Soon after Sept 11, one company invited the remaining members of other firms which had been decimated by the attack on the Twin Towers in New York to share its office space.
At a morning meeting, the head of security told stories of why some of those present were alive. All the stories were about the "little" things.
Well, the head of the company survived that day because his son had started kindergarten. Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring doughnuts to work.
One woman was late because her alarm click didn't go off. Another had been stuck at a turnpike because of an accident.
One of them missed his bus. One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change. One's car couldn't start. One went back to answer the telephone. One had a child who dawdled and didn't get ready as fast as he should have. One couldn't get a taxi.
The most striking story was that of the man who had put on a new pair of shoes that morning before setting off for his office. But before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot and stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. And he lived to tell about it.
Nowadays, whenever I am stuck in traffic, or miss the bus, or have to turn back to answer a ringing telephone - you know, all the little things that used to annoy me - I tell myself this is exactly where God wants me to be at that very moment.
When your morning seems to be going wrong, when the children are slow getting dressed, when you can't seem to find the car keys, or when every traffic light along your route is red, don't get mad or frustrated. Remember - someone is watching over you.
Sent in to Starmag by K.K. Tan
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Balance of Love
A woman dies after living a long, dignified life. When she meets God, she asks him something that has long bothered her: "If Man is created in God's image, and if all men are created equal, why do people treat each other so badly?"
God replied that each person who enters our life has a unique lesson to teach us. And it is only through these lessons that we learn about life, people, relationships and God.
This confuses the woman, so God begins to explain:
When someone lies to you, it teaches you that things are not always as they seem. The truth is often far beneath the surface. Look beyond the masks people wear if you want to know their heart. And remove your own masks to let people know yours.
When someone steals from you, it teaches you that nothing is forever. Always appreciate what you have, for you never know when you might lose it. And never, ever take your friends and family for granted because today is the only guarantee you have.
When someone inflicts an injury upon you, it teaches you that the human state is fragile. Protect and take care of your body as best you can because it's the only thing you are sure to have forever.
When someone mocks you, it teaches you that no two people are alike. When you encounter people who are different from you, don't judge them by how they look or act. Instead base your opinion on the contents of their heart.
When someone breaks your heart, it teaches you that loving someone does not always mean that the person will love you back. But don't turn your back on love because when you find the right person, the joy that the one person brings will make up for all the past hurts put together.
When someone holds a grudge against you, it teaches you that everyone makes mistakes. When you are wronged, the most virtuous thing you can do it to forgive the offender without pretense. forgiving those who have hurt us is the most difficult, the most courageous, and the noblest thing man can do.
When a loved one is unfaithful to you, it teaches you that resisting temptation is man's greatest challenge. Be vigilant in your resistance against all temptation. By doing so, you will be rewarded with and enduring sense of satisfaction far greater than the temporary pleasure by which you were tempted.
When someone cheats you, it teaches you that greed is the root of all evil.
Aspire to make your dreams come true, no matter how lofty they may be. Do not feel guilty about your success, but never let an obsession with achieving your goals lead you to engage in malevolent activities.
When someone ridicules you, it teaches you that nobody is perfect. Accept people for their merits and be tolerant of their flaws. Do not ever reject someone for imperfections over which they have no control.
Upon hearing the Maker's wisdom, the old woman becomes concerned that there were no lessons to be learned from man's good deeds. God tells her that man's capacity to love it the greatest gift he has. At the root of all kindness is love, and each act of love also teaches us a lesson.
As the woman's curiosity deepens, God once again explains:
When someone loves us, it teaches us that love, kindness, charity, honesty, humility, forgiveness and acceptance can counteract all the evil in the world. For every good deed, there is one less evil deed. Man alone has the power to control the balance between good and evil, but because the lessons of love are not taught often enough, the power is too often abused.
When you enter someone's life, whether by choice or chance, what will your lesson be. Will you teach love or harsh reality? Each one of us has power over the balance of love. Use that power wisely.
Sent in to Starmag by May C
God replied that each person who enters our life has a unique lesson to teach us. And it is only through these lessons that we learn about life, people, relationships and God.
This confuses the woman, so God begins to explain:
When someone lies to you, it teaches you that things are not always as they seem. The truth is often far beneath the surface. Look beyond the masks people wear if you want to know their heart. And remove your own masks to let people know yours.
