.....AND LIFE CHANGED!!!!

The Girl Who Found Love

As I stare out of my window into the cold misty night I think of you and wish we were together. I gently lay my head on my pillow, holding it tight, trying to remember the sound of your breath, but all I can feel is the texture of my pillow. My mother thinks I’m crazy, but I know one thing for sure... I’m lonely with out you. The next day I wake up to the sound of thunder, which is typically the sound of birds in some countries, often something that comes every morning. As I climb onto the bus and make my way to the farthest set from you, I lie my head against the window feeling the goose bumps suddenly rush up my arm, feeling the hairs stick up as sharp as blades on a razor, feeling the sharp textures of my skin as I look down at my feet.

The bus arrived at school the same time as usual, nothing different, but the feelings the lay inside of me. Slowing dragging myself to the guidance office to get my schedule that hasn’t changed since they day I moved to this school. The woman at the desk stared at me as if I was taken over by a ghost and looked at me in concern. “Dear child how are you feeling today?” she must have seen my face when she asked this question, however, thinking of the appropriate answer to this was a complete blur, so I just told her the same thing I told my mom every morning, “I’m fine, just tired”. My best friend moved schools just last week when her father got remarried to a French woman, and was put in boarding school for the rest of her high school year.

However, for me, I was as lonely as ever, and not having my friend there only made me feel more and more depressed. My brother left for the army to become a solider since school never really worked out for him after our father left us for a woman much younger than my mom. My mother always works and never seems to be home since she has to support me and my younger sister, Angel. And ever since my boy friend broke up with me I have just been very broken lately. Also since my brother and I were as close as doves when they're in love.

My bag suddenly felt like I was carrying rocks as I made my way to first class, then I realized that dragging my feet would give me a tardy so my pace gradually increased. as soon as I made it to the door everyone was seated except for me, which was always the norm for me. I made my way across the room with my bag filled with rocks, hopes and destroyed dreams. My teacher, Mrs. Greene, puts me next to this guy who I'd never met and it was the longest class that ever existed. The teacher told us that group assignments were going to be given and were due on the second semester. The topic wasn’t my favorite but it was something that passed my time and as my mom said, try and make friends. The homework was a power point about the opposite sex character traits and other non important stuff.

To be honest, my life isn’t as interesting as a popular cheerleader or a smart math geek but all I know is it isn’t a happy ending or happy in any shape or form. This guy was named Anthony. I learned a lot about him since it was the guys turn to express a little bit of background information. I know we won't get along. this guy was the captain of the sports team and the hottest guy in school, particularly with cheer leaders. All I know is that I can't do a project about someone who isn’t like me at all. The bell rang finally, my favorite subject - lunch, it was the class where I could sit and eat and no one would ask me how I was feeling.

I sit at the farthest table where no one would bother going. Anthony, my people studies partner, was sitting right in my table, my area that no one ever sat before. First I thought he was insane crazy, but then he spoke with the most in tune voice I ever heard. “hey we should start working on finishing the first part of interviewing about my basic background so we can start yours,” he winked at me. I stared down at him, not wanting to stare at his bright blue eyes that showed thoughtfulness and care. “okay, but I want to tell you my story isn’t as bright and colorful as yours” he nodded at me and listened with great eagerness as I told him my basic background. After that he asked me if I could meet him in the library to start the basic background portion to power point. I didn’t know if he was asking me out, cause if he was the answer would be no. I can't put myself though that again after what happened, but he seemed confident that I would go so I nodded and told him I would.

As I made my way to the bus and then slowly paced to my seat, I saw someone’s feet. I look up and see Anthony. I stare at him blankly. since when was he on my bus and how did he know where I sat? he seemed to have read my mind and said, "I know people and they told me.” I nodded, sitting in the seat next to him. He didn’t seem to keep his eyes off me as I sat in the black metal chair. His glare seemed to pierce mine and something started to melt inside and it scared me. I’ve felt alone most all my life. I never seemed to have someone who cared since they always left me. As soon as I get to my stop I dash out of the bus. little did I know he wrote his number on my left arm.

