昏.
虽然我知道以后我可能会遇到下一个黄昏, 但它不一样. 它永远也不能跟我奶奶的黄昏相比. 就算它有多么的漂亮美丽, 我心里的第一位永远是我奶奶无私与温柔的昨日黄昏.
The leaving of a true friend
Its been 1 years and 4 months since I've known you and you have given me 1 years and 4 months of joy. Our meeting was through the hands of fate and through that same pair hands we are about to part. I know you will lead a good life in Taiwan and I should wish you all the best but deep down, I will really miss you. Kim Koon, I really hope you will lead a better life in the future, a life that is better than the one you are leading now or that you have led before.
I remember the first time I seriously sat down and listened to your story. It was a tale of pain and sacrifice yet it also spoke of perseverance and selflessness. As my respect for your strength grew, so did my heartache. You made me realize how blessed I was yet at the same time you extricated my weakness so clearly for me to see. I was nothing in the shadow of you.
As our friendship grew, I started to do things for you from the bottom of my heart. Things I wouldn't imagine myself doing for just a friend. Slowly, you have taken a special place in my heart. You have written a beautiful yet sad chapter in my life-book. I always felt that I haven't done enough for you, for a friend like you and for the friendship between us. Can you forgive me?
I remember the first time I seriously sat down and listened to your story. It was a tale of pain and sacrifice yet it also spoke of perseverance and selflessness. As my respect for your strength grew, so did my heartache. You made me realize how blessed I was yet at the same time you extricated my weakness so clearly for me to see. I was nothing in the shadow of you.
As our friendship grew, I started to do things for you from the bottom of my heart. Things I wouldn't imagine myself doing for just a friend. Slowly, you have taken a special place in my heart. You have written a beautiful yet sad chapter in my life-book. I always felt that I haven't done enough for you, for a friend like you and for the friendship between us. Can you forgive me?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Smiles and Laughter
Just as an update, I finally found a way to type chinese on my new laptop so there is a chance that future posts might be in Chinese. Afterall, I'm bilingual!
I like to smile and laugh. That's a fact I love to share. I have always believed that smiles and laughter are contagious and it would be my pleasure to spread the joy around. Because I am a simple person to the point that some people coin "naive", the simplest of things are enough to provide me with at least short-term joy. What do I mean? Hmm.... just receiving a sms from my friend Alex telling me that he received my cake and he likes it was enough to make my day and keep me happy! I really could understand the meaning of 施比受,更有福.
Because I often laugh and smile in a silly manner for no reason, many people can get the chance to laugh at my silliness which is COOL because then they are able to laugh too. Some people told me they like my laughter which I feel very consoled. But at the end of the day, below all that smile and laughter, I am still human. As often as I laugh myself silly, I am also enveloped in sorrow and melancholy. Yet when I am encased in the cocoon of the latter, I still have to plaster on a smile so that the people around me don't get affected and so that they can still see the laughter they like.
Haiz.... sometimes I really feel very tired. When the smiles and laughter do not come deep from the heart, I often feel a bolt of sadness right after the laughter. As tears threaten to mar the mood of others, I have but only the choice of masking them with even greater laughter. My smiles, laughter and joy are to be shared yet my sorrow, melancholy and tears are for me alone. I have tried my best never to let my tears see any other person besides myself for the simple reason that I don't have the right to do so. What right do I have, to mar the mood of those I hold close to heart with my pitiful tears of sorrow. I have none.
Yet in the deep recesses of my soul, in a long-forgotton corner of my heart, there is a voice hoping that one day, I can have someone I can cry to. Someone who doesn't need to say a word and just watch me cry. Someone I can hug and borrow a shoulder to wet with my tears. But I know the fufilment of such as akin to Martin Luther King (Jr)'s speech --- "I have a dream". Well, never mind, in the mean while, I will just have to plaster back on my smile and laughter and continue to bring joy to others before one day I get too tired to smile and laugh any more. Then, I will withdraw back into my cocoon of sorrow and melancholy in cold, harsh solitude.
I like to smile and laugh. That's a fact I love to share. I have always believed that smiles and laughter are contagious and it would be my pleasure to spread the joy around. Because I am a simple person to the point that some people coin "naive", the simplest of things are enough to provide me with at least short-term joy. What do I mean? Hmm.... just receiving a sms from my friend Alex telling me that he received my cake and he likes it was enough to make my day and keep me happy! I really could understand the meaning of 施比受,更有福.