When someone steals from you, it teaches you that nothing is forever. Always appreciate what you have, for you never know when you might lose it. And never, ever take your friends and family for granted because today is the only guarantee you have.
When someone inflicts an injury upon you, it teaches you that the human state is fragile. Protect and take care of your body as best you can because it's the only thing you are sure to have forever.
When someone mocks you, it teaches you that no two people are alike. When you encounter people who are different from you, don't judge them by how they look or act. Instead base your opinion on the contents of their heart.
When someone breaks your heart, it teaches you that loving someone does not always mean that the person will love you back. But don't turn your back on love because when you find the right person, the joy that the one person brings will make up for all the past hurts put together.
When someone holds a grudge against you, it teaches you that everyone makes mistakes. When you are wronged, the most virtuous thing you can do it to forgive the offender without pretense. forgiving those who have hurt us is the most difficult, the most courageous, and the noblest thing man can do.
When a loved one is unfaithful to you, it teaches you that resisting temptation is man's greatest challenge. Be vigilant in your resistance against all temptation. By doing so, you will be rewarded with and enduring sense of satisfaction far greater than the temporary pleasure by which you were tempted.
When someone cheats you, it teaches you that greed is the root of all evil.
Aspire to make your dreams come true, no matter how lofty they may be. Do not feel guilty about your success, but never let an obsession with achieving your goals lead you to engage in malevolent activities.
When someone ridicules you, it teaches you that nobody is perfect. Accept people for their merits and be tolerant of their flaws. Do not ever reject someone for imperfections over which they have no control.
Upon hearing the Maker's wisdom, the old woman becomes concerned that there were no lessons to be learned from man's good deeds. God tells her that man's capacity to love it the greatest gift he has. At the root of all kindness is love, and each act of love also teaches us a lesson.
As the woman's curiosity deepens, God once again explains:
When someone loves us, it teaches us that love, kindness, charity, honesty, humility, forgiveness and acceptance can counteract all the evil in the world. For every good deed, there is one less evil deed. Man alone has the power to control the balance between good and evil, but because the lessons of love are not taught often enough, the power is too often abused.
When you enter someone's life, whether by choice or chance, what will your lesson be. Will you teach love or harsh reality? Each one of us has power over the balance of love. Use that power wisely.
Sent in to Starmag by May C
The Path We Choose
By Azlan Mahmud
He sat waiting inside his red Kancil, the air conditioner blowing out a gentle cool breeze. The radio was tuned to his favourite station, and was playing one of his all-time favourites, Sting's Englishman in New York. He found himself tapping to the music, his lips miming the lyrics. He stole a glance at his wrist watch - 8pm. It would be another 10 minutes before his friend arrived.
He had been working as a medical doctor for a good decade now, toiling in the now infamous government system. The work was hard; he had expected that. But now, he was growing disillusioned. He had been questioning his priorities. And why not? His contemporaries who worked in private practice were making 10 times more than he was, and they were enjoying the life that he wanted. He felt the time was right to join them.
It had been a late night and, as usual, he had finished his work in the operating theatre way past midnight. He wearily changed into his street clothes, and walked tiredly into the almost-empty hospital corridor. With the hours that I do, he thought to himself, I'd be a millionaire.
It was then that he caught sight of the bearded man lying on a bamboo mat in a small space between a wall and the entrance to the operating theatre.
The man was not alone; there were three children with him, the eldest probably no older than five. The youngest, who looked no more than a year old, began to stir in his sleep. His lips parted, and unintelligible sounds escaped from them, forming the prelude to a child's cry.
The man awoke slowly and reached for one of the milk bottles in a pink plastic bag. With a soft hushing sound, he gently placed the teat into the mouth of the child, who instinctively began suckling on it. The father's soft tapping on his thigh lulled him back to sleep.
He had seen this same man and his children in the same spot the past three nights that he was on call. Tonight though, something in him made him approach them. He knelt beside the man, and watched as his child's lips slowly parted and the bottle fell from his hands.
"He's asleep," he said, as he watched the bearded man's face. It mirrored a life of hardship, something he, who had lived all his life in the city, knew he could not even begin to comprehend. The man smiled.
"Yes. He's found it difficult to sleep ever since we came down from Bachok."
