Listen
without interrupting
Speak
without accusing
Give
without sparing
Pray
without ceasing
Answer
without arguing
Share
without pretending
Enjoy
without complaint
Trust
without wavering
Forgive
without punishing
Promise
without forgetting
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
:: Ash Greig's 10 Steps to Moving On ::
We've all had to say goodbye to someone we cared about at some point of our lives. Sometimes it takes a long time to get over it, sometimes it doesn't. It could be a family member, a friend, a significant other. Perhaps a fight had been the cause of the two of you falling apart. Perhaps it was death. It all has one thing in common: the hurt and pain that you feel inside, knowing that no amount of tears can make you feel better.
I recently had a fallout with one of my best friends. We have been besties for 6 years, ever since we met in high school. We shared secrets, and loved each other like no other. We promised to be there for each other til the day we die. We would study abroad together, be each other's bridesmaid/best man at our respective weddings, and grow old together.
However, fate had other plans for us. We had a huge fight, and it has been almost a month since I last spoke to him. I know that we will never be on talking terms again, and just thinking about it brings me to tears. How can I go on living without him by my side? Instead of sinking into depression, I realized that I had so many other people around me that love me and wouldn't want me to give up on life. That was when I decided that I will get back up on my feet and continue my journey in life. It hurts, but this is life and it comes only once. If I don't live it to the fullest, who else will?
So here it is, my 10 Steps to Moving On.
Step 1: Clear your baggage. You've got to accept the fact that he's now happier with another girl, or that she's left the world to go to a better place. It's okay to cry and be sad, but only for a short while. There's no turning back, so all that's left for you to do is continue with your journey with fond memories of him/her in your mind. :)
Step 2: Let it all out. Write in a journal, or talk to someone about what you feel. Situations are always easier to handle when you're not bottling up your emotions. :)
Step 3: Hang out with friends. Having a day out shopping or playing futsal with your buddies never fails to get you feeling good about yourself, and in turn being truly happy again. :)
Step 4: Do something for yourself. Pamper yourself at the spa or get a new haircut. It'll definitely help in boosting your self-esteem and confidence. :)
Step 5: Hit the gym! Working out is a good way to channel all that energy into doing something good for your body. Instead of sitting in front of the TV watching "Hatchiko" and bawling your eyes out with a box of popcorn, jump on the treadmill for half an hour. You'd feel much better afterwards. :)
Step 6: Give a little more focus to your work. Not only it would bring you satisfaction as you see yourself getting better by the day, it would take you one step closer to that promotion and raise that you've been eying on for some time now. :)
Step 7: Get a new hobby. Start baking, or learn how to play golf. Keep yourself occupied with something new, and you'll find yourself sinking lesser into depression because you're simply too busy to think of him/her. :)
Step 8: Take it as a lesson in life. Everything that happens every day is a learning experience for us. Perhaps losing her would get you to realize that one shouldn't be too clingy, or that his death is a reminder that one should never drink and drive. :)
Step 9: Meet new people. Get to know more colleagues from work, or ask your pals to introduce you to their friends. It'll help you to get your mind off him/her, and expand your network - in addition to helping you get connected to people of similar interests with you! :)
Step 10: Forgive. Perhaps you never had the chance to tell him that you loved him, or she broke your heart into pieces. Forgive yourself, or him/her. Playing the blaming game will never solve the problem, and doesn't help in any way if you want to move on. Come to terms with reality, and you're on your way to being okay. :)
Written by Ashley Greig
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
To Forgive and Forget
By Azlan Mahmud
The silence of the almost pitch black night was broken occasionally by the howling winds that blew across the city river, creating ripples and small waves that were enough to rock the docked ferry. Ahmad said a silent prayer as he led his wife and three children down the slope towards the jetty.
They were in a foreign country, where Ahmad was pursuing his doctorate studies. It was the fasting month, and they had just broken fast at a friend's place. To get to their rented home, they had to take the ferry across the city river, something he and his family had done many times before. This was the first time, though, that they were rushing to catch the last ferry home. Terawih prayers had ended later than usual.
"You sure you want to go back? It's going to rain heavily soon," shouted Malik as he ran down the slope towards Ahmad and his family.
"I'm afraid I have to! Got lectures the next morning," answered Ahmad, raising his voice to be heard above the winds. Malik nodded and volunteered to help his family get on the small ferry.
"Hurry up, mate! We've got to get going before the storm comes!" shouted the burly ferry operator. The waves were now starting to get stronger.
Ahmad nodded and started to help his youngest daughter on first.
"Slowly, Niza."
The small girl smiled at her father, and slowly put a step on the ferry.
Just then, a big wave hit the ferry, pushing it away slightly from the edge of the wooden jetty. But the gap was enough.
Niza fell through and sank into the murky waters.
"NIZAAAAA!" The scream of a terrified father rose above everything else. Malik rushed forward, as did the ferry operator. Ahmad tore off his shirt and prepared to dive in to save his daughter.
"Don't do it, mate! You'll sink too!" shouted the ferry operator as he tied a rope to himself. He knew that if anyone else jumped in without an anchor in this weather, he would sink too.
But Ahmad did not hear him. All he wanted to do was save his daughter, and precious seconds were ticking away.
Malik was torn between his friendship and the sanity of not letting Ahmad jump in. The waves grew stronger as large droplets of rain began to fall. Malik knew Ahmad was not a good swimmer. He held him back.
"Don't! You'll never make it! We'll have to wait for help!" Malik could see from the corner of his eye that the ferry operator was now radioing in a distress call. Anger engulfed Ahmad.
"Let me go! Niza's down there!"
Malik felt a punch land on his face, which sent him rolling backwards towards Ahmad's wife. She was now sobbing uncontrollably, with two other children huddled close to her in fear.
"Don't mate! Let me go! You'll drown!" said the ferry operator. He ran towards the farry, took off his shirt and dived in, his rope acting as a safety harness. But Ahmad wouldn't listen. He was preparing to dive in himself, when Malik, again, held him back.
"Don't be crazy! You'll die!:
Ahmad turned and swung another punch at Malik, who managed to avoid it this time. Malik knew he had no choice. He punched Ahmad squarely on the face, sending the distraught father down onto the sandy grass. His wife ran towards him and held him as she wept.
"Please don't, abang! Please don't leave me too!"
And with that, Ahmad cried.
The thunderstorm broke.
Malik turned to look at the violent river as the ferry operator dived and came up a number of times, frantically searching for the little girl. Sirens could be heard approaching the riverbank. A small crowd started to gather.
Tears flowed down Malik's eyes. He wondered if he had done the right thing.
They found Niza's body the next morning, a hundred meters from where she had fallen. It's not eight years since that fateful night, and Malik has not met Ahmad of his family again. But one day, he bumped into Kak Shima, Ahmad's wife. She recognised him and said "Hello".
It's been a long time, she said. And the inevitable question of where Ahmad was came up. Kak Shima smiled, a resigned smile. Tears started to well up in her eyes.
Ahmad passed away three years ago, in a car accident. He had never forgiven Malik for what he'd done that night, although Kak Shima understood the young man's actions. And with that Kak Shima left, leaving Malik standing alone by the roadside.
"Yes, Kak Shima," he had felt like saying. "I've never forgiven myself too."
Sent in to Starmag
The silence of the almost pitch black night was broken occasionally by the howling winds that blew across the city river, creating ripples and small waves that were enough to rock the docked ferry. Ahmad said a silent prayer as he led his wife and three children down the slope towards the jetty.
They were in a foreign country, where Ahmad was pursuing his doctorate studies. It was the fasting month, and they had just broken fast at a friend's place. To get to their rented home, they had to take the ferry across the city river, something he and his family had done many times before. This was the first time, though, that they were rushing to catch the last ferry home. Terawih prayers had ended later than usual.
"You sure you want to go back? It's going to rain heavily soon," shouted Malik as he ran down the slope towards Ahmad and his family.
"I'm afraid I have to! Got lectures the next morning," answered Ahmad, raising his voice to be heard above the winds. Malik nodded and volunteered to help his family get on the small ferry.
"Hurry up, mate! We've got to get going before the storm comes!" shouted the burly ferry operator. The waves were now starting to get stronger.