Because I often laugh and smile in a silly manner for no reason, many people can get the chance to laugh at my silliness which is COOL because then they are able to laugh too. Some people told me they like my laughter which I feel very consoled. But at the end of the day, below all that smile and laughter, I am still human. As often as I laugh myself silly, I am also enveloped in sorrow and melancholy. Yet when I am encased in the cocoon of the latter, I still have to plaster on a smile so that the people around me don't get affected and so that they can still see the laughter they like.
Haiz.... sometimes I really feel very tired. When the smiles and laughter do not come deep from the heart, I often feel a bolt of sadness right after the laughter. As tears threaten to mar the mood of others, I have but only the choice of masking them with even greater laughter. My smiles, laughter and joy are to be shared yet my sorrow, melancholy and tears are for me alone. I have tried my best never to let my tears see any other person besides myself for the simple reason that I don't have the right to do so. What right do I have, to mar the mood of those I hold close to heart with my pitiful tears of sorrow. I have none.
Yet in the deep recesses of my soul, in a long-forgotton corner of my heart, there is a voice hoping that one day, I can have someone I can cry to. Someone who doesn't need to say a word and just watch me cry. Someone I can hug and borrow a shoulder to wet with my tears. But I know the fufilment of such as akin to Martin Luther King (Jr)'s speech --- "I have a dream". Well, never mind, in the mean while, I will just have to plaster back on my smile and laughter and continue to bring joy to others before one day I get too tired to smile and laugh any more. Then, I will withdraw back into my cocoon of sorrow and melancholy in cold, harsh solitude.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Birthdays
Alas, its strange how I have many friends who are born in the month of May and each of them I hold so dear to heart. There's Joab on the 21st, Wah Toon and Wah Kiat on the 25th and Alex on the 28th. With the exception of Joab (cos I just got to know him), I didn't manage to get the others prezzies last year. For Toon and Kiat it was because I didn't get the opportunity to meet up with them and for Alex, by the time I knew him his birthday was over. All this was quite a regret but luckily this year I managed to get them something.
For Joab, I got him some chocolates because I don't really know what he likes and getting him too big a gift when we just know each other might freak him out. For Alex, I got him a 1/2kg cake delivered to his house on 27th. Haiz... but I didn't know he was holding a Birthday Party on the 23rd. He would already have a large large cake to enjoy so I guess mine is really very extra... Hopefully he doesn't find eating mine too much a burden. Haha. For Toon and Kiat, the twins I've known for 8 years, I got them a custom-made "gift-box shape" 2kg chocolate cake. That should last them for a while.....Haha. But I am really a silly boy. I already planned this from last year so when I was applying for my army computer card and needed a referee, I purposely asked for Alex's and the twin's address. But just when I was delighting in the upcoming surprise, I suddenly realised that I had to ensure there was someone at home that day to receive it. Damn! In the end I still had to reveal it just that they don't know its a cake. Though my pocket is burnt through (The 2kg cake especially was $90), but at least I'm glad I am able to get them something this year. Afterall, birthdays are special and I want them to know they too are special to me. Thanks for having been my friends!
Haiz.... "Birthdays are special" and how true this is. The reason why I never forget my friends' birthdays stem from my own desires. Somehow, I have started to place what I desire onto my friends. Birthday as the name suggests celebrates the day a person is born, but more importantly, it recognises the person's existence as a source of joy and happiness to others. Because you made a difference in the lives of others that's why people want you to be "Happy" on that day. And the reason why others give you presents on your birthday is not because they want to add on to your inventory but rather to let you know how much you mean to them.
I vividly remember the day of my 18th birthday. To many, it is a day of joy and happiness. But to me, that day was an unfortunate memory I have to carry. Nobody in my family remembered my birthday on that day. If you think the Dixon you know isn't silly enough, wait till you hear this. That day, I waited long and hard for my sister and my parents to come home. I pretended that it was just any other day. But deep down, I was hoping that they would suddenly turn around and whisper to me a "Happy Birthday!" That was all I needed to make my day, no presents were required. Slowly, time passed and when it was 10pm, I could no longer withstand sitting alongside them. I gave an excuse of being tired and retired early for the night but there was no way I could sleep. I lay quietly on my bed, staring at the digital clock in front of me. Time passed....10.30pm......11.00 pm.......11.30pm.....With every half hour, my heart wrenched with pain. My rational mind told myself that most probably they had a really busy and tired day so they forgot, its not their fault. Yet deep down, I was still hoping that any moment they would pop into my room and "surprise" me with a "Happy Birthday!"