They have come a long way, he thought.
"Pardon me for asking, but why are you here?"
The man picked up the bottle and placed it back in the plastic bag. The child shifted uneasily in his sleep.
"My eldest daughter has cancer and she might not have long to live. The doctors here have tried their best. I want to be here when she goes to heaven."
Another child?
"Where is she warded?"
The man turned and pointed to a set of closed blue doors around the corner. Above it was a sign that read 'Paediatric Intensive Care Unit'.
"Surely you must have a place to stay?"
The man looked at his sons, who were in a deep slumber. Children without a care in the world.
"I have used up almost all my savings bringing my daughter here for treatment, and travelling up and down to visit her. Tomorrow I will have to go back as there's no one tending my durian orchard.
"And when I have collected enough money..." his voice trailed off and he turned to look once again at the closed blue doors ... "if my daughter still waits for me, I will be here when she decides to go."
Silence.
He got up, not knowing exactly what to say, and started to walk away. Just then, his pager beeped. He read the message on its small green screen, and let out a sigh. Another emergency.
He turned to look once again at the man and his children. The father was fast asleep, hugging his youngest child. It was almost as if he was afraid that this kid would leave him, too.
Who are they not to deserve the best of care? And with that thought, he walked briskly up the stairs towards the wards.
The loud honking of a car startled him out of his reverie. He looked left and saw his friend waving at him from a gleaming silver BMW. He watched as his smiling friend sauntered towards him wearing his designer clothes and shoes. He smiled back.
That is my friend's destiny, he thought. Mine is different.
From Starmag
He sat waiting inside his red Kancil, the air conditioner blowing out a gentle cool breeze. The radio was tuned to his favourite station, and was playing one of his all-time favourites, Sting's Englishman in New York. He found himself tapping to the music, his lips miming the lyrics. He stole a glance at his wrist watch - 8pm. It would be another 10 minutes before his friend arrived.
He had been working as a medical doctor for a good decade now, toiling in the now infamous government system. The work was hard; he had expected that. But now, he was growing disillusioned. He had been questioning his priorities. And why not? His contemporaries who worked in private practice were making 10 times more than he was, and they were enjoying the life that he wanted. He felt the time was right to join them.
It had been a late night and, as usual, he had finished his work in the operating theatre way past midnight. He wearily changed into his street clothes, and walked tiredly into the almost-empty hospital corridor. With the hours that I do, he thought to himself, I'd be a millionaire.
It was then that he caught sight of the bearded man lying on a bamboo mat in a small space between a wall and the entrance to the operating theatre.
The man was not alone; there were three children with him, the eldest probably no older than five. The youngest, who looked no more than a year old, began to stir in his sleep. His lips parted, and unintelligible sounds escaped from them, forming the prelude to a child's cry.
The man awoke slowly and reached for one of the milk bottles in a pink plastic bag. With a soft hushing sound, he gently placed the teat into the mouth of the child, who instinctively began suckling on it. The father's soft tapping on his thigh lulled him back to sleep.
He had seen this same man and his children in the same spot the past three nights that he was on call. Tonight though, something in him made him approach them. He knelt beside the man, and watched as his child's lips slowly parted and the bottle fell from his hands.
"He's asleep," he said, as he watched the bearded man's face. It mirrored a life of hardship, something he, who had lived all his life in the city, knew he could not even begin to comprehend. The man smiled.
"Yes. He's found it difficult to sleep ever since we came down from Bachok."
They have come a long way, he thought.
"Pardon me for asking, but why are you here?"
The man picked up the bottle and placed it back in the plastic bag. The child shifted uneasily in his sleep.
"My eldest daughter has cancer and she might not have long to live. The doctors here have tried their best. I want to be here when she goes to heaven."
Another child?
"Where is she warded?"
The man turned and pointed to a set of closed blue doors around the corner. Above it was a sign that read 'Paediatric Intensive Care Unit'.
"Surely you must have a place to stay?"
The man looked at his sons, who were in a deep slumber. Children without a care in the world.
"I have used up almost all my savings bringing my daughter here for treatment, and travelling up and down to visit her. Tomorrow I will have to go back as there's no one tending my durian orchard.