My mom was home, which was rare, like seeing a lake in the desert. She was home cooking soup for Angel since she was sick with the unexpected flu. Normally when I get home I would cook and then do homework. Since I was cooking I had time before the library.

I made my way slow up the stairs to take a shower as my mother caught something on my arm that I never knew was there. “Is that a number on your arm? i hope it's not Henry, you know what he did to you Cathy, that boy isn’t nice.” I didn’t realize till she gestured to my arm and I told her that it wasn’t Henry’s but a boy that was my partner for homework. She didn’t seem to believe it was for homework but she did believe it wasn’t Henry.

I made my up and called the number that seemed to stay on my arm like a permanent tattoo. “Hello? Who’s this?” he answered on the first ring. “Um, this is Cathy. what time do I mmeet you?” I was so nervous. I don’t know why this sudden feeling burns me inside. I can't like him. I told myself I can't be open to love. He tells me to meet him there at two and then hangs up. I look at the clock, one fifty four, almost two. the intensity is burning. I start walking to the library.

As he and I sit down I stare at his eyes and see myself, the person I wanna be, the person that seemed to be lost inside of me. This seemed to me like a fatherly daughterly love, someone to take care of me, since I've been doing that my whole life - watching out for others. He catches me staring at him and leans down and kisses me. My heart melts and all the sadness seems to be spread away by love.

My mind tells me to pull back but my mouth and heart press on, continuing to kiss his tender lips filling my heart with happiness and meaning. The few days have been a blast and my heart fills with joy every time he’s around me. As the night dies down I think of me and my lover, the one who changed me and brightened my days.

Taking a Risk-By Nicole

I'm sorry it took me
this long to thank you
for your strength and will.

Regardless of the consequence,
you took a chance. At the time,
you were sitting down to confront
yourself.

You had no idea that your actions
would defend an entire race
Because of you, we are able
to choose our seat in this world.

You anybody Liberty and Justice
thank you for your restraint you
will never be forgotten.

Under the Moonlight-By RLBrown

I remember the day I met him, he had such a lovely character about him. His starry eyes, those brown wavey locks. What a man.

I wish he didn't leave. I wish he had listened to me. I know he wanted to do good but then I knew he wouldn't come back.

I remember those winter nights staring at the moon and the stars. I remember that night well. We had a picnic in the near by field, where we could see the moon rise in the night sky. It's light shone so bright, it made the grass shimmer in the wind.

He proposed to me that night. The happiest night in my life.
Then it happened. He had the call. I begged him to stay, I didn't want him to go. Sadly he left the next morning.
That was the last time I saw him. for he was a solider that had lost his battle.

I still go to the field where he proposed, looking up at the moon. I speak to that moon as if it was him. sometimes it feels as if it's answering me.
That love could never been broken.

(I wrote this story when the lives of many people were taken.)

Smile in Heaven-By James Joseph Sullivan

I've just had the most beautiful dream of my life. I had it once before, a long, long time ago, where memories possibly can't stretch, maybe in another life - but I had it once. Maybe when I was a child, smiling as I had it under the blankets that hugged me as I dreamed my way to other worlds I never knew existed. Maybe I cried, or laughed, or beamed till my face hurt. I know I had it some time, though. It might have been thousands of years ago, or in another universe. The dream is always in such a heart achingly beautiful place, and even the greatest artists combined, working for a million years, couldn't create that feeling in my heart that I get when I look at a painting of a snowy forest, with an icy stream, maybe even some purple trees, snow-covered foxes in the distance, possibly a little boat and a magical cave that only I am in, and I know no-ones going to come and take me away, because it's too lonely for that.

Before my dream, I was in my hut in the woods, trying to get to sleep. I tossed and turned, blew out and relit the candle time and time again, lay down on the floor, went out with no clothes on in an icy wind and even danced on the bog near my house since no-one was around, but nothing could curb the uneasiness that I felt when I reentered the silent hut. The clock was ticking anticlockwise, and I told myself that this was just a coincidence, but then again, who knows? It has a one in a million chance of doing so, what are the chances of that happening to me, to whom things never directly happen? One in a trillion?