Ahmad nodded and started to help his youngest daughter on first.
"Slowly, Niza."
The small girl smiled at her father, and slowly put a step on the ferry.
Just then, a big wave hit the ferry, pushing it away slightly from the edge of the wooden jetty. But the gap was enough.
Niza fell through and sank into the murky waters.
"NIZAAAAA!" The scream of a terrified father rose above everything else. Malik rushed forward, as did the ferry operator. Ahmad tore off his shirt and prepared to dive in to save his daughter.
"Don't do it, mate! You'll sink too!" shouted the ferry operator as he tied a rope to himself. He knew that if anyone else jumped in without an anchor in this weather, he would sink too.
But Ahmad did not hear him. All he wanted to do was save his daughter, and precious seconds were ticking away.
Malik was torn between his friendship and the sanity of not letting Ahmad jump in. The waves grew stronger as large droplets of rain began to fall. Malik knew Ahmad was not a good swimmer. He held him back.
"Don't! You'll never make it! We'll have to wait for help!" Malik could see from the corner of his eye that the ferry operator was now radioing in a distress call. Anger engulfed Ahmad.
"Let me go! Niza's down there!"
Malik felt a punch land on his face, which sent him rolling backwards towards Ahmad's wife. She was now sobbing uncontrollably, with two other children huddled close to her in fear.
"Don't mate! Let me go! You'll drown!" said the ferry operator. He ran towards the farry, took off his shirt and dived in, his rope acting as a safety harness. But Ahmad wouldn't listen. He was preparing to dive in himself, when Malik, again, held him back.
"Don't be crazy! You'll die!:
Ahmad turned and swung another punch at Malik, who managed to avoid it this time. Malik knew he had no choice. He punched Ahmad squarely on the face, sending the distraught father down onto the sandy grass. His wife ran towards him and held him as she wept.
"Please don't, abang! Please don't leave me too!"
And with that, Ahmad cried.
The thunderstorm broke.
Malik turned to look at the violent river as the ferry operator dived and came up a number of times, frantically searching for the little girl. Sirens could be heard approaching the riverbank. A small crowd started to gather.
Tears flowed down Malik's eyes. He wondered if he had done the right thing.
They found Niza's body the next morning, a hundred meters from where she had fallen. It's not eight years since that fateful night, and Malik has not met Ahmad of his family again. But one day, he bumped into Kak Shima, Ahmad's wife. She recognised him and said "Hello".
It's been a long time, she said. And the inevitable question of where Ahmad was came up. Kak Shima smiled, a resigned smile. Tears started to well up in her eyes.
Ahmad passed away three years ago, in a car accident. He had never forgiven Malik for what he'd done that night, although Kak Shima understood the young man's actions. And with that Kak Shima left, leaving Malik standing alone by the roadside.
"Yes, Kak Shima," he had felt like saying. "I've never forgiven myself too."
Sent in to Starmag
Sunday, July 10, 2011
"Information, Please"
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighbourhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. While amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, and finally arrived at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. I climbed up, unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear.
"Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
After a click or two, a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information".
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my Math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security that I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.
Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialled my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information". I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information". I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hand up, she added, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
From Starmag
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. While amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, and finally arrived at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. I climbed up, unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear.
"Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
After a click or two, a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information".
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my Math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security that I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.
Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialled my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information". I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information". I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hand up, she added, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
From Starmag
Creed For Women
A woman should have ...
One old love she can imagine going back to and one who reminds her how far she has come.
Enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to.
Something perfect to wear if the employees or date of her dreams should want to see her in an hour.
A youth she is content to leave behind, and a past juicy enough for her to look forward to retelling in her old age.
A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
One friend who always makes her laugh ... and one who lets her cry.
A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.
Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honoured.
And a feeling of control over her destiny.
Every woman should know ...
How to fall in love without losing herself, how to quit a job or break up with a lover, and how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
When to try harder and when to walk away.
That she cannot change the length of her calves, the width of her hips or the nature of her parents.
That her childhood may not have been perfect, but it's over.
What she will or will not do for love, or more.
How to live alone, even if she doesn't like it.
Whom she can trust, whom she cannot, and why she shouldn't take some things personally.
Where to go ... be it her best friend's kitchen table or a charming motel in the countryside when her soul needs soothing.
And what she can or cannot accomplish in a day, a month and a year.
Sent in to Starmag by Sharmini Suguman
One old love she can imagine going back to and one who reminds her how far she has come.
Enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to.
Something perfect to wear if the employees or date of her dreams should want to see her in an hour.
A youth she is content to leave behind, and a past juicy enough for her to look forward to retelling in her old age.
A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
One friend who always makes her laugh ... and one who lets her cry.
A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.
Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honoured.
And a feeling of control over her destiny.
Every woman should know ...
How to fall in love without losing herself, how to quit a job or break up with a lover, and how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
When to try harder and when to walk away.
That she cannot change the length of her calves, the width of her hips or the nature of her parents.
That her childhood may not have been perfect, but it's over.
What she will or will not do for love, or more.
How to live alone, even if she doesn't like it.
Whom she can trust, whom she cannot, and why she shouldn't take some things personally.
Where to go ... be it her best friend's kitchen table or a charming motel in the countryside when her soul needs soothing.
And what she can or cannot accomplish in a day, a month and a year.
Sent in to Starmag by Sharmini Suguman
Put On The Purple Hat
A woman looks in the mirror at various stages of her life.
Age 3: Looks at herself and sees a queen!
Age 8: Smiles at Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Belle.
Age 14: If it's one of those PMS days, she sees fat/pimples and screams, "Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!"
Age 20: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - but goes out anyway.
Age 30: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - decides she doesn't have time to fix anything, so she's going anyway.
Age 40: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - says "At least I'm clean" and goes anyway.
Age 50: Looks at herself, sees "I am", and goes wherever she wishes.
Age 60: Reminds herself of all the people who cannot even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Goes out and conquers the world.
Age 70: Sees wisdom, laughter and ability; goes out and enjoys life.
Age 80: Doesn't bother to look. Just put on a purple hat and goes out to have fun with the world.
Sent in to Starmag by Dennis Chee
Age 3: Looks at herself and sees a queen!
Age 8: Smiles at Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Belle.
Age 14: If it's one of those PMS days, she sees fat/pimples and screams, "Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!"
Age 20: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - but goes out anyway.
Age 30: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - decides she doesn't have time to fix anything, so she's going anyway.
Age 40: Sees herself as "too fat/thin, too short/tall, hair too straight/curly" - says "At least I'm clean" and goes anyway.
Age 50: Looks at herself, sees "I am", and goes wherever she wishes.
Age 60: Reminds herself of all the people who cannot even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Goes out and conquers the world.
Age 70: Sees wisdom, laughter and ability; goes out and enjoys life.
Age 80: Doesn't bother to look. Just put on a purple hat and goes out to have fun with the world.
Sent in to Starmag by Dennis Chee
Diamonds in the Rough
By Juliana Phang
The nondescript group filed in slowly. "Ah ... looks like the doldrums for the next two days," I hummed silently to myself as I observed my newest batch of trainees streaming into the room. The nine executives were from various corporations in the region.
I never cease to marvel at the pipe dreams of corporate bosses: within 48 hours, the office sluggards they send will be changed, chameleon-like, into corporate champions. Yep, and with an additional bonus of guts and gall to bring about mind-boggling changes to their respective companies.
As they settled down, in shuffled a slight, hunch figure who reminded me of the Hunchback of the Notre Dame. She walked in hesitantly and gave me a shy smile. From afar, she looked like a victim of osteoporosis, a bone affliction of older citizens. To my surprise, as she drew nearer, I realise Ms Hoe was very much younger than I had surmised.
As we introduced ourselves, one of the participants turned around fully to face me. I realised with a jolt that she had a reddish, unsightly birthmark that covered more than half her face.
I wondered why she didn't attempt to hide it with make-up. Why hasn't she gone for plastic surgery to get rid of that hideous thing? But if she was ashamed of the sprawling mark, Lisa didn't show it.