"And when I have collected enough money..." his voice trailed off and he turned to look once again at the closed blue doors ... "if my daughter still waits for me, I will be here when she decides to go."
Silence.
He got up, not knowing exactly what to say, and started to walk away. Just then, his pager beeped. He read the message on its small green screen, and let out a sigh. Another emergency.
He turned to look once again at the man and his children. The father was fast asleep, hugging his youngest child. It was almost as if he was afraid that this kid would leave him, too.
Who are they not to deserve the best of care? And with that thought, he walked briskly up the stairs towards the wards.
The loud honking of a car startled him out of his reverie. He looked left and saw his friend waving at him from a gleaming silver BMW. He watched as his smiling friend sauntered towards him wearing his designer clothes and shoes. He smiled back.
That is my friend's destiny, he thought. Mine is different.
From Starmag
Body Parts
My mother used to ask me what the most important part of the body was. Through the years I would take a shot at what I thought was the correct answer.
When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to humans, so I said: "My ears, Mummy." She said, "No. Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon."
Several years passed before she asked me the same question again. Since that first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. This time I told her, "Mummy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes."
She looked at me and said, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind."
Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting smarter every year, my child."
Then last year, my grandfather died. Everybody cried. Even my father. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I had seen him cry. Mum looked at me when it was our turn to say our final goodbye to Grandpa.
"Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?" she asked. I was taken aback. I'd always thought that this was a game between us.
She saw the confusion on my face and said: "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived. For every body part you gave me in the past, I had explained why your answer was wrong. But today, you need to learn one important lesson."
She looked at me as only a mother could. I saw her eyes well up with tears as she continued: "My dear, the most important part of your body is your shoulder."
"Is it because it holds up the head?" I asked.
"No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life. I hope you have enough love and friends so that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it."
Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. People will forget what you said and did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.
Sent to Starmag by Dennis Chee
When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to humans, so I said: "My ears, Mummy." She said, "No. Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon."
Several years passed before she asked me the same question again. Since that first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. This time I told her, "Mummy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes."
She looked at me and said, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind."
Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting smarter every year, my child."
Then last year, my grandfather died. Everybody cried. Even my father. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I had seen him cry. Mum looked at me when it was our turn to say our final goodbye to Grandpa.
"Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?" she asked. I was taken aback. I'd always thought that this was a game between us.
She saw the confusion on my face and said: "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived. For every body part you gave me in the past, I had explained why your answer was wrong. But today, you need to learn one important lesson."
She looked at me as only a mother could. I saw her eyes well up with tears as she continued: "My dear, the most important part of your body is your shoulder."
"Is it because it holds up the head?" I asked.
"No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life. I hope you have enough love and friends so that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it."
Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. People will forget what you said and did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.
Sent to Starmag by Dennis Chee
Sunday, August 7, 2011
This Is Your Life, Really.
Do what you love, and do it often.
If you don’t like something, change it.
If you don’t like your job, quit.
If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV.
If you are looking for the love of your life, stop; they will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
Stop over analyzing, all emotions are beautiful.
When you eat, appreciate every last bite.
Life is simple.
Open your mind, arms, and heart to new things and people, we are united in our differences.
Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them.
Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.
Some opportunities only come once, seize them.
Life is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them so go out and start creating.
Life is short.
Live your dream and share/wear your passion.
~Ong Jiin Joo
Friday, August 5, 2011
One Forever Moment
By Graham Porter
Loading the car with the paraphernalia of our youngsters, ages three to nine, was hardly my idea of fun. But precisely on schedule, and at a very early hour, I had performed that miracle. With our vacation stay on Lake Michigan now over, I hurried back into the cottage to find my wife Evie sweeping the last of the sand from the floor.
"It's 6.30 - time to leave," I said, "Where are the kids?"
Evie put away the broom. "I let them run down to the beach for one last look."
I shook my head, annoyed by this encroachment on my carefully-planned schedule. Why had we bothered to rise at dawn if we weren't to get rolling before the worst of the traffic hit? After all, the children had already spent two carefree weeks building sand castles and ambling for miles along the lakeside in search of magic rocks. And today they had only to relax in the car - sleep if the liked - while I alone fought the long road home.
