A Heartwarming Story...
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In the open field in a war, an air strike begins. The planes shoot a rain of bullets over the field and the soldiers are ordered to return back to their front. Two friends, who always stood aside in life are fighting back to back, as they always did.
They run back to their front without looking back and one of them throws himself in the front. He turns around to face his friend, but he can't see him. With a puzzled face, he looks back at the field and sees his friend laying 50 feet away. He got hit.
He immediately looks for his commander and with a trembling voice, "Sir, I want permission to go back and get my friend."
The commander already frustrated with the sudden attack, "Are you crazy? Don't you see the attack? There is no way you can make it."
Soldier, unwilling to give up, "Sir, I insist."
Commander answers with anger, "Your friend is probably dead anyways, soldier. I can't risk anyone else. Stay where you are."
Soldier, trying to prove his determination, "Sir, I take all the responsibility. Let me go." Commander, too busy to deal with a stupid soldier trying to be a hero waves a firm hand, "Do what ever the hell you want. I'm not responsible for your corpse."
Soldier, with a smile of gratitude jumps on the field with no hesitation and by a miracle, runs through the rain of bullets, picks his friend up and returns to the front. He puts him down and the medic checks his pulse. With a startled look he speaks the words he always hated, "He's dead."
The commander, following from a distance, yells to the soldier, "I told you. Now, was it worth it?"
The soldier, with tears in his eyes speaks to himself: "Yes sir. It was worth it."
The soldier is nothing but sure it was worth it, because when he ran back to his friend, he was still alive, and his last words were, "I knew you would come back." -
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.
I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and the shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement. I whacked my finger with hammer.
The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway, the telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information Please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger!" I wailed into the phone.
The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could!
"Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me that my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said the usual thing grown-ups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, you must remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone.
"Information Please".
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell 'fix'?"
I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston.
I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle.
I had about half-an-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well.
"Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell 'fix'?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said.
"I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle.
A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said.
"Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you Paul?"
"Yes". "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you make on others.
Whose life have you touched today? -
.... When you helped someone it is from the heart, no other motivesOriginally posted by hisoka:yupz so for mercenary reasons please do help pple more
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.....That's what buddy are forOriginally posted by alexkusu:In the open field in a war, an air strike begins. The planes shoot a rain of bullets over the field and the soldiers are ordered to return back to their front. Two friends, who always stood aside in life are fighting back to back, as they always did.
They run back to their front without looking back and one of them throws himself in the front. He turns around to face his friend, but he can't see him. With a puzzled face, he looks back at the field and sees his friend laying 50 feet away. He got hit.
He immediately looks for his commander and with a trembling voice, "Sir, I want permission to go back and get my friend."
The commander already frustrated with the sudden attack, "Are you crazy? Don't you see the attack? There is no way you can make it."
Soldier, unwilling to give up, "Sir, I insist."
Commander answers with anger, "Your friend is probably dead anyways, soldier. I can't risk anyone else. Stay where you are."
Soldier, trying to prove his determination, "Sir, I take all the responsibility. Let me go." Commander, too busy to deal with a stupid soldier trying to be a hero waves a firm hand, "Do what ever the hell you want. I'm not responsible for your corpse."
Soldier, with a smile of gratitude jumps on the field with no hesitation and by a miracle, runs through the rain of bullets, picks his friend up and returns to the front. He puts him down and the medic checks his pulse. With a startled look he speaks the words he always hated, "He's dead."
The commander, following from a distance, yells to the soldier, "I told you. Now, was it worth it?"
The soldier, with tears in his eyes speaks to himself: "Yes sir. It was worth it."
The soldier is nothing but sure it was worth it, because when he ran back to his friend, he was still alive, and his last words were, "I knew you would come back." -
..... Very true...impressions last....Nice story though.Originally posted by alexkusu:When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.
I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and the shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement. I whacked my finger with hammer.
The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway, the telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information Please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger!" I wailed into the phone.
The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could!
"Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me that my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said the usual thing grown-ups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, you must remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone.
"Information Please".
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell 'fix'?"
I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston.
I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle.
I had about half-an-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well.
"Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell 'fix'?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said.
"I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle.
A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said.
"Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you Paul?"
"Yes". "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you make on others.
Whose life have you touched today? -
then no need to have that story about do good deed in the end got good stuff happen to you le right??Originally posted by NeverSayGoodBye:.... When you helped someone it is from the heart, no other motives
and hor the soldier thingy. if i the dying guy i would be angry that my friend risked his life to get to a corpse or even if not a corpse, risk certain death.
-
Nice story...Originally posted by alexkusu:When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.
I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and the shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement. I whacked my finger with hammer.
The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway, the telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information Please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger!" I wailed into the phone.
The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could!
"Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me that my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said the usual thing grown-ups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, you must remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone.
"Information Please".
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell 'fix'?"
I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston.
I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle.
I had about half-an-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well.
"Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell 'fix'?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said.
"I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle.
A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said.
"Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you Paul?"
"Yes". "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
-
nice thread.
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..... For the first story it is about the wonder of human spirits, no other agendaOriginally posted by hisoka:then no need to have that story about do good deed in the end got good stuff happen to you le right??
and hor the soldier thingy. if i the dying guy i would be angry that my friend risked his life to get to a corpse or even if not a corpse, risk certain death.
..... to understand the soldier's story better, go and rent the vcd or dvd of "Black Hawks Down" and "Saving Private Ryan". You will get your anwsers -
Anymore? -
sob sob... more more pls....
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yalor..anymore?
threadstarter ddnt mantain this thread ah? -
A long time ago, a girl named Li-Li got married and went to live with her husband and mother-in-law. In a very short time, Li-Li found that she couldn't get along with her mother-in-law at all. Their personalities were very different, and Li-Li was angered by many of her mother-in-law's habits. In addition, she criticized Li-Li constantly. Days passed days, and weeks passed weeks. Li-Li and her other-in-law never stopped arguing and fighting. But what made the situation even worse was that, according to ancient Chinese tradition, Li-Li had to bow to her mother-in-law and obey her every wish.
All the anger and unhappiness in the house was causing the poor husband great distress. Finally, Li-Li could not stand her mother-in-law's bad temper and dictatorship any longer, and she decided to do something about it.
Li-Li went to see her father's good friend, Mr. Huang, who sold herbs. She told him the situation and asked if he would give her some poison so that she could solve the problem once and for all. Mr. Huang thought for a while, and finally said, Li-Li, I will help you solve your problem, but you must listen to me and obey what I tell you. Li-Li said, "Yes, Mr. Huang, I will do whatever you tell me to do."
Mr. Huang went into the back room, and returned in a few minutes with a package of herbs. He told Li-Li, "You can't use a quick-acting poison to get rid of your mother-in-law, because that would cause people to become suspicious. Therefore, I have given you a number of herbs that will slowly build up poison in her body. Every other day prepare some pork or chicken and put a little of these herbs in her serving. Now, in order to make sure that nobody suspects you when she dies, you must be very careful to act very friendly towards her. Don't argue with her, obey her every wish, and treat her like a queen."
Li-Li was so happy. She thanked Mr. Huang and hurried home to start her plot of murdering her mother-in-law. Weeks went by, and months went by, and every other day, Li-Li served the specially treated food to her mother-in-law. She remembered what Mr. Huang had said about avoiding suspicion, so she controlled her temper, obeyed her mother-in-law and treated her like her own mother. After six months had passed, the whole household had changed. Li-Li had practiced controlling her temper so much that she found that she almost never got mad or upset. She hadn't had an argument in six months with her mother-in-law, who now seemed much kinder and easier to get along with. The mother-in-law's attitude toward Li-Li has also changed, and she began to love Li-Li like her own daughter. She kept telling friends and relatives that Li-Li was the best daughter-in-law one could ever find. Li-Li and her mother-in-law were now treating each other like a real mother and daughter. Li-Li's husband was very happy to see what was happening.
One day, Li-Li came to see Mr. Huang and asked for his help again. She said, "Dear Mr Huang, please help me to keep the poison from killing my mother-in-law! She has changed into such a nice woman, and I love her like my own mother. I do not want her to die because of the poison I gave her."