11.59pm. My heart raced faster than a F1 racing car and my hopes started to dwindle by the second. On one side I knew all was lost but yet I still prayed fervently that a miracle would happen. Then, the clock struck 12.00am. The moment the time turned 12, tears trickled down the side of my face. I slowly wiped off my tears with my hands and turned around. I could no longer face the clock. As tears caressed me softly and I drifted off to sleep, I could only whisper to myself "Happy Birthday Dixon".
You could ask why then didn't I just tell them outright. But to me, that no longer had any meaning. I'd rather accept the fact that I'm negligible than create an illusion that I am not. I have long grown past the age of caring about presents. All I long for every year is just a simple sms and that is all it needs to make my day.
It is basically this reason why I don't want others to feel even the slightest pain I went through. I want my friends to know that they are ALL special, if not to anybody, it is to me. Even if I'm not at all special to them.
I have a BMT section mate called Yu Heng and I know you are most probably the only one who is so free to come and stalk this place. I really HATE talking to him. Why? Because he can always see through me. He always knows what I really want and he always knows when I'm really sad. Though he has never seen me cry, he knows when I'm about to. In front of him, I feel that I am being stripped piece by piece. Though he is very egoistic, always boasting that I can never forget him and I really shouldn't feed his ego any further but I really have to say, he is correct. I can really never forget him. Just like how I can never forget any of my friends I hold so dear to my heart. Between me and all my friends lays a pair of binoculars. From the side I am looking through, each and every one of them are big. Yet I know from the side they are looking through, I am but a minute figure.
For Joab, I got him some chocolates because I don't really know what he likes and getting him too big a gift when we just know each other might freak him out. For Alex, I got him a 1/2kg cake delivered to his house on 27th. Haiz... but I didn't know he was holding a Birthday Party on the 23rd. He would already have a large large cake to enjoy so I guess mine is really very extra... Hopefully he doesn't find eating mine too much a burden. Haha. For Toon and Kiat, the twins I've known for 8 years, I got them a custom-made "gift-box shape" 2kg chocolate cake. That should last them for a while.....Haha. But I am really a silly boy. I already planned this from last year so when I was applying for my army computer card and needed a referee, I purposely asked for Alex's and the twin's address. But just when I was delighting in the upcoming surprise, I suddenly realised that I had to ensure there was someone at home that day to receive it. Damn! In the end I still had to reveal it just that they don't know its a cake. Though my pocket is burnt through (The 2kg cake especially was $90), but at least I'm glad I am able to get them something this year. Afterall, birthdays are special and I want them to know they too are special to me. Thanks for having been my friends!
Haiz.... "Birthdays are special" and how true this is. The reason why I never forget my friends' birthdays stem from my own desires. Somehow, I have started to place what I desire onto my friends. Birthday as the name suggests celebrates the day a person is born, but more importantly, it recognises the person's existence as a source of joy and happiness to others. Because you made a difference in the lives of others that's why people want you to be "Happy" on that day. And the reason why others give you presents on your birthday is not because they want to add on to your inventory but rather to let you know how much you mean to them.
I vividly remember the day of my 18th birthday. To many, it is a day of joy and happiness. But to me, that day was an unfortunate memory I have to carry. Nobody in my family remembered my birthday on that day. If you think the Dixon you know isn't silly enough, wait till you hear this. That day, I waited long and hard for my sister and my parents to come home. I pretended that it was just any other day. But deep down, I was hoping that they would suddenly turn around and whisper to me a "Happy Birthday!" That was all I needed to make my day, no presents were required. Slowly, time passed and when it was 10pm, I could no longer withstand sitting alongside them. I gave an excuse of being tired and retired early for the night but there was no way I could sleep. I lay quietly on my bed, staring at the digital clock in front of me. Time passed....10.30pm......11.00 pm.......11.30pm.....With every half hour, my heart wrenched with pain. My rational mind told myself that most probably they had a really busy and tired day so they forgot, its not their fault. Yet deep down, I was still hoping that any moment they would pop into my room and "surprise" me with a "Happy Birthday!"