I strode across the porch and out the screen door. There, down past the rolling dunes, I spotted my four youngsters on the beach. They had discarded their shoes and were tiptoeing into the water, laughing and leaping each time a wave broke over their legs, the point obviously being to see how far into the lake they could wade without drenching their clothes. It only riled me more to realise that all their dry garments were locked, heaven knew where, in the overstuffed car trunk.
With the firmness of a master sergeant, I cupped my hands to my mouth to order my children up to the car at once. But somehow, the scolding words stopped short of my lips. The sun, still low in the morning sky, etched a gold silhouette around each of the four young figures at play. For them there was left only this tiny fragment of time for draining the last drop of joy from the sun and the water and the sky.
The longer I watched, the more the scene before me assumed a magic aura, for it would never be duplicated again. What changes might we expect in our lives after the passing of another year, another 10 years? The only reality was this moment, this glistening beach and these children - my children - with the sunlight trapped in their hair and the sound of their laughter mixing wind the wind and the waves.
Why, I asked myself, had I been so intent on leaving at 6.30 that I had rushed from the cottage to scold them? Did I have constructive discipline in mind, or was I simply in the mood to nag because a long day's drive lay ahead?
After all, no prized were to be won by leaving precisely on the dot. If we arrived at our motel an hour later than planned, no 40-piece band was going to be kept waiting. And how could I hope to maintain communication with my children, now and in later years, if I failed to keep my own youthful memory alive?
At the water's edge far below, my oldest daughter was motioning for me to join them. Then the others began waving, too, calling for Evie and me to share their fun.
I hesitated for only a moment, then ran to the cottage to grab my wife's hand. Half running, half sliding down the dunes, we were soon at the beach, kicking off our shoes. With gleeful bravado, we waded far out past our youngsters, Evie holding up her skirt and I my trouser cuffs, until Evie's foot slipped and she plunged squealing into the water, purposely dragging me with her.
Today, years later, my heart still warms to recall our children's laughter that day, how full-bellied and gloriously companionable it was. And not infrequently, when they air their fondest moments - all but them - are among their most precious.
Shared in Starmag by Jasy Liew
Loading the car with the paraphernalia of our youngsters, ages three to nine, was hardly my idea of fun. But precisely on schedule, and at a very early hour, I had performed that miracle. With our vacation stay on Lake Michigan now over, I hurried back into the cottage to find my wife Evie sweeping the last of the sand from the floor.
"It's 6.30 - time to leave," I said, "Where are the kids?"
Evie put away the broom. "I let them run down to the beach for one last look."
I shook my head, annoyed by this encroachment on my carefully-planned schedule. Why had we bothered to rise at dawn if we weren't to get rolling before the worst of the traffic hit? After all, the children had already spent two carefree weeks building sand castles and ambling for miles along the lakeside in search of magic rocks. And today they had only to relax in the car - sleep if the liked - while I alone fought the long road home.
I strode across the porch and out the screen door. There, down past the rolling dunes, I spotted my four youngsters on the beach. They had discarded their shoes and were tiptoeing into the water, laughing and leaping each time a wave broke over their legs, the point obviously being to see how far into the lake they could wade without drenching their clothes. It only riled me more to realise that all their dry garments were locked, heaven knew where, in the overstuffed car trunk.
With the firmness of a master sergeant, I cupped my hands to my mouth to order my children up to the car at once. But somehow, the scolding words stopped short of my lips. The sun, still low in the morning sky, etched a gold silhouette around each of the four young figures at play. For them there was left only this tiny fragment of time for draining the last drop of joy from the sun and the water and the sky.
The longer I watched, the more the scene before me assumed a magic aura, for it would never be duplicated again. What changes might we expect in our lives after the passing of another year, another 10 years? The only reality was this moment, this glistening beach and these children - my children - with the sunlight trapped in their hair and the sound of their laughter mixing wind the wind and the waves.
Why, I asked myself, had I been so intent on leaving at 6.30 that I had rushed from the cottage to scold them? Did I have constructive discipline in mind, or was I simply in the mood to nag because a long day's drive lay ahead?
After all, no prized were to be won by leaving precisely on the dot. If we arrived at our motel an hour later than planned, no 40-piece band was going to be kept waiting. And how could I hope to maintain communication with my children, now and in later years, if I failed to keep my own youthful memory alive?
At the water's edge far below, my oldest daughter was motioning for me to join them. Then the others began waving, too, calling for Evie and me to share their fun.