Mr. Huang smiled and nodded his head. "Li-Li, there's nothing to worry about. I never gave you any poison. The herbs I gave you were vitamins to improve her health. The only poison was in your mind and your attitude toward her, but that has been all washed away by the love which you gave to her." -
Yes, you can find true love in the weirdest places. Astoundingly, it is these stories that are the saddest. We all sometimes wish that our loved ones will stay by our side forever but alas, life seems to always have a cruel twist on love.
This is a personal account of a ghost story that occured over 10 years ago. This "true experince" firmly supported my theory that our departed loved ones can convey messages through dreams.
Back in 1989, being a fresh graduate Psychology graduate, I landed a job in the personnel department in one of the goverment offices in Quezon City. A male co-worker, Jun, was 5 years older than me. He became one of my friends while working there. Jun was king, loving, and romantic. He was the breadwinner of his family. His parents and relatives liked me a lot. Being single and unattached, he courted me in 1990. I accepted his marriage proposal during the latter part of that year.
My parents did not approve of our relationship and when the first quarter of 1991 came, my parents made me quit my job. My dad, being a military man, even threatened Jun to stay away from me. To make our long story short, I left my job. I lost track of Jun I made myself busy with the family business. Basically, I went on with my life and tried to forget about him.
On the morning of June 2, 1994 I recieved a telegram from his aunt, saying that Jun had died the day before June1, 1994. Shocked, I crumpled the short note and hurriedly phoned his aunt for confirmation. She told me that when we parted, Jun resigned from his job and drunk heavily each day. He neglected his health as well as his body. Pneumonia had caused his sudden death. "You know Jun. Everyday and up to his remaining hours, all he wanted was to see you. During his final moments, while suffering from delirium, he even told us that he still loves you very much," Jun's aunt said.
Sadly, my parents wouldn't allow me to go to his wake. I mourned quietly inside my room. There even came a point where I convinced myself that he wasn't dead.
On January 1995, just before my birthday, Jun visited me in a dream. I dreamed that I was inside a hospital room. I was wearing a hospital gown and I was sitting at the foot of my bed. Jun suddenly appeared before me, clothed in bright lights. We communicated mentally. I told him it wasn't true that he was gone. He replied that I must accept the fact that he was already dead but it didn't mean that he as leaving me. "I will always be beside you, gaurding you," he said.
I cried saying, "I'm sorry I didn't have the guts to fight for our relationship."
He comforted me and soothed me by shrouding me with his bright light. The bliss I felt was interrupted by voice calling his name "It's time for me to go," he told me. "But what about me?" I asked, tears in my eyes. " I will be here for you always," he replied,"and I will be waiting for you there. And don't ever forget that love you very much."
After saying this, he vanished before my eyes. I woke up crying. After this incident, I finally began to accept his death. And whenever I'm depressed I feel his presence beside me I know somehow out there he's still waiting patiently for me... -
..... Ok ok coming upOriginally posted by alexkusu:yalor..anymore?
threadstarter ddnt mantain this thread ah?
-
One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other
students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between
each name.
Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could
say about each of their classmates and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment
and, as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.
That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a
separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.
On Monday, she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the
entire class was smiling. "Really?" she heard whispered.
"I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and, "I didn't know others liked me so much." were some of the comments.
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents,
but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, one of the students was killed in Vietnam and his teacher attended the
funeral of that special student.
She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before.
He looked so handsome, so mature.
The church was packed with his friends. One by one, those who loved
him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin. As she stood there, one of the soldiers, who acted as pall bearer, came up to her.
"Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked.
She nodded: "Yes."
Then he said: "Mark talked about you a lot."
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a
luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.
"We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notepaper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.
The teacher knew, without looking, that the papers were the
ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's
classmates had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."
All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around.
Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's
in the top drawer of my desk at home."
Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary."
Then Vickie, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group.
" I carry this with me at all times," Vickie said, and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will
be.
So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.. -
I love such tear jerkers....do keep it coming ya?
Great job~ -
I'm bored...so here's my contribution~
*Pirated online of course*
We all know what it's like to get that phone call in the middle of the night.