As with any meeting of Eves, during tea-break, the topic turned to marriage. More out of curiosity than courtesy, I asked the ladies if they had any intention of getting married. My little mind had already formed the foregone conclusion that notably two of them were not likely to attract suitors. And even as the question left the tip of my impetuous tongue, I was afraid they would find it offensive.
However, Ms Hoe turned to me and quietly remarked that she would, but for her spine problem of 20 years. Her spine had started to curve when she was in her twenties. She had consulted various doctors, bone specialists, therapists and even chiropractors, and done extensive research on the Internet. But sadly, there is no known cure.
Silence. Knives, forks and spoons were poised in mid-air. You could hear a pin drop in the dining room.
I cleared my throat and helpfully blustered, "I feel sad for you."
Ms Hoe turned and looked at me steadily, with her calm dark brown eyes showing something akin to compassion. "There is nothing to be sad about. I will have to live with it the best way I can." And I thought she was the one in need of pity.
She shared how she had to give up badminton when the pains started to wrack her twisted body. The doctors could only prescribe painkillers to ease her suffering. But over-dependence on drugs was not something she wanted for the rest of her life. Instead of drowning in despair, she gamely took up qigong, an ancient Chinese form of exercise for self-healing.
Whenever she went out, people would stop and stare and make unkind remarks. Was she bitter about it all?
"Why should I be bothered? I have not committed any crime or sinned such that God should punish me with this. If He sees fit that I should go through life as a hunchback, then I will ask for strength, not deliverance."
I bumped into Ms Hoe again as I entered the ladies' toilet later. She was applying lipstick, preparing for a session of individual presentations. The moment she saw me, she surreptitiously put the lipstick behind her back. I pretended I hadn't noticed. However in my mind's eye, I suddenly realised that she, like all women, desired to look beautiful.
I discovered this unassuming lady was also a manager and a shareholder of the company she was working inl Yet she did not pull her weight around despite the fact that she had subordinate in the same course. Instead, she constantly praised his abilities. She focused on others' strengths, not her own weakness.
Lisa revealed that she was engaged and would soon be marrying a wonderful man.
Engagement? Marriage? Husband? Was I hearing right? So many of my friends who were better endowed in the looks department were still desperately searching for Mr Right. How in the world did she do it?
Eventually, I realised her secret. Instead of being self-conscious and bitter over what fate had dealt her, Lisa was the life of our group. She made us laugh with her witty comments and contributed to all the discussions.
I once sagely mentioned how we so easily fall when faced with calamity. Lisa tut-tutted: "Oh, what a negative was to face life!" And that coming from a person who, I thought, needed all the positive thinking we could possibly muster!
Lisa didn't need any cover-up for her disfigurement. I'd swear that as I spent more time with her, the birthmark seemed to fade. She radiated enthusiasm and a zest for life. In fact, she was actually very pretty. She had a smooth and even complexion that millions of women would die for. And she had a nice figure to boot. She was involved in various sports despite her heavy work schedule. She talked excitedly about her latest passion, bowling, and proceeded to educate me, a novice, on the finer points of the game!
Sometimes my trainees call me sifu. In Cantonese, it means teacher of the highest order. But as we gave farewell speeches and exchanged thank you notes, I felt less of a sifu and more like a fool that day. Who, indeed, was the real teacher here?
I was there to teach them how to perform better in their work, but the tables were turned. My trainees taught me more than all the management books in the world could. I taught them how to be better employees but they taught me something more important in life - how to be a better person.
Thank you, Ms Hoe and Lisa. I will always remember you when I walk through the valley of shadow and self-defeat. May your courage and fortitude be my guiding light whenever I am tempted to curse fate and dwell in self-pity.
And may your concept of real beauty that shines from within as opposed to the world's standards of perfection be with me through the ravages of time. God bless you both; you are like diamonds that shine in the dark.
From Starmag
The nondescript group filed in slowly. "Ah ... looks like the doldrums for the next two days," I hummed silently to myself as I observed my newest batch of trainees streaming into the room. The nine executives were from various corporations in the region.
I never cease to marvel at the pipe dreams of corporate bosses: within 48 hours, the office sluggards they send will be changed, chameleon-like, into corporate champions. Yep, and with an additional bonus of guts and gall to bring about mind-boggling changes to their respective companies.
As they settled down, in shuffled a slight, hunch figure who reminded me of the Hunchback of the Notre Dame. She walked in hesitantly and gave me a shy smile. From afar, she looked like a victim of osteoporosis, a bone affliction of older citizens. To my surprise, as she drew nearer, I realise Ms Hoe was very much younger than I had surmised.
As we introduced ourselves, one of the participants turned around fully to face me. I realised with a jolt that she had a reddish, unsightly birthmark that covered more than half her face.
I wondered why she didn't attempt to hide it with make-up. Why hasn't she gone for plastic surgery to get rid of that hideous thing? But if she was ashamed of the sprawling mark, Lisa didn't show it.
As with any meeting of Eves, during tea-break, the topic turned to marriage. More out of curiosity than courtesy, I asked the ladies if they had any intention of getting married. My little mind had already formed the foregone conclusion that notably two of them were not likely to attract suitors. And even as the question left the tip of my impetuous tongue, I was afraid they would find it offensive.
However, Ms Hoe turned to me and quietly remarked that she would, but for her spine problem of 20 years. Her spine had started to curve when she was in her twenties. She had consulted various doctors, bone specialists, therapists and even chiropractors, and done extensive research on the Internet. But sadly, there is no known cure.
Silence. Knives, forks and spoons were poised in mid-air. You could hear a pin drop in the dining room.
I cleared my throat and helpfully blustered, "I feel sad for you."
Ms Hoe turned and looked at me steadily, with her calm dark brown eyes showing something akin to compassion. "There is nothing to be sad about. I will have to live with it the best way I can." And I thought she was the one in need of pity.
She shared how she had to give up badminton when the pains started to wrack her twisted body. The doctors could only prescribe painkillers to ease her suffering. But over-dependence on drugs was not something she wanted for the rest of her life. Instead of drowning in despair, she gamely took up qigong, an ancient Chinese form of exercise for self-healing.
Whenever she went out, people would stop and stare and make unkind remarks. Was she bitter about it all?
"Why should I be bothered? I have not committed any crime or sinned such that God should punish me with this. If He sees fit that I should go through life as a hunchback, then I will ask for strength, not deliverance."
I bumped into Ms Hoe again as I entered the ladies' toilet later. She was applying lipstick, preparing for a session of individual presentations. The moment she saw me, she surreptitiously put the lipstick behind her back. I pretended I hadn't noticed. However in my mind's eye, I suddenly realised that she, like all women, desired to look beautiful.
I discovered this unassuming lady was also a manager and a shareholder of the company she was working inl Yet she did not pull her weight around despite the fact that she had subordinate in the same course. Instead, she constantly praised his abilities. She focused on others' strengths, not her own weakness.
Lisa revealed that she was engaged and would soon be marrying a wonderful man.
Engagement? Marriage? Husband? Was I hearing right? So many of my friends who were better endowed in the looks department were still desperately searching for Mr Right. How in the world did she do it?
Eventually, I realised her secret. Instead of being self-conscious and bitter over what fate had dealt her, Lisa was the life of our group. She made us laugh with her witty comments and contributed to all the discussions.
I once sagely mentioned how we so easily fall when faced with calamity. Lisa tut-tutted: "Oh, what a negative was to face life!" And that coming from a person who, I thought, needed all the positive thinking we could possibly muster!
Lisa didn't need any cover-up for her disfigurement. I'd swear that as I spent more time with her, the birthmark seemed to fade. She radiated enthusiasm and a zest for life. In fact, she was actually very pretty. She had a smooth and even complexion that millions of women would die for. And she had a nice figure to boot. She was involved in various sports despite her heavy work schedule. She talked excitedly about her latest passion, bowling, and proceeded to educate me, a novice, on the finer points of the game!
Sometimes my trainees call me sifu. In Cantonese, it means teacher of the highest order. But as we gave farewell speeches and exchanged thank you notes, I felt less of a sifu and more like a fool that day. Who, indeed, was the real teacher here?