I hesitated for only a moment, then ran to the cottage to grab my wife's hand. Half running, half sliding down the dunes, we were soon at the beach, kicking off our shoes. With gleeful bravado, we waded far out past our youngsters, Evie holding up her skirt and I my trouser cuffs, until Evie's foot slipped and she plunged squealing into the water, purposely dragging me with her.
Today, years later, my heart still warms to recall our children's laughter that day, how full-bellied and gloriously companionable it was. And not infrequently, when they air their fondest moments - all but them - are among their most precious.
Shared in Starmag by Jasy Liew
Someday Is Here And Now
A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: "This," he said, "isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box. "She got this the first time we went to New York, eight or nine years ago. She has never put it on. Was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it."
He went over to the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house. His wife had just died.
He turned to me and said: "Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion."
I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understand that life should be a source of experience to be enjoyed, not survived. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to.
The words "someday" and "one day" are fading away from my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing, listening to or doing, I want to see, listen to or do it now. I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might have called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favourite food. It's these small things that I would regret not doing if my time comes.
I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, or write the letters that I wanted to write "one of this days". I would feel sad because I didn't say to my brothers and sons, not enough times at least, how much I love them. Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this is a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.
Sent to Starmag by Lee Chen Hoe
He went over to the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house. His wife had just died.
He turned to me and said: "Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion."
I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understand that life should be a source of experience to be enjoyed, not survived. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to.
The words "someday" and "one day" are fading away from my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing, listening to or doing, I want to see, listen to or do it now. I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might have called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favourite food. It's these small things that I would regret not doing if my time comes.
I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, or write the letters that I wanted to write "one of this days". I would feel sad because I didn't say to my brothers and sons, not enough times at least, how much I love them. Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this is a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.
Sent to Starmag by Lee Chen Hoe
Seize the Moment
Letter from an 83-year-old:
I am reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time working. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savour, not to endure.
I'm trying to recognise these moments now and cherish them. I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom.
I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out RM28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank.
"Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary; if it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what others would have done had they known they wouldn't be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted.
I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologise and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever their favourite food was. I'm guessing; I'll never know.
It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and children often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and lustre to our lives.
And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift.
People say true friends must always hold hands. But true friends don't need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there.
I don't believe in miracles. I rely on them. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here, we might as well dance.
Sent to Starmag by Lydia Chin
Sunday, July 10, 2011
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
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.
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
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
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
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 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
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Letting Go
There was once a lonely girl who longed desperately for love. One day while she was walking in the woods she found two starving songbirds. She took them home and put them in a small gilded cage.
She nurtured them with love and the birds grew strong. Every morning they greeted her with a marvelous song. The girl felt great love for the birds. She wanted their singing to last forever.
One day the girl left the door to the cage open. The larger and stronger of the two birds flew from the cage. The girl watched anxiously as he circled high above her. She was so frightened that he would fly away and she would never see him again that as he flew close, she grasped at him wildly.
She caught him in her fist. She clutched him tightly within her hand. Her heart gladdened at her success in capturing him. Suddenly she felt the bird go limp. She opened her hand and stared in horror at the dead bird.
Her desperate clutching love had killed him.
She noticed the other bird teetering on the edge of the cage. She could feel his great need for freedom, his need to soar into the clear, blue sky. She lifted him from the cage and tossed him softly into the air. The bird circled once, twice, three times.
The girl watched, delighted at the bird's enjoyment. Her heart was no longer concerned with her loss. She wanted the bird to be happy. Suddenly the bird flew closer and landed softly on her shoulder. It sang the sweetest melody she had ever heard.
The fastest way to lose love is to hold on too tight, the best way to keep love is to give it wings.
From the book, Love Stories of a different kind
She nurtured them with love and the birds grew strong. Every morning they greeted her with a marvelous song. The girl felt great love for the birds. She wanted their singing to last forever.
One day the girl left the door to the cage open. The larger and stronger of the two birds flew from the cage. The girl watched anxiously as he circled high above her. She was so frightened that he would fly away and she would never see him again that as he flew close, she grasped at him wildly.
She caught him in her fist. She clutched him tightly within her hand. Her heart gladdened at her success in capturing him. Suddenly she felt the bird go limp. She opened her hand and stared in horror at the dead bird.