Finally, just as I gave up, I walked slowly up to my bed, and lay down on it, and I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow. Thank goodness. The door was ajar, and a draft was blowing in, whipping around my ankles, but I didn't care. I was asleep. Then, the fear started. I found myself in a hut just like the one I'm in at the moment, but it was cluttered with furniture and a good way smaller, giving the feeling that you were trapped inside quite vividly to me as I looked wildly around. It was all very realistic. The curtains were so dusty that I could see specks of dust floating in the air, old chairs stacked on top of one another, cobwebs hanging like barriers across the ceiling, spiders the sides of hands in them. I sneezed a couple of times, my throat itching terribly as dust settled on my clothes. Then, since it was a dream and things always move very quickly in a dream, the walls started to close in around me, and I panicked, flinging pieces of furniture out of the way in a manner so familiar to me that I wondered if I'd had exactly the same dream the last time. My arms ached after a while as the walls creaked slowly towards me, crushing whole tables and pianos as I gasped for breath, throwing things out of the way only to have them bounce back at me, grazing my elbows, and yet I couldn't find the little door that I knew would let me out.

"Please? Where's the door? You've got to help me! I'm stuck! I need to get out!" I gasped at a shriveled old kitten on the floor.

The kitten turned towards me and pointed a paw at the wall, and then the walls came so close to me that one wall was on the back of my head and the other was on my nose. I tried to flap my arms to get out of the way, but I couldn't, and I screamed. Then the wall started to very slowly crush my nose, and then the wall opened to reveal the prettiest forest of my life: the one I've been aching for all my life.

A blast of cold air swept across me, realistic as real life, even though in a dream, as I grappled with my senses as the hut disappeared behind me, the walls swallowing each other up. The porch was windswept and in my pajamas I shivered, crossing my arms over one another. My teeth chattered, and soon my hands became numb and my nose and ears hurt, but I didn't move. Lights were strung over the snowy trees that had purple leaves on them, and the same icy stream I've been longing for swung between the trees. The banks had beavers and foxes on them, and I whooped with joy but they didn't care.

It was at this point that I realized that I was naked. I covered my body with my hands, and hid behind a tree. All of a sudden, the forest was quiet. The billowing, howling, whooshing wind was all I could hear, and the cheep-cheep or squawk of a bird taking flight made the place all the more beautiful. My head rested against the bark and I sat down on the wet soil. A rabbit sniffed me and ran away, deciding I was too much of a threat. But I wasn't. I was one of them.

In the distance, I could see a light bobbing up and down between the trees, and with it a beautiful melody was sung out, and I could see people there, and I thought that I needed them to go. But then when they drew closer, I could see that they were full of warmth and love. At that point, I was filled with such loneliness, standing behind that tree in the quiet, away from everyone, that I looked up and prayed to the stars, because everyone knows our ancestors are up there. Then I stood out into the clearing, covering myself.

An old lady came up to me, and hugged me. All my embarrassment for being naked dissipated at that moment. Her walking stick pressed against my waist. Her body was frail and her hug was weak but full of warmth and love. She smelled of soap and grandmotherliness, and when we withdrew she was smiling so widely I could see every tooth in her mouth.

"We're so glad you came." she whispered, and the sound echoed past the trees.

"Why don't you join us?" a young boy asked me.

"I'm naked - I don't have any clothes on! Can I have some clothes?" I stammered.

"Oh, you won't be needing clothes! Come and join us, we're doing happiness tonight."

"And warming hearts."

"And handing out necklaces of happiness."

"Come along and join us," and I walked forwards as welcoming arms spread out around me, as the singing started again, and the path seemed to light up, and the woods seemed so far away, as I sung a tune I never knew existed, as we weaved our way to another world to tell stories to make people happy once again. It faded away, bit by bit, too wakefulness, and once I woke up, all of them had hugged me individually.

When I was back in my room, I wrote a little poem.

It's like an ice age of the heart
a golden sea, a shower of ending rain
and no matter when there's no hope left
I'll be there to kiss away the pain.

It's like a skylight in the sky
Looking up to the sky it makes me sad
that the streams of light I see before my eyes
are unknown by so many people
so far away from me,
they don't have a rainbow in the rain.