11.59pm. My heart raced faster than a F1 racing car and my hopes started to dwindle by the second. On one side I knew all was lost but yet I still prayed fervently that a miracle would happen. Then, the clock struck 12.00am. The moment the time turned 12, tears trickled down the side of my face. I slowly wiped off my tears with my hands and turned around. I could no longer face the clock. As tears caressed me softly and I drifted off to sleep, I could only whisper to myself "Happy Birthday Dixon".
You could ask why then didn't I just tell them outright. But to me, that no longer had any meaning. I'd rather accept the fact that I'm negligible than create an illusion that I am not. I have long grown past the age of caring about presents. All I long for every year is just a simple sms and that is all it needs to make my day.
It is basically this reason why I don't want others to feel even the slightest pain I went through. I want my friends to know that they are ALL special, if not to anybody, it is to me. Even if I'm not at all special to them.
I have a BMT section mate called Yu Heng and I know you are most probably the only one who is so free to come and stalk this place. I really HATE talking to him. Why? Because he can always see through me. He always knows what I really want and he always knows when I'm really sad. Though he has never seen me cry, he knows when I'm about to. In front of him, I feel that I am being stripped piece by piece. Though he is very egoistic, always boasting that I can never forget him and I really shouldn't feed his ego any further but I really have to say, he is correct. I can really never forget him. Just like how I can never forget any of my friends I hold so dear to my heart. Between me and all my friends lays a pair of binoculars. From the side I am looking through, each and every one of them are big. Yet I know from the side they are looking through, I am but a minute figure.
Monday, May 18, 2009
My choice of pain and tears
Life has been a long, long operation and this surgery began when I became conscious of what was happening around me. I was injected with anaesthesia when it began and slowly, the doctor began cutting me apart. Inch by inch, the glowing sharp scalpel carved into me and crimson red blood began to flow out of the incision.
Yet, when I was young, I was still under the influence of anaesthesia and there was no pain. Why? Because I spent my days getting into naughty acts, playing and not once was I really conscious of what was really happening. I was asleep. Peacefully resting in deep slumber.
However, slowly the clock turned to when I was 16. It was then that I told myself I had to change for the better. Yet, what I did not know was that with such a resolution came a hefty price. Slowly, the anaesthesia wore out and the sleeping patient awoke.
I started to change. I began to put others before myself and compromising to make others happy. My world no longer revolved around myself but around the happiness of others. When others were happy, I would be thrilled. When others were sad, I would be dejected. Then I began to do silly things. I would constantly think of how to make others happy but little did I know that bit by bit, I was losing myself. I used to be an arrogant performer, gracing the stage and flaunting what I had or had not. Yet, slowly I was reduced to an audience, to watch the shows of others and accord them the applause of encouragement.
I began to serve others and sometimes I even remarked at how selfless I had became. But deep inside, I knew I was dead selfish. Everybody has a motive for doing something, something they want to gain. To some, it may be money or fame but for me, I always went the extra mile for gratitude. I longed for the simplest "Thank you" for it was akin to a rainbow brightening up the sky. There are people whom I hold close to the heart yet deep down I know I do not have the same position in theirs. I thought I didn't mind for it was their happiness that mattered, but deep down inside it hurt so badly.
The operation is on-going and the anaesthesia has worn out. Every moment brings to me waves of pain and tears that threaten to obliterate me. I might have gotten used to the pain over the years but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any more. Now, I can only hope some kind soul can stitch me up and bring me relief to the screaming pain.
Yet, when I was young, I was still under the influence of anaesthesia and there was no pain. Why? Because I spent my days getting into naughty acts, playing and not once was I really conscious of what was really happening. I was asleep. Peacefully resting in deep slumber.
However, slowly the clock turned to when I was 16. It was then that I told myself I had to change for the better. Yet, what I did not know was that with such a resolution came a hefty price. Slowly, the anaesthesia wore out and the sleeping patient awoke.
I started to change. I began to put others before myself and compromising to make others happy. My world no longer revolved around myself but around the happiness of others. When others were happy, I would be thrilled. When others were sad, I would be dejected. Then I began to do silly things. I would constantly think of how to make others happy but little did I know that bit by bit, I was losing myself. I used to be an arrogant performer, gracing the stage and flaunting what I had or had not. Yet, slowly I was reduced to an audience, to watch the shows of others and accord them the applause of encouragement.