Her desperate clutching love had killed him.
She noticed the other bird teetering on the edge of the cage. She could feel his great need for freedom, his need to soar into the clear, blue sky. She lifted him from the cage and tossed him softly into the air. The bird circled once, twice, three times.
The girl watched, delighted at the bird's enjoyment. Her heart was no longer concerned with her loss. She wanted the bird to be happy. Suddenly the bird flew closer and landed softly on her shoulder. It sang the sweetest melody she had ever heard.
The fastest way to lose love is to hold on too tight, the best way to keep love is to give it wings.
From the book, Love Stories of a different kind
Monday, May 30, 2011
No Easy Way Out
By Patricia Pinto
The pain was like nothing she had ever known. It spread from her heart to her eyes and through her soul. The tears as she lay in a ball on her bed, her spirit crumpled. In her mind, she replayed her "conversation" with her father.
"Why every week must go out? Cannot stay at home, is it? Nowadays, you very big, no need to ask permission lah! Just tell and then go out, huh?" he shouted at her. His anger shocked her.
"I tell you cannot go means cannot go. The other time, after play futsal, I already told you cannot go out again. That was the last time."
Her face fell; she could not remember him ever saying that. But father did not give her a chance to reply. He ended abruptly and she went into her room, careful not to slam the door and fuel his anger.
She phoned her boyfriend and told him about her father's harsh words. He reminded her that her father had no legal right to keep her in the house. He also expressed his frustrations with her parents, particularly her father, who seemed opposed to her making friends with guys.
After the call, she curled up in a ball and tried hard not to let the tears fall. All this time, she had stomached her parents' accusations stoically. But what hurt most was that they persisted in treating her like a 10-year-old kid, and not the 20-year-old woman she had become.
Hoe many years had she followed their orders blindly, giving them what they wanted? When they wanted good grades, she had scored them and waited to hear their praise. Instead, they had complained that she was not a straight-A student.
She did not have a good time at school either. People had mocked her because of her figure, and later, her name. Then things got worse. Her "friends" had teased and bullied her. But she took everything good-naturedly, letting them run roughshod over her. She felt left out because whenever they made plans to go out, she could not join in. She was lonely.
Talking to her parents had never been an option. They cared more for her brother, although lately, she'd noticed that even he was getting the brunt of their tongue. They never heard her cries at night, and never knew her frustration when she could not answer a question. They always stifled some of her interests with this question: "Is it in your books?"
Even when she had a boyfriend, she did not tell him everything. She did not dare confide in anyone because she'd learnt from a young age, that expressing a "forbidden" feeling would incur harsh words and humiliation, especially in front of her other relatives.
How she longed to have a shoulder cry on; to have someone hug her and tell her that it was okay, that she had done her best. Was it so wrong to ask that her parents say they love her?
Her lips twisted bitterly as she thought of the idiom: "Blood is thicker than water."
Which father would hit and kick his only son just because his favourite hat had a small, insignificant part missing? Which mother would use her own daughter as an excuse to turn herself into something she was not? What kind of parents would poison their own children against their cousins?
She held up her hand and looked at the faint blue veins on her wrist. Smiling to herself, she went to the kitchen, took a small knife, then returned to her room. She locked the door, then stared at the metal blade. She began to think of everything good in her life.
Those friends who did not mind hearing her prattle away. Her grandmother, who loved her unconditionally . A boyfriend who loved her too, but who - from their latest conversation - she felt she did not really deserve. Her little cousins, who would wonder why she had chosen this road.
Then she thought of the "bad" things. The father whose expectations she could never fulfil. Her mother, who wanted her to be what she herself could not be. Her aunts, who always took advantage of the fact that she lived near them. Her godmother, who she had thought of confiding in in once, but was now glad she didn't. And of the loneliness of not being able to talk to the very people who were responsible for her life.
Then she thought of what would happen if she slit her wrist.
There would be the funeral to be arranged and paid for. Her brother would truly be alone, without her around to confide in and share his secrets. Her cousins would be shocked, but the aunts would gossip behind her mother's back.
The shock of a beloved granddaughter's suicide might kill her grandmother. There would be one less mouth to feed, but her mother would be angry about all the money she'd spent on her tertiary education. Her little cousin, who'd lost her mother and now clung to her, would be devastated. But good might come of this: if the cousin clung to her father's girlfriend instead, it would bring them all closer to each other.