When I'm done, I put the quill down, and look at it. It's surely time to go and see Sylvia now. It's most unfortunate that I've slept for so long. She's been very strange recently. Mother died recently, and she's convinced that she can go up there to see her. She's written letters to her, immaculately coloured in with her favourite paints. She spends hours and hours colouring them in, not going over the lines, and she does it with such concentration that it's like she's trying to summon God.

"Sylvia? Darling? Where are you?" I call.
There was no answer.

"Silence!" shrieks Dorothy from the neighbouring hut. "I'm working on an important plan!"

Her plans are not ever important. One of her recent plans was to tell a colleague to dress nicely, sit on a bench by a pond and feed bits of bread to ducks. Then, five minutes later, empty a truckload of loaves all over the ducks and see the reaction, supposedly to crush some of them as a bird social experiment. Another one was to give the address of a local pub to a food supplying company, order six hundred and ten boxes of strawberries, and have them delivered to the pub where a colleague was temporarily working to assess the affects on the employees of the pub. Her most famous one for which she was jailed, was to give children a certain type of herb with which she could control their dreams and have them stand in the road, dodging cars speeding past at a speed limit of nine hundred and sixty six thousand miles per hour, while she cackled like a witch as she observed it. Dorothy was an intensely unpleasant woman.

But now, sure enough, I have to go and see Sylvia.

I opened the door of my hut, and stepped out into the night which was warmer than any night had been so far this year. It was cooler in the hut. I picked up the candle, shielded it with my arms so the glare wouldn't spread out and become too noticeable. I've got to go into the field of hay bordering the woods to see her, in her special place that only her dearest friends can ever go into. It's called the smile. it's in the shape of a smile, and you can see it if you fly overhead in a helicopter, which I once did. It's beautiful. Mostly you can just see farmers hacking away at the ground, but if you're lucky you can see a little strip, glinting, that is the entrance to the smile that you can't see from the ground. It's like I know it out of a book, off by heart, as I slip under the long grasses first, and then into the hay, reaching the little door that no one has ever spotted before.

The little sitar is there - it's been polished. When we first bought it it was on the day that I was born, and my family made me pluck a string every day that was important: my birthday, Christmas, Easter, even the day of the death of a loved one. Sometimes it was just a passing note I plucked, but I always had to do it. Then one day, Sylvia decided to show me her smile place. She asked me to play the notes in order, so with much difficulty in remembering them I did. The first note was beautiful, like the wings of a fly beating a thousand times before it came to rest, the note glided through the hay, but I knew that nobody else would be able to hear it. First, I played them backwards, from now to then, and it had a melancholy tune that I never knew existed, that made my heart ache. Then, when I played it forwards, it was the sweetest melody I'd ever heard in my life, it swooped and soared and I knew that my love for any other music but this had gone forever.

Once I'm in the smile, I sit down and Sylvia speaks.

"Mum wrote me a letter today! It's from heaven," and she passes me a letter covered in dirt. I open it, and it is from hell. How could she think that her mother was in hell?

"She's not in hell! How can you say that?" I gasped.

Sylvia smiles and says, "she ripped up your story!"

"People don't go to hell for something as small as that!" I gasp.

"They do. Your story would have made people happy!"

I'd been painting on canvas when mum had ripped up my story. I'd been painting a picture from our old house in another woods, where the snow covered the branches and the sunlight glinted in as I stroked the cat. I'd heard a tearing sound from behind me, and my book had lain in pieces. I'd promised grandma I'd keep it forever, it contained all the stories she'd written as a young girl. I cried that night, properly, for the first time in ages. I was wracked with sobs. From then on, she only told me horrible stories. Of a little boy who was kept up in a small dome. Her parents were millions of miles away, and the little, frail boy cried, for too long, pitiful tears streaming down his face: he so wanted his parents, his heart ached for it, but no matter how hard he thought or how loudly he screamed he couldn't get out of the dome, till he became old, and his hair grew so long that it took up all the space and suffocated him. I cried for that, too, but only a little.