This night's call was no different. Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red, illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight! Panicky thoughts filled my sleep dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" My heart pounded, I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed.
"Mama?" The voice answered.
I could hardly hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter.
"Mama, I know it's late but, don't. . . . don't say anything until I finish and before you ask, yes, I have been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a few miles back and . . . and I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you if a policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want to come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried sick and I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid."
I paused and tried to think what to say before I could go on, she continued.
"I'm pregnant, Mama and I know I shouldn't be drinking now especially now-----but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!" the voice broke again and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes full with moisture. I looked at my husband, who sat silently mouthing, "who is it?" I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance.
"I'm here. I wouldn't hang up," I said into the phone.
"I should have told you, Mama. I know I should have told you but when we talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don't listen to me, you never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren't important. Because you're my mother, you think you have all the answers but sometimes I don't need answers.. I just want someone to listen."
"I'm listening," I whispered.
"You know back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about how people shouldn't drink and drive. So, I called a taxi. I want to come home."
"That's good honey." I said, relief filling my chest.
My husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.
"But, you know, I think I can drive now."
"I know, but do this for your mama, wait for the taxi please." I listened to the silence, fearing. When I didn't hear her answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from driving.
"There's the taxi now." There was a click and then the phone went silent. Moving from the bed, tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in my 16 year old daughter's room. The dark silence hung thick.
My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"We have to learn to listen", I said to him.
He pulled me around to face him. "We'll learn. You'll see." Then he took me in his arms and I buried my head in his shoulder. I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared at the bed.
He studied me for a second and then asked, "Do you think she'll ever know she dialed the wrong number?"
I looked at our sleeping daughter and then back at him. "Maybe it wasn't such a wrong number."
"Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled young voice came from under the covers.
I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness. "We're practicing," I answered. "Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes already closed in slumber.
"Listening," I whispered and brushed a hand over her cheek. -
Making Music
On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play. But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap -- it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.
People who were there that night thought to themselves: "We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage to either find another violin or else find another string for this one."
But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity, as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the definition of life... not just for artists but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.
So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left
taken from here -
Think Twice
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. Fourth time in as many months.
How could a guy get caught so often?When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the
potential traffic hazard.
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand. Bob? Bob from Church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse than the coming ticket. A
Christian cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow. Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this." "Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."
"Yeah, I guess. Bob seemed uncertain. Good "I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit-just this once." Jack toed at
a pebble on the pavement "Diane said something about roast beef and
potatoes tonight. Know what I mean "I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct." Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics "What'd you clock me at?" "Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?" "Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging 65." The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket "Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dash board. He was in no rush to open the window.
The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license? Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again
A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room
for Bob to pass him the slip.
"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice. Bob returned to his police car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the mirror. Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost? Wait a
minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket.
Jack began to read: "Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it-a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them. I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until Heaven before I can ever hug her again. A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even
now. Pray for me. And be careful. My son is all I have left. Bob" Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.
Life is precious. Handle with care...
Drive safely and carefully. Remember, cars are not the only thing recalled by their make
taken from here -
Silent Love
From the very Begining, the girl's family objected strongly on her dating this guy. Saying that it has got to do with family background,& that the girl will have to suffer for the rest of her life if she were to be with him.
Due to family's pressure, the couple quarrel very often. Though the girl love the guy deeply, but she always ask him: "How deep is your love for me?"
As the guy is not good with his words, this often cause the girl to be very upset. With that & the family's pressure, the girl often vent her anger on him. As for him, he only endure it in silence.
After a couple of years, the guy finally graduated & decided to further his studies in overseas. Before leaving, he proposed to the girl: "I'm not very good with words. But all I know is that I love you. If you allow me, I will take care of you for the rest of my life. As for your family, I'll try my best to talk them round. Will you marry me?"
The girl agreed, & with the guy's determination, the family finally gave in & agreed to let them get married. So before he leave, they got engaged.
The girl went out to the working society, whereas the guy was overseas, continuing his studies. They sent their love through emails & phone calls. Though it's hard, but both never thought of giving up.