I was there to teach them how to perform better in their work, but the tables were turned. My trainees taught me more than all the management books in the world could. I taught them how to be better employees but they taught me something more important in life - how to be a better person.
Thank you, Ms Hoe and Lisa. I will always remember you when I walk through the valley of shadow and self-defeat. May your courage and fortitude be my guiding light whenever I am tempted to curse fate and dwell in self-pity.
And may your concept of real beauty that shines from within as opposed to the world's standards of perfection be with me through the ravages of time. God bless you both; you are like diamonds that shine in the dark.
From Starmag
Lessons from the Ark
Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Noah's Ark:
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
Eleven: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there's always a rainbow waiting.
The Best and The Worst
Most destructive habit:
Worry
Greatest joy:
Giving
Worst pastime:
Criticism
Best award:
Appreciation
Greatest loss:
Loss of self-respect
Most satisfying work:
Helping others
Ugliest personality trait:
Selfishness
Most endangered species:
Dedicated leaders
Our greatest natural resources:
Our youth
Greatest shot in the arm:
Encouragement
Greatest problem to overcome:
Fear
Most effective sleeping pill:
Peace of mind
Most crippling disease:
Excuses
Most powerful force in life:
Love
Most dangerous person:
A gossip
Most incredible computer:
The brain
Worst company:
Privilege seekers
Best company:
Holy men
Best thing to be without:
Jealousy
Worst thing to be without:
Hope
Deadliest weapon:
The tongue
Two most power-filled words:
I can
Greatest asset:
Faith
Most worthless emotion:
Self-pity
Most prized possession:
Integrity
Most powerful channel of communication:
Prayer
Most contagious spirit:
Enthusiasm
Most beautiful attire:
A smile
By M.L. Lou, in Starmag
Worry
Greatest joy:
Giving
Worst pastime:
Criticism
Best award:
Appreciation
Greatest loss:
Loss of self-respect
Most satisfying work:
Helping others
Ugliest personality trait:
Selfishness
Most endangered species:
Dedicated leaders
Our greatest natural resources:
Our youth
Greatest shot in the arm:
Encouragement
Greatest problem to overcome:
Fear
Most effective sleeping pill:
Peace of mind
Most crippling disease:
Excuses
Most powerful force in life:
Love
Most dangerous person:
A gossip
Most incredible computer:
The brain
Worst company:
Privilege seekers
Best company:
Holy men
Best thing to be without:
Jealousy
Worst thing to be without:
Hope
Deadliest weapon:
The tongue
Two most power-filled words:
I can
Greatest asset:
Faith
Most worthless emotion:
Self-pity
Most prized possession:
Integrity
Most powerful channel of communication:
Prayer
Most contagious spirit:
Enthusiasm
Most beautiful attire:
A smile
By M.L. Lou, in Starmag
Faithful in Small Things
I was shopping at an antiques sale in Tennessee, United States, and had just purchased a sampler to add to my collection - a little needlework girl sharing a bouquet of daisies with a neighbour over a picket fence. Below was an old saying: "Action speaks louder than words".
At the final booth, the elderly proprietor overheard me say that I was leaving and freeing up a parking space nearly. He was short-winded, battling emphysema and cancer, he explained, and his wife had just learned she had luch cancer.
"This will be our last show," he said, shaking his head at his charmingly displayed inventory.
With the chance to have my choice parking spot, the frail man followed me out to the lot to move his vehicle.
I started my car and waited, but he never came. "Probably changed his mind and is just going to leave me hanging. I'll give him five more minutes," I muttered to myself.
Then I spotted him in the rear view mirror, struggling on his cane as he huffed and puffed his way to my car window.
"Found an even closer spot, young lady," he said. "One with plenty of room for the wife's wheelchair when we packed up."
He pointed to an area nearly a block away, a huge distance for someone in his weak condition. "I wanted to let you know and to thank you again for the kind offer."
This gracious, true-to-his-word man had many excuses not to walk that extra distance. It was, after all, a small thing.
Yet, it had been important to treat someone he would never see again the way he would want to be treated.
"Actions speak louder than words." I'd heard that maxim all my life. But now I'd seen it lived.
A thought-provoking take by Roberta Messner (Everyday Blessings) sent to Starmag by Liew Swee Mio
At the final booth, the elderly proprietor overheard me say that I was leaving and freeing up a parking space nearly. He was short-winded, battling emphysema and cancer, he explained, and his wife had just learned she had luch cancer.
"This will be our last show," he said, shaking his head at his charmingly displayed inventory.
With the chance to have my choice parking spot, the frail man followed me out to the lot to move his vehicle.
I started my car and waited, but he never came. "Probably changed his mind and is just going to leave me hanging. I'll give him five more minutes," I muttered to myself.
Then I spotted him in the rear view mirror, struggling on his cane as he huffed and puffed his way to my car window.
"Found an even closer spot, young lady," he said. "One with plenty of room for the wife's wheelchair when we packed up."
He pointed to an area nearly a block away, a huge distance for someone in his weak condition. "I wanted to let you know and to thank you again for the kind offer."
This gracious, true-to-his-word man had many excuses not to walk that extra distance. It was, after all, a small thing.
Yet, it had been important to treat someone he would never see again the way he would want to be treated.
"Actions speak louder than words." I'd heard that maxim all my life. But now I'd seen it lived.
A thought-provoking take by Roberta Messner (Everyday Blessings) sent to Starmag by Liew Swee Mio
Crumpled But Still Valuable
A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a$20 bill. In the room of 200 eager participants, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?"
Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you, but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple the bill.
He then asked: "Who still wants it?" The hands went up again.
"Well, what is I do this?" He dropped the bill and started to grind it into the floor with his foot. He then picked it up' it was not crumpled and dirty.
"Now who still wants it?" The hands continued to go up.
"My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the bill, you wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.
"Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless.
"But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who love you. The worth of our lives lies not in what we do or whom we know, but by who we are.
"You are all special - don't ever forget that."
Sent to Starmag by Clement Nathan
Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you, but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple the bill.
He then asked: "Who still wants it?" The hands went up again.
"Well, what is I do this?" He dropped the bill and started to grind it into the floor with his foot. He then picked it up' it was not crumpled and dirty.
"Now who still wants it?" The hands continued to go up.
"My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the bill, you wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.
"Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless.
"But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who love you. The worth of our lives lies not in what we do or whom we know, but by who we are.
"You are all special - don't ever forget that."
Sent to Starmag by Clement Nathan
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Just some old quotes
Trouble, like the hill ahead, straightens out when you advanced upon it.
When you are down, the only way to go is UP.
Worry is interest paid on trouble before it is due.
If the dose is nasty, swallow it fast.
Health is a crown on a well man's head, but no one can see it but a sick man.
The true test of intelligence is not how much we know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do.
People who want by the yard but try by the inch, should be kicked by the foot.
When you are down, the only way to go is UP.
Worry is interest paid on trouble before it is due.
If the dose is nasty, swallow it fast.
Health is a crown on a well man's head, but no one can see it but a sick man.
The true test of intelligence is not how much we know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do.
People who want by the yard but try by the inch, should be kicked by the foot.
Give Up and You Shall Get
By Stephanie Marston
At the end of my daughter's senior year in high school, we decided to take a trip to the island in British Columbia where she was born. Neither of us had been back since she, her father and I had left some 16 years earlier.
Shortly after we arrived, we visited an old friend who's a jeweller. When she noticed me admiring one of her chrysanthemum rocks, she offered to make me a piece of jewellery if I found the right stone while on the island.
From that moment on I was on a quest. Every time I went for a walk I would scour the beach. I must have picked up several hundred stones. After days of intensive hunting I began to notice that I had become obsessed with finding "the perfect rock".
Without having realised it, I had gotten to the point where I was no longer enjoying myself. In fact, I was making myself miserable. Here I was in this idyllic setting and I felt as stressed out as I was in Los Angeles. I had become so driven to find a keepsake of our trip that I was missing the actual experience. I called off my search and for the first time since arriving I began to feel like I was on vacation.