Remembering it, I start telling Sylvia a better story, of an island so beautiful you'd want to stay there forever. But one day a boy finds a thing in the bathroom, and the plane lands and drops him off there, but the passengers inside don't notice anything strange. Then the snakes eat him up, but while he's in the snake's stomachs he writes such marvelous stories animals come from far and wide to see him.

"That's lovely" she whispers.

"Yes" I whisper back.

"Maybe mum really is in heaven."

"Yes. But we won't get to see her any more."

"D'you think mum can see us? Up there in the stars?"

"In my dream grandpapa can. Why shouldn't she be able to?"

"It's just a dream." Sylvia says.

"No, it isn't. It's a real place. I've told you about my memories, just the feeling of it. I know it."

"Well, then we can find her. The dream tells us it," Sylvia says

"What? How?" I ask her.

"Maybe there really is a heaven on Earth," she says. And then I have hope, that no matter when you're low, there's still some place that you can love and call home.

Cancer Visits My World-By Bill Rayburn

I found out today that a former friend and lover has Thyroid cancer. She is 33. Her name is not important. Her fate, however, is very important to me. As flip as I can be here on Facebook and on other venues about matters of sexuality, and the opposite sex, I have not lived cavalierly in the world of love. There have not been many significant others. Two ex-wives, maybe a handful, if that, of committed relationships. And very little sexual promiscuity. So this young lady remains on my short list of loves I have shared in my 52 years.

She is the last relationship I have had, dating back to the early to mid-2000s. She was much younger than I; Asian, and a college graduate. Our two and a half years together staved off my upcoming depression and tail spin that began when I was laid off at the newspaper in 2009, the same newspaper where we had met.

We had cultural differences that rivaled the age difference, but we bridged them quite well. She was smart, tough and funny. She was a full generation younger than I, almost 19 years. I took some good natured ribbing from the more troglodytic male cohorts of mine. I accepted it with good humor. They could see, beyond their barbs, that we were good for each other. Our weakness balanced nicely with our strengths. We were much more complimentary with each other than one would guess, given our differences.

She made me feel younger than my age, and a million years old at the same time. She was a breath of fresh air for this tired old cynic. She exuded an alluring combination of innocence and shrewdness. She could be quite girlish, and yet all woman, often in the same hour. She grabbed life by the balls, always with her foot on the gas. She didn't drag her feet with constant reflection and speculation. She got things done. She was a doer, not a talker.

The only reason I am using past tense terms here is because we lost contact shortly after we agreed mutually that our love had run its course. She moved on to a more permanent arrangement. I think her time with me prepared her for the next step. The next man. At least I hope so. As legacies go, I do not have an abundance of them. My hope is that she is one of them.

She has married and has been very happy. Then this medical bombshell landed on her front porch with all the subtlety of a train wreck. She is scared. Cancer at the age of 33 is simply not supposed to happen. Especially to people with her joi de vivre, her spirit, her good soul. But it does.

It is one of the central ironies about growing old, that we experience death on an almost regular basis with each passing year. If we add up the weddings we go to in our first 40 years, with the number of funerals we are destined to go to in the next 40, which number do you think will be higher?

I have read many, many cancer stories on these pages. My sister died at age 48 of bladder cancer. My best friend’s wife passed recently at 64 of lung cancer. He himself has survived colon cancer.

Cancer has touched virtually everyone in some heinous way or other. It has become inevitable, ubiquitous, and as permanent as death itself. Or at least that’s how it feels.

She informed me via email today of this news. I was shell-shocked. And deeply saddened. The limitations of the written word, and I know them well, made my response to her difficult. I simply told her, boldly, that she COULD beat it. That she SHOULD beat it. That she WILL beat it.

I hate being in the cheerleader role. It makes me feel impotent, feckless, and even inconsequential.

The odds are very good that someone now reading this, or this writer, are currently harboring cancer cells that may kill us. Sure, there are forms of cancer that we can control whether or not we get it. Some cancer is behaviorally influenced. But cancer often strikes randomly, lethally, cruelly.

F**k you, cancer.

Leave the women on my short list alone.

Isn’t it bad enough they had to be with me?

...God?