I began to serve others and sometimes I even remarked at how selfless I had became. But deep inside, I knew I was dead selfish. Everybody has a motive for doing something, something they want to gain. To some, it may be money or fame but for me, I always went the extra mile for gratitude. I longed for the simplest "Thank you" for it was akin to a rainbow brightening up the sky. There are people whom I hold close to the heart yet deep down I know I do not have the same position in theirs. I thought I didn't mind for it was their happiness that mattered, but deep down inside it hurt so badly.
The operation is on-going and the anaesthesia has worn out. Every moment brings to me waves of pain and tears that threaten to obliterate me. I might have gotten used to the pain over the years but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any more. Now, I can only hope some kind soul can stitch me up and bring me relief to the screaming pain.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My proudest tears of my deepest pain
During my term in NS, I have come to understand that the night is exceptionally scary, especially when you cannot sleep. Its not because of the darkness and neither is it due to the fear of companions that come from the netherworld. Rather, it is because it is especially lonely. The worse thing is that I live with a bunk-mate yet the loneliness still seeps in to corrode my spirits.
When I'm lonely, I start to think of many many things. Some of these reflections have given me insights that I might only stumble across once in a lifetime, yet there has been one recurring one that never fails to haunt me and the very thought of it brings tears to my eyes. It can be considered my deepest wound. As this blog is pretty much unknown to many, to those that happen to stumble across it, my advice is not to read further.
My deepest wound that never really healed properly is the death of my paternal grandmother. Many a time I have thought of her in camp and I have penned down some of the memories I had of her while streams of tears overflow from my the edges of my eyes uncontrollably. I shan't repeat them but maybe just to put it briefly, she left me with her legacy of unconditional boundless love. And that is why I say, "The deepest love is often crystalised into drops of heart-breaking tears".
People say time can heal all wounds yet why hasn't it healed mine? The waves and waves of pain that this wound subjects me to only increases in intensity as time passes and each time it leaves me drained. The pain has long corroded the last of my defences and that is why I never want to talk about her to others in person for I am dead sure tears will roll.
You might ask me then is it because I am ashamed of my tears? On the contrary, I am very proud of my tears for they serve to remind me that my loves for her has only increased since the time she passed away 9 years ago. Yet, these tears of pride are only meant for her wherever she is just as my greatest love is only meant for her. She will always be the lady I love the most in my entire life and not even my future wife can take her place.
When I'm lonely, I start to think of many many things. Some of these reflections have given me insights that I might only stumble across once in a lifetime, yet there has been one recurring one that never fails to haunt me and the very thought of it brings tears to my eyes. It can be considered my deepest wound. As this blog is pretty much unknown to many, to those that happen to stumble across it, my advice is not to read further.
My deepest wound that never really healed properly is the death of my paternal grandmother. Many a time I have thought of her in camp and I have penned down some of the memories I had of her while streams of tears overflow from my the edges of my eyes uncontrollably. I shan't repeat them but maybe just to put it briefly, she left me with her legacy of unconditional boundless love. And that is why I say, "The deepest love is often crystalised into drops of heart-breaking tears".
People say time can heal all wounds yet why hasn't it healed mine? The waves and waves of pain that this wound subjects me to only increases in intensity as time passes and each time it leaves me drained. The pain has long corroded the last of my defences and that is why I never want to talk about her to others in person for I am dead sure tears will roll.
You might ask me then is it because I am ashamed of my tears? On the contrary, I am very proud of my tears for they serve to remind me that my loves for her has only increased since the time she passed away 9 years ago. Yet, these tears of pride are only meant for her wherever she is just as my greatest love is only meant for her. She will always be the lady I love the most in my entire life and not even my future wife can take her place.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Being made use of
The world we live on is like a tapestry while individual lives akin to the threads. Everyone is woven into another person's life to create this masterpiece. However, wherever there is interaction there is always friction. This tapestry might be beautiful but if we look carefully there are kinks and mis-stitchs in it. It is up to us to iron them out.
In life, I believe that we shouldn't be too insistent on always benefitting. Sometimes, people make use of you to achieve a goal or obtain something. To people I really consider as friends, being made use of is never an issue. The fact that they bother to make use of me proves that I have some value left for them to use. However, please remember I'm human too and be gentle when using me.