A few days later I ran into an old friend who invited me to go on a picnic. We rode our bikes to a deserted beach. As we lay on our stomachs at the water's edge, I suddenly notices something tickling my palm. I looked down and there was a jet black stone with a perfectly formed circle etched on it's oval surface. The stone was exactly the right size for my ring finger. I was speechless. I had let go, given up and having expended no effort, I had found the very thing I had been looking for.
I began to think about how fear had driven much of my life. My self-assured veneer had camouflaged how truly frightened I had been - frightened that if I didn't push, nothing would happen.
Perhaps, after this experience, I could loosen my grip and allow myself to be carried more by life. Perhaps it was time to get my ego out of the way and allow something deeper to motivate me. Perhaps it was time top listen to a voice that has always existed, but one to which I had only intermittently listened. Perhaps it was time to allow the wisdom of my authentic self to be more present in my life - to heed the truth that I knew to be correct, but had too often ignored.
Since that experience I began to practise trusting whenever, wherever, however I found an opportunity. Each time we choose to trust - and it's not always easy - our faith grows incrementally stronger. On those occasions when I feel fear rising in the pit of my stomach, I glance down at my ring as a concrete reminder of what's possible for each of us when we open ourselves and surrender.
Sent to Starmag by Tan Hock Ang
At the end of my daughter's senior year in high school, we decided to take a trip to the island in British Columbia where she was born. Neither of us had been back since she, her father and I had left some 16 years earlier.
Shortly after we arrived, we visited an old friend who's a jeweller. When she noticed me admiring one of her chrysanthemum rocks, she offered to make me a piece of jewellery if I found the right stone while on the island.
From that moment on I was on a quest. Every time I went for a walk I would scour the beach. I must have picked up several hundred stones. After days of intensive hunting I began to notice that I had become obsessed with finding "the perfect rock".
Without having realised it, I had gotten to the point where I was no longer enjoying myself. In fact, I was making myself miserable. Here I was in this idyllic setting and I felt as stressed out as I was in Los Angeles. I had become so driven to find a keepsake of our trip that I was missing the actual experience. I called off my search and for the first time since arriving I began to feel like I was on vacation.
A few days later I ran into an old friend who invited me to go on a picnic. We rode our bikes to a deserted beach. As we lay on our stomachs at the water's edge, I suddenly notices something tickling my palm. I looked down and there was a jet black stone with a perfectly formed circle etched on it's oval surface. The stone was exactly the right size for my ring finger. I was speechless. I had let go, given up and having expended no effort, I had found the very thing I had been looking for.
I began to think about how fear had driven much of my life. My self-assured veneer had camouflaged how truly frightened I had been - frightened that if I didn't push, nothing would happen.
Perhaps, after this experience, I could loosen my grip and allow myself to be carried more by life. Perhaps it was time to get my ego out of the way and allow something deeper to motivate me. Perhaps it was time top listen to a voice that has always existed, but one to which I had only intermittently listened. Perhaps it was time to allow the wisdom of my authentic self to be more present in my life - to heed the truth that I knew to be correct, but had too often ignored.
Since that experience I began to practise trusting whenever, wherever, however I found an opportunity. Each time we choose to trust - and it's not always easy - our faith grows incrementally stronger. On those occasions when I feel fear rising in the pit of my stomach, I glance down at my ring as a concrete reminder of what's possible for each of us when we open ourselves and surrender.
Sent to Starmag by Tan Hock Ang
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Take my son!
A wealthy man and his only son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works they had accumulated.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died while trying to rescue another soldier. The father was notified and he grieved deeply for his son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock on the door. A young man was standing there, with a large package in his hands. He said: "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day ... he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art."
The young man held out the package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."
The father opened the package. Inside was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured his personality in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes of his son that his own welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.
"Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time he had visitors, he would show them the portrait of his son, before showing any of the other works he had collected.
The man died a few months into the new year. Soon after that, there was to be a big auction of his collected paintings. Many influential people gathered for the event, excited about viewing his collection and getting the opportunity to purchase one or two pieces for themselves.
On the auction platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.
"We will start the bidding with this picture. Who will bid for it?"
There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."
But the auctioneer persisted: "Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?"
Another voice cried out angrily. "We didn't come to see this! We want to see the Van Goghs and Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!"
Still the auctioneer continued, "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son.
"I'll give $10 for the painting." It was all he could afford.
"We have $10. Now who will bid $20?"
"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters."
"$10 is the bid. Won't someone offer $20?"
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice ... SOLD for $10!"
A man sitting in the second row shouted, "Now let's get on with the collection!"
The auctioneer laid down his gavel and said, "I'm sorry, the auction is over."
"What about the paintings?"
"I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. Only the painting of the son will be auctioned. And whoever bought it would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings by the masters. The man who took the son gets everything!"
From Starmag
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died while trying to rescue another soldier. The father was notified and he grieved deeply for his son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock on the door. A young man was standing there, with a large package in his hands. He said: "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day ... he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art."
The young man held out the package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."
The father opened the package. Inside was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured his personality in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes of his son that his own welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.
"Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time he had visitors, he would show them the portrait of his son, before showing any of the other works he had collected.
The man died a few months into the new year. Soon after that, there was to be a big auction of his collected paintings. Many influential people gathered for the event, excited about viewing his collection and getting the opportunity to purchase one or two pieces for themselves.
On the auction platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.
"We will start the bidding with this picture. Who will bid for it?"
There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."
But the auctioneer persisted: "Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?"
Another voice cried out angrily. "We didn't come to see this! We want to see the Van Goghs and Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!"
Still the auctioneer continued, "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son.
"I'll give $10 for the painting." It was all he could afford.
"We have $10. Now who will bid $20?"
"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters."
"$10 is the bid. Won't someone offer $20?"
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice ... SOLD for $10!"
A man sitting in the second row shouted, "Now let's get on with the collection!"
The auctioneer laid down his gavel and said, "I'm sorry, the auction is over."
"What about the paintings?"
"I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. Only the painting of the son will be auctioned. And whoever bought it would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings by the masters. The man who took the son gets everything!"
From Starmag
Three Trees
Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. As they were discussing their hopes and dreams, the first tree said: "Some day I hope to be a treasure chest. I can be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I can be decorated with intricate carvings and everyone will see my beauty."
The the second tree said: "Some day I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."
Finally, the third tree said: "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People who see me at the top of the hill will look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God, and how close I am to them. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."
A few years after that, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. One of them looked at the first tree and said: "This looks like a strong tree ... I should be able to sell its wood to a carpenter." He began to cut itdown. The tree was happy because he knew that the carpenter would turn him into a treasure chest.
At the second tree, the woodsmen said: "This looks like a strong tree; I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.
When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, he was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down, his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree. I'll take this one," and he cut it down.
When the first tree arrived at the carpenter's, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not what he had hoped for at all.
The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.
One day, a man and woman came into the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but the manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.
Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and He stood and said, "Peace", and the storm stopped. The tree knew then that it had carried the King of Kings.
Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as people mocked the man carrying it. When they came to a stop at the top of a hill, the man was nailed to the tree and left to die there. When Sunday came, the tree realised that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as possible because Jesus had been crucified on it.
Each of the trees got what it wanted, although not in the way it had imagined. In the same way, God's plans for us are not always our plans, but they are always the best.
Sent to Starmag by Alicia Goh on 16 April 2006
The the second tree said: "Some day I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."
Finally, the third tree said: "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People who see me at the top of the hill will look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God, and how close I am to them. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."
A few years after that, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. One of them looked at the first tree and said: "This looks like a strong tree ... I should be able to sell its wood to a carpenter." He began to cut itdown. The tree was happy because he knew that the carpenter would turn him into a treasure chest.
At the second tree, the woodsmen said: "This looks like a strong tree; I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.
When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, he was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down, his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree. I'll take this one," and he cut it down.
When the first tree arrived at the carpenter's, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not what he had hoped for at all.
The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.
One day, a man and woman came into the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but the manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.
Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and He stood and said, "Peace", and the storm stopped. The tree knew then that it had carried the King of Kings.
Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as people mocked the man carrying it. When they came to a stop at the top of a hill, the man was nailed to the tree and left to die there. When Sunday came, the tree realised that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as possible because Jesus had been crucified on it.