One day, while the girl was on her way to work, she was knocked down by a car that lost control. When she woke up, she saw her parents beside her bed. She realised that she was badly injured. Seeing her mum crying, she wanted to comfort her. But she realized that all that could come out of her mouth was just a sigh. She has lost her voice......
The doctors says that the impact on her brain has caused her to lose her voice. Listening to her parents' comfort, but with nothing coming out from her, she broke down.
During the stay in hospital, besides silence cry,.....it's still just silence cry that companied her. Upon reaching home, everything seems to be the same. Except for the ringing tone of the phone. Which pierced into her heart everytime it rang. She does not wish to let the guy know. & not wanting to be a burden to him, she wrote a letter to him saying that she does not wish to wait any longer.
With that, she sent the ring back to him. In return, the guy sent millions & millions of reply, and countless of phonecalls,.. all the girl could do, besides crying, is still crying....
The parents decided to move away, hoping that she could eventually forget everything & be happy.
A year has passed & her friend came with an envelope, containing an invitation card for the guy's wedding. The girl was shattered. When she open the letter, she saw her name in it instead.
When she was about to ask her friend what's going on, she saw the guy standing in front of her. He used sign language telling her "I've spent a year's time to learn sign language. Just to let you know that I've not forgotten our promise. Let me have the chance to be your voice. I Love You. With that, he slipped the ring back into her finger. The girl finally smiled..... -
Paper Cranes
Once, there was once a guy who was very much in love with this girl. This romantic guy folded 1,000 pieces of papercranes as a gift to his girl. Although, at that time he was just a small executive in his company, his future doesn't seemed too bright,
they were very happy together. Until one day, his girl told him she was going to Paris and will never come back. She also told him that she cannot visualise any future for the both of them, so let's go their own ways there and then...heartbroken, the guy agreed.
When he regained his confidence, he worked hard day and night, slogging his body and mind just to make something out of himself. Finally with all these hardwork and with the help of friends, this guy had set up his own company...
"You never fail until you stop trying." he always told himself. "I must make it in life!"
One rainy day, while this guy was driving, he saw an elderly couple sharing an umbrella in the rain walking to some destination. Even with the umbrella, they were still drenched. It didn't take him long to realise those were his ex-girlfriend's parents. With a heart in getting back at them, he drove slowly beside the couple, wanting them to spot him in his luxury sedan. He wanted them to know that he wasn't the same anymore, he had his own company, car, condo, etc. He had made it in life!
Before the guy can realise, the couple was walking towards a cemetary,and he got out of his car and followed them...and he saw his ex-girlfriend, a photograph of her smiling sweetly as ever at him from her tombstone... and he saw his precious papercranes in a bottle placed beside her tomb. Her parents saw him. He walked over and asked them why this had happened. They explained, she did not leave for France at all. She was stricken ill with cancer. In her heart, she had believed that he will make it someday, but she did not want her illness to be his obstacle ... therefore she had chosen to leave him.
She had wanted her parents to put his papercranes beside her, because, if the day comes when fate brings him to her again he can take some of those back with him. The guy just wept ...the worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them but knowing you can't have them and will never see them again.
The End."
A tragic story that perhaps happens only in the movies. At the end of the day, money is money is money but love is divine. In our quest for our material wealth, take time to make time for our loved ones. There will be a time when we have only memories to cling to.
Take this weekend to show our "love" to all that are close to us. -
There was this guy who believed very much in true love and decided to take his time to wait for his right girl to appear. He believed that there would definitely be someone special out there for him, but none came.
Every year at Christmas, his ex-girlfriend would return from Vancouver to look him up. He was aware that she still held some hope of re-kindling the past romance with him. He did not wish to mislead her in any way. So he would always get one of his girl friends to pose as his steady whenever she came back. That went on for several years and each year, the guy would get a different girl to pose as his romantic interest. So whenever the ex-girlfriend came to visit him, she would be led into believing that it was all over between her and the guy. The girl took all those rather well, often trying to casually tease him about his different girlfriends, or so, as it seemed! In fact, the girl often wept in secret whenever she saw him with another girl, but she was too proud to admit it. Still, every Christmas, she returned, hoping to re-kindle some form of romance. But each time, she returned to Vancouver feeling disappointed.