Then she looked at the teddy bear her boyfriend had given her long ago for Christmas. It looked worn but was still fluffy. And she knew then that doing something stupid would cause him even more pain.
She put the knife away.
From Starmag
The pain was like nothing she had ever known. It spread from her heart to her eyes and through her soul. The tears as she lay in a ball on her bed, her spirit crumpled. In her mind, she replayed her "conversation" with her father.
"Why every week must go out? Cannot stay at home, is it? Nowadays, you very big, no need to ask permission lah! Just tell and then go out, huh?" he shouted at her. His anger shocked her.
"I tell you cannot go means cannot go. The other time, after play futsal, I already told you cannot go out again. That was the last time."
Her face fell; she could not remember him ever saying that. But father did not give her a chance to reply. He ended abruptly and she went into her room, careful not to slam the door and fuel his anger.
She phoned her boyfriend and told him about her father's harsh words. He reminded her that her father had no legal right to keep her in the house. He also expressed his frustrations with her parents, particularly her father, who seemed opposed to her making friends with guys.
After the call, she curled up in a ball and tried hard not to let the tears fall. All this time, she had stomached her parents' accusations stoically. But what hurt most was that they persisted in treating her like a 10-year-old kid, and not the 20-year-old woman she had become.
Hoe many years had she followed their orders blindly, giving them what they wanted? When they wanted good grades, she had scored them and waited to hear their praise. Instead, they had complained that she was not a straight-A student.
She did not have a good time at school either. People had mocked her because of her figure, and later, her name. Then things got worse. Her "friends" had teased and bullied her. But she took everything good-naturedly, letting them run roughshod over her. She felt left out because whenever they made plans to go out, she could not join in. She was lonely.
Talking to her parents had never been an option. They cared more for her brother, although lately, she'd noticed that even he was getting the brunt of their tongue. They never heard her cries at night, and never knew her frustration when she could not answer a question. They always stifled some of her interests with this question: "Is it in your books?"
Even when she had a boyfriend, she did not tell him everything. She did not dare confide in anyone because she'd learnt from a young age, that expressing a "forbidden" feeling would incur harsh words and humiliation, especially in front of her other relatives.
How she longed to have a shoulder cry on; to have someone hug her and tell her that it was okay, that she had done her best. Was it so wrong to ask that her parents say they love her?
Her lips twisted bitterly as she thought of the idiom: "Blood is thicker than water."
Which father would hit and kick his only son just because his favourite hat had a small, insignificant part missing? Which mother would use her own daughter as an excuse to turn herself into something she was not? What kind of parents would poison their own children against their cousins?
She held up her hand and looked at the faint blue veins on her wrist. Smiling to herself, she went to the kitchen, took a small knife, then returned to her room. She locked the door, then stared at the metal blade. She began to think of everything good in her life.
Those friends who did not mind hearing her prattle away. Her grandmother, who loved her unconditionally . A boyfriend who loved her too, but who - from their latest conversation - she felt she did not really deserve. Her little cousins, who would wonder why she had chosen this road.
Then she thought of the "bad" things. The father whose expectations she could never fulfil. Her mother, who wanted her to be what she herself could not be. Her aunts, who always took advantage of the fact that she lived near them. Her godmother, who she had thought of confiding in in once, but was now glad she didn't. And of the loneliness of not being able to talk to the very people who were responsible for her life.
Then she thought of what would happen if she slit her wrist.
There would be the funeral to be arranged and paid for. Her brother would truly be alone, without her around to confide in and share his secrets. Her cousins would be shocked, but the aunts would gossip behind her mother's back.
The shock of a beloved granddaughter's suicide might kill her grandmother. There would be one less mouth to feed, but her mother would be angry about all the money she'd spent on her tertiary education. Her little cousin, who'd lost her mother and now clung to her, would be devastated. But good might come of this: if the cousin clung to her father's girlfriend instead, it would bring them all closer to each other.
Then she looked at the teddy bear her boyfriend had given her long ago for Christmas. It looked worn but was still fluffy. And she knew then that doing something stupid would cause him even more pain.
She put the knife away.
From Starmag
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