"I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams"
If making use of me can let you achieve happiness, please go ahead. If you are my friend, I will be happy only when you are. Just give me a smile when you succeed and it will be my best reward - a beautiful memory I can keep to eternity.
In life, I believe that we shouldn't be too insistent on always benefitting. Sometimes, people make use of you to achieve a goal or obtain something. To people I really consider as friends, being made use of is never an issue. The fact that they bother to make use of me proves that I have some value left for them to use. However, please remember I'm human too and be gentle when using me.
"I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams"
If making use of me can let you achieve happiness, please go ahead. If you are my friend, I will be happy only when you are. Just give me a smile when you succeed and it will be my best reward - a beautiful memory I can keep to eternity.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The path that isn't smooth
I read a piece of Chinese writing some time ago which I found quite meaningful. So I thought I would share it albeit translated into English. I apologize if the result isn't that good.
There was a pair of father and son. The father told the son "Don't take this path in life. I have taken it and suffered a lot of hardship, knocks and failures. This path is definitely not smooth so please do not take it".
Yet the son replies "This path may be bumpy and difficult but you still made it through everything. If you are able to take it why can't I?"
Sometimes, there is no point in telling someone that a path is bumpy, rocky or hard to take. In life, we need to go through all these knocks and hardship in order for us to grow and mature. Going through these made you stronger and in the same way it will make the other person stronger too. There is a limit to what we can learn from others' experiences but what we can learn from our own experiences is boundless.
A person who always takes the easiest path and achieves success easily is akin to a thin tree branch; susceptible to breakage. Only when we suffer a few knocks here and there can we grow to become the strong, thick tree trunk that supports our life.
There was a pair of father and son. The father told the son "Don't take this path in life. I have taken it and suffered a lot of hardship, knocks and failures. This path is definitely not smooth so please do not take it".
Yet the son replies "This path may be bumpy and difficult but you still made it through everything. If you are able to take it why can't I?"
Sometimes, there is no point in telling someone that a path is bumpy, rocky or hard to take. In life, we need to go through all these knocks and hardship in order for us to grow and mature. Going through these made you stronger and in the same way it will make the other person stronger too. There is a limit to what we can learn from others' experiences but what we can learn from our own experiences is boundless.
A person who always takes the easiest path and achieves success easily is akin to a thin tree branch; susceptible to breakage. Only when we suffer a few knocks here and there can we grow to become the strong, thick tree trunk that supports our life.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Libra Love
This was the third story I wrote but it was about a month later from the first two. The style of it is a little different as it uses Love as the overarching theme right in the front. This story speaks of unrequited sacrifice and contribution and the angst that accompanies it. As to how it compares to the first two, I leave it to you to decide.
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Ever thought whether Love had a horoscope? Well, if it did, it would be Libra because it is like a pair of scales. In Love, there is always giving and taking but the key to it is balance. It is never a good omen when the scales tip excessively to one side and what it will leave behind is a trail of unhappiness and suffering. I was born under the horoscope of Libra. However, I never knew how to strike a balance in Love and unfortunately, I had to endure each and every ounce of unhappiness and suffering this unbalanced scales left behind.
When I first met her, she was not exactly the most attractive person around. She did not ooze copious amounts of charm and neither was she gifted with a beautiful face. To put it plainly, she was nothing more than ordinary. This ordinariness was not limited to her physical appearance; her character was also extremely average. Bubbly, outgoing, sociable and vocal were all adjectives that I would never use to describe her. We were classmates and it was only due to this reason that I even noticed her existence. Through some small chat I had with her, I found out that we totally belonged to two different worlds. We had totally different interests, goals and perspective of life. Also, I was the type of people who could never endure loneliness and always had to be in the company of others. She, on the other hand, was comfortable with being alone and going about her own life. However, Love is extremely magical. When Cupid’s arrow shoots you, there is no way you can escape and that is exactly what happened to me.
Even until now, I have no idea why I was attracted to her. We had almost nothing in common and I am sure to her I was not her best friend yet strangely I began to notice her. Slowly, I wanted to know more about her – her family, her hobbies and what she thought of me. Of course, all these were not done blatantly. I did not have the courage to tell her that I liked her or maybe to put it more succinctly, I was even afraid that she might find out about that herself. I had to ensure that my questions seemed as though they were but passing questions that were linked to the conversation. Although it was tiring having to think through everything before I even strike up a conversation, I was always happy when I got my answers. That was when Love first planted its seed in my heart and yet I had the faintest idea whether the fruit this seed would eventually bear would be sweet or bitter.