Each of the trees got what it wanted, although not in the way it had imagined. In the same way, God's plans for us are not always our plans, but they are always the best.
Sent to Starmag by Alicia Goh on 16 April 2006
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Instructions for Life
By the Dalai Lama
- Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
- When you lose, don't lose the lesson.
- Follow the three R's:
- Respect for self
- Respect for others
- Responsibility for all your actions
- Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.
- Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.
- Don't let a little dispute injure a great relationship.
- When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
- Spend some time alone every day.
- Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.
- Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
- Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll be able to enjoy it a second time.
- A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.
- In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.
- Share your knowledge. It is a way to achieve immortality.
- Be gentle with the earth.
- Once a year, go someplace you've never been before.
- Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.
- Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.
- Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.
From my email (again) today.
Friday, July 1, 2011
The Happy Man
Many years ago in north Africa there lived a village chief. He was very rich and had many wives and children, but he was not very happy.
He thought: "I have everything, but that does not make me happy. What must I do to be happy? I do not know."
Once he shouted angrily at his servants: "Why can't I be happy? What must I do to be happy?"
One of his servants said: "Oh, my Chief! Look at the sky! How beautiful the moon and the stars are! Look at them, and you will see how good life is. That will make you happier."
"Oh, no, no, no!" the chief answered angrily. "When I look at the moon and the stars I become angry, because I know I cannot have them."
Then another servant said: "Oh, my Chief! What about music? Music makes a man happy. We shall play to you from morning till night, and music will make you happy."
The chief's face became red with anger.
"Oh, no, no, no, no!" he cried. "What a silly idea. Music is fine, but to listen to music from morning till night, day after day? Never! No, never!"
So the servants went away, and the chief sat angrily in his rich room. Then one of the servants came back into the room and made a bow.
"Oh, my Chief," he said, "I think I can tell you something that will make you very happy."
"What is it?" asked the chief.
"It is very easy to do," said the servant. "You must find a happy man, take off his shirt and put it on. Then his happiness will go into your body and you will be as happy as he!"
"I like your idea," said the chief. He sent his soldiers all over the country to look for a happy man. They went on and on, but it was not easy to find a happy man in the chief's country
But one day the soldiers found a man in a small village who said, "I am the happiest man in the world." He was poor, but he always smiled and sang.
The soldiers brought him to the chief.
"At last I shall be a happy man!" said the chief and took off his shirt at once. "Bring the man in!"
The door to the chief's room opened. A small, dark man with a happy smile walked in.
"Come here, my friend!" said the chief. "Please take off your shirt!"
The smiling man came up to the chief. The chief looked at him and saw this: the happy man, the happiest man in the world, had no shirt!
The world has to learn that the actual pleasure derived from material things is of rather low quality on the whole, and even less in quantity than it looks to those who have not tried it.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes, author and physician
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
He thought: "I have everything, but that does not make me happy. What must I do to be happy? I do not know."
Once he shouted angrily at his servants: "Why can't I be happy? What must I do to be happy?"
One of his servants said: "Oh, my Chief! Look at the sky! How beautiful the moon and the stars are! Look at them, and you will see how good life is. That will make you happier."
"Oh, no, no, no!" the chief answered angrily. "When I look at the moon and the stars I become angry, because I know I cannot have them."
Then another servant said: "Oh, my Chief! What about music? Music makes a man happy. We shall play to you from morning till night, and music will make you happy."
The chief's face became red with anger.
"Oh, no, no, no, no!" he cried. "What a silly idea. Music is fine, but to listen to music from morning till night, day after day? Never! No, never!"
So the servants went away, and the chief sat angrily in his rich room. Then one of the servants came back into the room and made a bow.
"Oh, my Chief," he said, "I think I can tell you something that will make you very happy."
"What is it?" asked the chief.
"It is very easy to do," said the servant. "You must find a happy man, take off his shirt and put it on. Then his happiness will go into your body and you will be as happy as he!"
"I like your idea," said the chief. He sent his soldiers all over the country to look for a happy man. They went on and on, but it was not easy to find a happy man in the chief's country
But one day the soldiers found a man in a small village who said, "I am the happiest man in the world." He was poor, but he always smiled and sang.
The soldiers brought him to the chief.
"At last I shall be a happy man!" said the chief and took off his shirt at once. "Bring the man in!"
The door to the chief's room opened. A small, dark man with a happy smile walked in.
"Come here, my friend!" said the chief. "Please take off your shirt!"
The smiling man came up to the chief. The chief looked at him and saw this: the happy man, the happiest man in the world, had no shirt!
The world has to learn that the actual pleasure derived from material things is of rather low quality on the whole, and even less in quantity than it looks to those who have not tried it.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes, author and physician
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
Which is Better?
There once was a man who had 3 sons, all of whom loved the same girl. Each of them asked the girl the same question, "Will you marry me?"
All of the men were clever, handsome, and strong. The girl liked each of the 3 young men very much and could not decide which of them was the best.
One day the father of the 3 brothers said, "Here is some money for you. You will go on a long travel. While you are travelling, you must look for a very, very useful thing. When you find it, you must buy it and bring it home."
The 3 brothers travelled for a long time, and they bought 3 very useful things.
The first young man bought a magic carpet. On it he could fly to any place in no time.
The second brother bought a magic looking-glass. When he looked into it, he could see anyone and everything that he wanted to see.
The third bought a magic lemon. The juice of that lemon could make a dying man or woman well again.
The 3 brothers came together and showed their things to one another. Then one of them said, "We are far from our home and from our dear girl. Let us look into the looking-glass and see her."
The second brother took out his looking-glass, and they all looked into it. The saw that the girl was very ill. Then the first brother asked the other brothers to sit down on his carpet, and all of them were at the girl's house in no time. The third brother cut his lemon and gave the juice to the girl. The girl drank it and she was well again.
The young men were very happy.
"Now which of us will you marry?" they asked the girl.
"I thank you all, my dear friends," answered the girl. "One of the brothers saw me in his looking-glass, and that helped to save my life. His looking-glass is a very useful thing, and he will have it forever.
"Another brother brought all 3 of you here on his carpet, and that helped to save me, too. It is also a very useful thing, and he will have it forever.
"And one of you gave me the lemon juice, and now I am well again. But he has no lemon now. He gave all he had to save me. I will be his wife."
What difference does it make how much you have?
What you do not have amounts to much more...
~Seneca, Roman philosopher
From the little book of Love stories of a different kind
All of the men were clever, handsome, and strong. The girl liked each of the 3 young men very much and could not decide which of them was the best.
One day the father of the 3 brothers said, "Here is some money for you. You will go on a long travel. While you are travelling, you must look for a very, very useful thing. When you find it, you must buy it and bring it home."
The 3 brothers travelled for a long time, and they bought 3 very useful things.
The first young man bought a magic carpet. On it he could fly to any place in no time.
The second brother bought a magic looking-glass. When he looked into it, he could see anyone and everything that he wanted to see.
The third bought a magic lemon. The juice of that lemon could make a dying man or woman well again.
The 3 brothers came together and showed their things to one another. Then one of them said, "We are far from our home and from our dear girl. Let us look into the looking-glass and see her."
The second brother took out his looking-glass, and they all looked into it. The saw that the girl was very ill. Then the first brother asked the other brothers to sit down on his carpet, and all of them were at the girl's house in no time. The third brother cut his lemon and gave the juice to the girl. The girl drank it and she was well again.
The young men were very happy.
"Now which of us will you marry?" they asked the girl.
"I thank you all, my dear friends," answered the girl. "One of the brothers saw me in his looking-glass, and that helped to save my life. His looking-glass is a very useful thing, and he will have it forever.
"Another brother brought all 3 of you here on his carpet, and that helped to save me, too. It is also a very useful thing, and he will have it forever.
"And one of you gave me the lemon juice, and now I am well again. But he has no lemon now. He gave all he had to save me. I will be his wife."
What difference does it make how much you have?
What you do not have amounts to much more...
~Seneca, Roman philosopher
From the little book of Love stories of a different kind
Blessed Legs
Sheikh Sadi was a great religious preacher of Islam in Iran. He was very poor. Once he had no shoes to wear and no money to buy them. Without shoes, while walking, his feet used to burn and pebbles bruised his feet. He was always in discomfort.