Finally she decided that she could not play that game any longer. Therefore, she confronted him and professed that after all those years, he was still the only man that she had ever loved. Although the guy knew of her feelings for him, he was still taken back and have never expected her to react that way. He always thought that she would slowly forget about him over time and come to terms that it was all over between them. Although he was touched by her undying love for him and wanted so much to accept her again, he remembered why he rejected her in the first place-she was not the one he wanted. So he hardened his heart and turned her down cruelly. Since then, three years have passed and the girl never return anymore. They never even wrote to each other. The guy went on with his life..... still searching for the one but somehow deep inside him, he missed the girl.
On the Christmas of 1995, he went to his friend's party alone. "Hey, how come all alone this year? Where are all your girlfriends? What happened to that Vancouver babe who joins you every Christmas?", asked one of his friend. He felt warm and comforted by his friend's queries about her, still he just surged on.
Then, he came upon one of his many girlfriends whom he once requested to pose as his steady. He wanted so much to ignore her ..... not that he was impolite, but because at that moment, he just didn't feel comfortable with those girlfriends anymore. It was almost like he was being judged by them. The girl saw him and shouted across the floor for him. Unable to avoid her, he went up to acknowledge her.
"Hi......how are you? Enjoying the party?" the girl asked.
"Sure.....yeah!", he replied.
She was slightly tipsy..... must be from the whiskey on her hand. She continued,
"Why...? Don't you need someone to pose as your girlfriend this year?" Then he answered, "No, there is no need for that anymore......"
Before he can continue, he was interrupted, "Oh yes! Must have found a girlfriend! You haven't been searching for one for the past years, right?" The man looked up, as if he has struck gold, his face beamed and looked directly at the drunken girl. He replied, "Yes......you are right! I haven't been looking for anyone for the past years."
With that, the man darted across the floor and out the door, leaving the lady in much bewilderment. He finally realized that he has already found his dream girl, and she was.....the Vancouver girl all along! The drunken lady has said something that awoken him.
All along he has found his girl. That was why he did not bother to look further when he realized she was not coming back. It was not any specific girl he was seeking! It was perfection that he wanted, and yes.....perfection!!
Relationship is something both parties should work on. Realizing that he had let away someone so important in his life, he decided to call her immediately. His whole mind was flooded with fear. He was afraid that she might have found someone new or no longer had the same feelings anymore..... For once, he felt the fear of losing someone.
As it was Christmas eve, the line was quite hard to get through, especially an overseas call. He tried again and again, never giving up. Finally, he got through......precisely at 1200 midnight. He confessed his love for her and the girl was moved to tears. It seemed that she never got over him! Even after so long, she was still waiting for him, never giving up.
He was so excited to meet her and to begin his new chapter of their lives. He decided to fly to Vancouver to join her. It was the happiest time of their lives! But their happy time was short-lived. Two days before he was supposed to fly to Vancouver, he received a call from her father. She had a head-on car collision with a drunken driver. She passed away after 6 hours in a coma.
The guy was devastated, as it was a complete loss. Why did fate played such cruel games with him? He cursed the heaven for taking her away from him, denying even one last look at her! How cruel he cursed! How he damned the Gods...!! How he hated himself....for taking so long to realize his mistake!! That was in 1996.
The moral of this story is : -
Treasure what you have...
Time is too slow for those who wait;
Too swift for those who fear;
Too long for those who grief;
Too short for those who rejoice;
But for those who love...
Time is Eternity.
For all you out there with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, cherish every moment that you spend together that special someone, for in life, anything can happen anytime. You may painfully regret, only to realise that it is too late. -
Originally posted by wonderamazement:The moral of this story is : -
Treasure what you have...
Time is too slow for those who wait;
Too swift for those who fear;
Too long for those who grief;
Too short for those who rejoice;
But for those who love...
Time is Eternity.
For all you out there with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, cherish every moment that you spend together that special someone, for in life, anything can happen anytime. You may painfully regret, only to realise that it is too late.
-
..... Mmmmarvelous stories!! Keep it coming