To me, she was like a magnet; drawing me nearer every day. When I did not see her, my mind would be racing with thoughts of her. Whenever I thought of her alone, I would smile like a silly little kid but all this made me feel blissful even though she never once displayed any reciprocation. Slowly, I began to sink into this quagmire of affections. I began to fuss over her and showered concern over her. Even the slightest cough from her would get me uptight and I always had to think through whatever I wanted to say to make sure they were sensitive enough not to hurt her in any way. Sometimes, I was very afraid my concern would be too overwhelming and obvious in such a way that she would know what I was thinking. I would consistently tell myself to practice restraint and remember to toe the line of friendship. However, I could not stop myself from doing all these and that was when all the suffering began.
To me, she was everything. Her happiness was all that sufficed. Whenever the environment became quiet, I would strike up a conversation just to make sure she wasn’t feeling bored. Whenever she talked about herself, I would convince her that she actually had quite a handful of achievements just to make sure she had something to be proud of. From the choice of food to type of movies, everything was catered to her interest and soon I even began to forget what I myself liked. Everything she said was etched deeply into me and I could even remember the most trivial things she said about herself such that they mattered more than the biggest achievements of my life. To me, everything was about giving and I thought as long as she was happy, I would be happy. I did not yearn for the slightest reciprocation like a single word of concern for me.
However, that was what I thought. Actually, deep down I longed for at least some sort of reciprocation. It did not matter if I gave one hundred percent and just received back one percent. A single smile or word of concern was what I yearned for but I did not receive even that one percent. All that existed was me giving and giving.
When I was alone, I would think why in the world was I doing all these for? Why was I acting like a silly and stupid person giving and giving, asking for only a smile that she never gave? Deep down I was feeling very tired. Tired of spending my time and effort just thinking of ways to make her happy. On top of that, I felt extremely sad. Sad that I never received a single word of concern from her and my existence was almost negligible in her world. The feeling was like an overflow of gastric juice making my stomach sour and my ears teary. However, I could not stop myself from caring for her and thus this pain only proved to intensify. In the middle of the night, tears would trickle down my cheeks just thinking of my one-sided affection. As the seedling of Love grew within me, so did this pain and weariness.
Eventually, I was totally overwhelmed by all of it. I could no longer withstand the pain and weariness Love was giving me. I was but human and all that talk about giving without asking for returns were but idealistic notions. Today, I decided that I had to let go of this affection. The only way for me to be relieved of all that pain and weariness that was plaguing me was for me to learn to let go. I made the difficult decision to leave her and in my heart it was like cutting the thread that linked us together. However, this thread had already been implanted into me. I had to rip it out of me along with the part of me it was attached to leaving me all bloody and wounded. I knew that for the pain to stop I had to endure this heart-wrenching pain. If I could succeed in doing so, I could remove the lease that was put around my neck; suffocating me to death. It was as though someone held on to my heart and crushed it. Ripping off these affections left a deep gash on me and my whole body was dripping in blood. Beads of tears flowed down my face but I knew if I could leap across this barrier, it would be the last time I had to cry for her.
Hopefully I can really succeed in letting go. If not, this pain will only return to haunt me with ten times the magnitude and when that comes, I know I will no longer have the strength to pull myself out of that quicksand.
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Ever thought whether Love had a horoscope? Well, if it did, it would be Libra because it is like a pair of scales. In Love, there is always giving and taking but the key to it is balance. It is never a good omen when the scales tip excessively to one side and what it will leave behind is a trail of unhappiness and suffering. I was born under the horoscope of Libra. However, I never knew how to strike a balance in Love and unfortunately, I had to endure each and every ounce of unhappiness and suffering this unbalanced scales left behind.