One day he went to a mosque at Kufa for prayers and was, at the entrance, a man with both his legs amputated. When Sheikh Sadi pondered over that man's helplessness, his eyes opened.
He thanked God, "O God, how kind of you! You have kept my two legs safe!"
Moral of the story: We always look at what others have that we don't. We should look at what we have that others don't.
From the same little book of Love Stories as the previous few posts...
One day he went to a mosque at Kufa for prayers and was, at the entrance, a man with both his legs amputated. When Sheikh Sadi pondered over that man's helplessness, his eyes opened.
He thanked God, "O God, how kind of you! You have kept my two legs safe!"
Moral of the story: We always look at what others have that we don't. We should look at what we have that others don't.
From the same little book of Love Stories as the previous few posts...
The Extra Burden
The story is told of one of the great men of the 19th century, Swami Dayananda Saraswati, a monk who was a devout follower of the Indian culture, and who established the new Hindu religious sect called Arya-Samaj.
During the initial days of his spiritual practice, he used to wear only the same loincloth on his body.
Once a man approached him and said, "Swamiji, since you have only one loincloth, I have brought you another."
The yogi replied: "Well friend, even this one loincloth is a burden to me. Why do you load me with an extra burden? I thank you for your regard, but I cannot accept another loincloth. Please take it back."
Moral of the story: If you are not contented with what you already have, you will definitely not be contented with what you would like to have.
"A man's true wealth is the good he does in this world." -Prophet Mohammed
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
During the initial days of his spiritual practice, he used to wear only the same loincloth on his body.
Once a man approached him and said, "Swamiji, since you have only one loincloth, I have brought you another."
The yogi replied: "Well friend, even this one loincloth is a burden to me. Why do you load me with an extra burden? I thank you for your regard, but I cannot accept another loincloth. Please take it back."
Moral of the story: If you are not contented with what you already have, you will definitely not be contented with what you would like to have.
"A man's true wealth is the good he does in this world." -Prophet Mohammed
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
The Richest Gift
Years ago I was trekking in the Himalayas and had made the mistake of converting a large amount of cash into the local currency.
As I progressed throughout the villages of the Annapurnas, it soon became apparent that the people were too poor to afford even the simplest supplies they would need to fashion local crafts. The had nothing.
This meant that I had this ridiculous wad of cash in my pack and was a virtual walking millionaire compared to the local people.
I grew to hate the stuff and it was an embarrassment to have it in my possession amidst such need. This led to a remarkable experience that affected me deeply and its memory has never left me.
On this particular day I had become so isolated from my fellow trekkers and found myself in a vast valley. As I made my way down, I noticed a young girl of around 13 tending some sheep. Like so many of the children of the amazing Nepalese people, she was very beautiful.
I couldn't stop looking at her and she at me. As I drew level with her she suddenly rushed over to me and, without a word, handed me a flower. Our eyes met for a tiny moment and then she ran away.
The spirit in this angelic child had responded to something she saw in me and her first thought was to find something to give. From the depths of her poverty, there was nothing she had - other than a single flower.
The weight of my cash was never heavier than at this moment and I had just received one of the richest gifts I have ever had in my life.
~by David Heycock
"If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy." - Anonymous
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
As I progressed throughout the villages of the Annapurnas, it soon became apparent that the people were too poor to afford even the simplest supplies they would need to fashion local crafts. The had nothing.
This meant that I had this ridiculous wad of cash in my pack and was a virtual walking millionaire compared to the local people.
I grew to hate the stuff and it was an embarrassment to have it in my possession amidst such need. This led to a remarkable experience that affected me deeply and its memory has never left me.
On this particular day I had become so isolated from my fellow trekkers and found myself in a vast valley. As I made my way down, I noticed a young girl of around 13 tending some sheep. Like so many of the children of the amazing Nepalese people, she was very beautiful.
I couldn't stop looking at her and she at me. As I drew level with her she suddenly rushed over to me and, without a word, handed me a flower. Our eyes met for a tiny moment and then she ran away.
The spirit in this angelic child had responded to something she saw in me and her first thought was to find something to give. From the depths of her poverty, there was nothing she had - other than a single flower.
The weight of my cash was never heavier than at this moment and I had just received one of the richest gifts I have ever had in my life.
~by David Heycock
"If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy." - Anonymous
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
The Priest & the Kidnappers
One day, a priest from Benares was travelling along a road with one of his students when they were captured by a gang of 500 bandits, known as the Kidnapper Gang. The Gang demanded a ransom of 5,000 gold coins and sent the student to get it.
The kidnappers tied up the magic priest tightly and left him outside their cave for the night. They gave him nothing to eat or drink.
The priest was gifted with magical power - he only had to look up into the sky, clap his hands and chant a few magic words and a shower of precious jewels would rain down from the sky.
"Why should I suffer like this? I can magically pay my own ransom." The priest though.
So he told the bandits, "I will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams! But you must untie me, wash my head and face, dress me in new clothes, and cover me with flowers. Then, after so honouring me properly, leave me alone to do my magic."
The kidnappers followed his instructions. The priest did his magic and to the bandits' amazement, he was showered with the most beautiful jewels!
The Kidnapper Gang quickly grabbed all the precious stones. The wrapped them up in bundles and went off down the road, with the magic priest following behind.
One the way, they were stopped by another gang of 500 robbers. "Give us all your wealth!" demanded the second group of robbers.
"Leave us alone," the Kidnapper Gang pleaded. "You can get all the riches you want from this magic priest, just as we have done. He says magic words, looks up into the sky, claps his hands, and the most fabulous jewels come down!"
So the Robber Gang let the Kidnapper Gang go and surrounded the priest. They demanded that he make a shower of precious stones for them as well.
He said, "I can give you all the jewels you want. But you must be patient as the magic can only be performed when the planets are lined up properly, which happens only once a year. This lucky time has already passed. It will not happen again until next year. Come see me then, and I will be happy to make you rich!"
The robbers became angry and shouted at him, "Ah, you tricky, lying priest! You made the Kidnapper Gang wealthy but refuse to do the same for us. We'll teach you a lesson for taking us so lightly."
They cut him in two with a sharp sword and left both halves of his body in the middle of the road.
The robbers then chased after the Kidnapper Gang. There was a terrible bloody battle. After hours of fighting, they killed all 500 kidnappers and stole the wonderful jewels.
As soon as they left the battleground, the 500 robbers began quarrelling over their wealth. They broke up into 2 rival groups, which fought each other until only 2 robbers were left alive, one from each side.
These two collected all the valuable jewels and his them in the forest. The were very hungry so one guarded the treasure while the other started cooking rice. The one doing the guarding thought, "When the other is finished cooking, I will kill him and keep all this loot for myself." The one doing the cooking thought, "If we divide these jewels in two, I will get less. Therefore, I will add poison to this rice, kill him and keep all the jewels for myself. Why share, when I can have it all!"
So he ate some of the rice and poisoned the rest. He took the rice pot to the other and offered it to him. But the second robber immediately swung his sword and chopped off the cook's hear!
Then the hungry killer began gobbling up the poisoned rice. Withing minutes he dropped dead on the spot.
A few days later, the priest's student returned with the ransom money. He could not find his teacher of the Kidnapper Gang. Instead, he found only the worthless possessions they had left behind after getting the jewels.
Continuing down the road, he came to the two halves of his teacher's dead body. A little further down the road, he came upon the 500 dead bodies of the Kidnapper Gang. Further down the road, he started seeing the dead robbers. He started counting until he reached 498.
Then he saw the footprints of the last two going into the forest, followed them and saw a dead body slumped over the rice pot, and another without a head.
He thought, "It is so sad. My teacher had great knowledge, but not enough common sense. He could not resist using his magical power, regardless of the results. By causing the deaths of the 1,000 greedy gangsters, he doomed himself as well." He too the treasure back to the village and used it generously for the benefit of many.
Moral of the story: When power has no conscience, and greed has no limit, the killing has no end.
- a Buddhist tale
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
The kidnappers tied up the magic priest tightly and left him outside their cave for the night. They gave him nothing to eat or drink.