When I first met her, she was not exactly the most attractive person around. She did not ooze copious amounts of charm and neither was she gifted with a beautiful face. To put it plainly, she was nothing more than ordinary. This ordinariness was not limited to her physical appearance; her character was also extremely average. Bubbly, outgoing, sociable and vocal were all adjectives that I would never use to describe her. We were classmates and it was only due to this reason that I even noticed her existence. Through some small chat I had with her, I found out that we totally belonged to two different worlds. We had totally different interests, goals and perspective of life. Also, I was the type of people who could never endure loneliness and always had to be in the company of others. She, on the other hand, was comfortable with being alone and going about her own life. However, Love is extremely magical. When Cupid’s arrow shoots you, there is no way you can escape and that is exactly what happened to me.
Even until now, I have no idea why I was attracted to her. We had almost nothing in common and I am sure to her I was not her best friend yet strangely I began to notice her. Slowly, I wanted to know more about her – her family, her hobbies and what she thought of me. Of course, all these were not done blatantly. I did not have the courage to tell her that I liked her or maybe to put it more succinctly, I was even afraid that she might find out about that herself. I had to ensure that my questions seemed as though they were but passing questions that were linked to the conversation. Although it was tiring having to think through everything before I even strike up a conversation, I was always happy when I got my answers. That was when Love first planted its seed in my heart and yet I had the faintest idea whether the fruit this seed would eventually bear would be sweet or bitter.
To me, she was like a magnet; drawing me nearer every day. When I did not see her, my mind would be racing with thoughts of her. Whenever I thought of her alone, I would smile like a silly little kid but all this made me feel blissful even though she never once displayed any reciprocation. Slowly, I began to sink into this quagmire of affections. I began to fuss over her and showered concern over her. Even the slightest cough from her would get me uptight and I always had to think through whatever I wanted to say to make sure they were sensitive enough not to hurt her in any way. Sometimes, I was very afraid my concern would be too overwhelming and obvious in such a way that she would know what I was thinking. I would consistently tell myself to practice restraint and remember to toe the line of friendship. However, I could not stop myself from doing all these and that was when all the suffering began.
To me, she was everything. Her happiness was all that sufficed. Whenever the environment became quiet, I would strike up a conversation just to make sure she wasn’t feeling bored. Whenever she talked about herself, I would convince her that she actually had quite a handful of achievements just to make sure she had something to be proud of. From the choice of food to type of movies, everything was catered to her interest and soon I even began to forget what I myself liked. Everything she said was etched deeply into me and I could even remember the most trivial things she said about herself such that they mattered more than the biggest achievements of my life. To me, everything was about giving and I thought as long as she was happy, I would be happy. I did not yearn for the slightest reciprocation like a single word of concern for me.
However, that was what I thought. Actually, deep down I longed for at least some sort of reciprocation. It did not matter if I gave one hundred percent and just received back one percent. A single smile or word of concern was what I yearned for but I did not receive even that one percent. All that existed was me giving and giving.
When I was alone, I would think why in the world was I doing all these for? Why was I acting like a silly and stupid person giving and giving, asking for only a smile that she never gave? Deep down I was feeling very tired. Tired of spending my time and effort just thinking of ways to make her happy. On top of that, I felt extremely sad. Sad that I never received a single word of concern from her and my existence was almost negligible in her world. The feeling was like an overflow of gastric juice making my stomach sour and my ears teary. However, I could not stop myself from caring for her and thus this pain only proved to intensify. In the middle of the night, tears would trickle down my cheeks just thinking of my one-sided affection. As the seedling of Love grew within me, so did this pain and weariness.
Eventually, I was totally overwhelmed by all of it. I could no longer withstand the pain and weariness Love was giving me. I was but human and all that talk about giving without asking for returns were but idealistic notions. Today, I decided that I had to let go of this affection. The only way for me to be relieved of all that pain and weariness that was plaguing me was for me to learn to let go. I made the difficult decision to leave her and in my heart it was like cutting the thread that linked us together. However, this thread had already been implanted into me. I had to rip it out of me along with the part of me it was attached to leaving me all bloody and wounded. I knew that for the pain to stop I had to endure this heart-wrenching pain. If I could succeed in doing so, I could remove the lease that was put around my neck; suffocating me to death. It was as though someone held on to my heart and crushed it. Ripping off these affections left a deep gash on me and my whole body was dripping in blood. Beads of tears flowed down my face but I knew if I could leap across this barrier, it would be the last time I had to cry for her.
Hopefully I can really succeed in letting go. If not, this pain will only return to haunt me with ten times the magnitude and when that comes, I know I will no longer have the strength to pull myself out of that quicksand.
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