The priest was gifted with magical power - he only had to look up into the sky, clap his hands and chant a few magic words and a shower of precious jewels would rain down from the sky.
"Why should I suffer like this? I can magically pay my own ransom." The priest though.
So he told the bandits, "I will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams! But you must untie me, wash my head and face, dress me in new clothes, and cover me with flowers. Then, after so honouring me properly, leave me alone to do my magic."
The kidnappers followed his instructions. The priest did his magic and to the bandits' amazement, he was showered with the most beautiful jewels!
The Kidnapper Gang quickly grabbed all the precious stones. The wrapped them up in bundles and went off down the road, with the magic priest following behind.
One the way, they were stopped by another gang of 500 robbers. "Give us all your wealth!" demanded the second group of robbers.
"Leave us alone," the Kidnapper Gang pleaded. "You can get all the riches you want from this magic priest, just as we have done. He says magic words, looks up into the sky, claps his hands, and the most fabulous jewels come down!"
So the Robber Gang let the Kidnapper Gang go and surrounded the priest. They demanded that he make a shower of precious stones for them as well.
He said, "I can give you all the jewels you want. But you must be patient as the magic can only be performed when the planets are lined up properly, which happens only once a year. This lucky time has already passed. It will not happen again until next year. Come see me then, and I will be happy to make you rich!"
The robbers became angry and shouted at him, "Ah, you tricky, lying priest! You made the Kidnapper Gang wealthy but refuse to do the same for us. We'll teach you a lesson for taking us so lightly."
They cut him in two with a sharp sword and left both halves of his body in the middle of the road.
The robbers then chased after the Kidnapper Gang. There was a terrible bloody battle. After hours of fighting, they killed all 500 kidnappers and stole the wonderful jewels.
As soon as they left the battleground, the 500 robbers began quarrelling over their wealth. They broke up into 2 rival groups, which fought each other until only 2 robbers were left alive, one from each side.
These two collected all the valuable jewels and his them in the forest. The were very hungry so one guarded the treasure while the other started cooking rice. The one doing the guarding thought, "When the other is finished cooking, I will kill him and keep all this loot for myself." The one doing the cooking thought, "If we divide these jewels in two, I will get less. Therefore, I will add poison to this rice, kill him and keep all the jewels for myself. Why share, when I can have it all!"
So he ate some of the rice and poisoned the rest. He took the rice pot to the other and offered it to him. But the second robber immediately swung his sword and chopped off the cook's hear!
Then the hungry killer began gobbling up the poisoned rice. Withing minutes he dropped dead on the spot.
A few days later, the priest's student returned with the ransom money. He could not find his teacher of the Kidnapper Gang. Instead, he found only the worthless possessions they had left behind after getting the jewels.
Continuing down the road, he came to the two halves of his teacher's dead body. A little further down the road, he came upon the 500 dead bodies of the Kidnapper Gang. Further down the road, he started seeing the dead robbers. He started counting until he reached 498.
Then he saw the footprints of the last two going into the forest, followed them and saw a dead body slumped over the rice pot, and another without a head.
He thought, "It is so sad. My teacher had great knowledge, but not enough common sense. He could not resist using his magical power, regardless of the results. By causing the deaths of the 1,000 greedy gangsters, he doomed himself as well." He too the treasure back to the village and used it generously for the benefit of many.
Moral of the story: When power has no conscience, and greed has no limit, the killing has no end.
- a Buddhist tale
From the little book of Love Stories of a different kind
The Foolish Son
A wise old man in India had only one son, who was lazy and refused to work. One day the old man told his son, "Why don't you learn to trade and earn thousands of rupees?" The son agreed. "I'll sail to the island of Java and come back a rich man," he promised.
To said to Java, he needed a big ship, lots of gold coins to do business, and what's more, it would take 12 full years for the journey - 3 years to reach there, 3 years to return and 6 years for trading.
The old man was already 80, but he had faith in his son and bought him 3 ships. He sent 4 of his best men - the accountant, the minister, the advisor and the treasurer - on the journey to Java. The lazy son was the leader.
3 years passed. The group reached the island. Yet the son showed no urgency in doing business. He whiled away 4-6 months in leisure and relaxation.
The accountant reminded him, "Come, let us begin to trade. What have we come here for?"
Instead of replying, the lazy son gave a senseless order, "Go out and buy the most expensive thing in this place."
It so happened, that in Java, things like gold, pearls, jewels and ornaments were being sold at a very low price because they were in abundance.
The minister advised, "Master, let us purchase these here and we can make a bumper profit back home by selling them at a high price."
"No, No! We must not buy cheap things." So they kept hunting for the most expensive item on sale in the market. And the most expensive things on the whole of Java island were stones!
"Minister, invest all our money in buying these stones," ordered the son.
"But Master, we have plenty of stones such as these back home. The are worthless. Instead, let us purchase the gold and jewellery," the Minister protested.
But the son refused to listen.
He spent 6 years searching for, and collecting stones. All his advisors silently watched in horror as the 3 ships were eventually loaded with stones of varying shapes and sizes.
Finally, the son ordered his crew for the journey home. Back home, everyone was eagerly awaiting the return of the expedition.
The ships pulled into harbour. Father and son embraces each other. Then the old man asked, "O son, the great adventurer, what have you brought to our people from the far lands?"
"Stones!"
"I am 92 years old. I have enough experience in these matters. So stop fooling and tell us the truth," the father lovingly admonished.
"Honestly, father, I have brought shiploads of stones." So saying, he ordered his men to unload some samples.
People around were shocked into silence. The family's reputation had received a severe blow, ruining it forever.
As for the stones, they have to be thrown deep into the sea because the were too circular to be of any use even in building houses.
Moral of the story: Collecting material wealth is like gathering stones. It is of no value at all. Only when we spend our lives enriching our soul and collecting the inner wealth of knowledge will our life on earth be worthwhile.
From the little book: Love Stories of a different kind
To said to Java, he needed a big ship, lots of gold coins to do business, and what's more, it would take 12 full years for the journey - 3 years to reach there, 3 years to return and 6 years for trading.
The old man was already 80, but he had faith in his son and bought him 3 ships. He sent 4 of his best men - the accountant, the minister, the advisor and the treasurer - on the journey to Java. The lazy son was the leader.
3 years passed. The group reached the island. Yet the son showed no urgency in doing business. He whiled away 4-6 months in leisure and relaxation.
The accountant reminded him, "Come, let us begin to trade. What have we come here for?"
Instead of replying, the lazy son gave a senseless order, "Go out and buy the most expensive thing in this place."
It so happened, that in Java, things like gold, pearls, jewels and ornaments were being sold at a very low price because they were in abundance.
The minister advised, "Master, let us purchase these here and we can make a bumper profit back home by selling them at a high price."
"No, No! We must not buy cheap things." So they kept hunting for the most expensive item on sale in the market. And the most expensive things on the whole of Java island were stones!
"Minister, invest all our money in buying these stones," ordered the son.
"But Master, we have plenty of stones such as these back home. The are worthless. Instead, let us purchase the gold and jewellery," the Minister protested.
But the son refused to listen.
He spent 6 years searching for, and collecting stones. All his advisors silently watched in horror as the 3 ships were eventually loaded with stones of varying shapes and sizes.
Finally, the son ordered his crew for the journey home. Back home, everyone was eagerly awaiting the return of the expedition.
The ships pulled into harbour. Father and son embraces each other. Then the old man asked, "O son, the great adventurer, what have you brought to our people from the far lands?"
"Stones!"
"I am 92 years old. I have enough experience in these matters. So stop fooling and tell us the truth," the father lovingly admonished.
"Honestly, father, I have brought shiploads of stones." So saying, he ordered his men to unload some samples.
People around were shocked into silence. The family's reputation had received a severe blow, ruining it forever.
As for the stones, they have to be thrown deep into the sea because the were too circular to be of any use even in building houses.
Moral of the story: Collecting material wealth is like gathering stones. It is of no value at all. Only when we spend our lives enriching our soul and collecting the inner wealth of knowledge will our life on earth be worthwhile.
From the little book: Love Stories of a different kind
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