By Bill Rayburn
Born 1960, M, from London, England, United Kingdom
Author Profile

...God?
…G.O.D.?

Been thinking about the big guy (gal?) upstairs lately. Nothing earth shattering. No sudden transformation for me. Just contemplating, dispassionately, why I don't believe in God.

I don't like labels, per se, especially when hung on myself, and I am not entirely comfortable with 'atheist', though by definition, that is probably what I am.

And the key word is 'probably'. Do I believe in God? At gunpoint, forced to reveal the absolute (hate that word) truth, I would honestly have to say, "I don't know".

I was raised a Catholic and remained one, as George Carlin once said so sagaciously, "...until I reached the age of reason". That was about 17 for me. Renouncing my religious upbringing coincided nicely with my sudden independence from my parents and family, as I had moved out of the house into an apartment. I was casting aside a huge portion of my childhood. And shortly thereafter my girlfriend moved in. This was 1978. The Catholic Church was not big on its parishioners living in sin. Nor was my dad. I couldn't have cared less. On both accounts.

There are many reasons I rejected organized religion and, soon thereafter, the idea that there was/is a God. Many of my reasons were intellectual in nature, yet there were still some lingering emotional issues from my eight years of Catholic grade school which had to be considered during my youthful repudiation of all things religious.

For example: I could never get my head around the idea that we should live in fear of God. Whether a precocious nine-year-old, or a wiser, yet still wet-behind-the-ears 17-year-old, it never made a shred of sense. I lived in fear of my father, whom I hated for breeding that type of atmosphere. Did God want me to hate him as well? I surmised he did not.

So that was the first of many rejections I went through regarding the bible and its teachings. The bible was, and remains, the most contradictory piece of ‘literature’ I’ve ever endured. I found it not only baffling and difficult to understand, but ironically, wholly uninspiring.

The 'fear' factor simply brought out my natural instinct for rebellion, prompting me to turn my contrarian instincts toward a God who was presented to me not as a friend, but as an authoritarian figure and, even more disconcerting, a ‘savior’. My attitude also mirrored my unwillingness to buy into what my dad was forcing upon me about the Catholic Church, which was a “believe in it or else” mantra which proved to be ultimately an anti-sales pitch.

I think my rejection of my dad paved the way for my rejection of God. Authoritarian figures have never fit in my world, and the two most unbending, influential icons in my life I rejected before I was old enough to vote.

As I grew into my 20s my intellect grew exponentially and the concept of ‘faith’ found its way on to my rejection list. I chose not to believe in 'believing'. This was the last major hurdle to shedding the yoke of Catholic dogma, a mindset designed to strangle independent thought. Once I wrestled that from around my neck, I was off to much more verdant, vibrant pastures of thought and concept. Religion was not an area where ambiguity and nuance lived. But it was where I lived.

The 1980s was anything but a carefree decade for me. Death and tragedy visited my family; two inevitable aspects of life that most people use their faith to endure or overcome. I did it the secular way. I drank.

Not really. What I did was think. I had long ago given up the Pollyanna idea that life was fair, and that fate only heaped as much onto your plate as you could eat at one sitting. All around me, I saw people who were unable to deal with the more sinister conundrums of life; people overwhelmed by their circumstances, self-imposed or otherwise. From where I sat, life appeared to be absolutely f***ing brutal, and whether one believed in God or not, the potential to be swept under the tsunami of life appeared to be available equally to believers and non-believers. Salvation was for suckers.

Once I identified as lip service what the faithful would offer up in explanation for the tragic events of life, I realized they were ensnared in an oftentimes very elaborate self-deception. Few things could send me sprinting in the opposite direction more quickly than 'denial'.

It’s been my experience that even those deep into their faith are rarely able to find a peaceful place when confronted with the worst life has to offer. I realized their faith guaranteed them no safe haven. Even if they thought it did, their rhetoric usually outweighed their actions. In fact, I saw that religious belief was about buying into the rhetoric. Behind the diaphanous curtain of scripture and biblical contradictions was a quite naked emperor with an embarrassed, almost apologetic grin, staring fecklessly at a machine with no levers or buttons or handles.

But I confess to doing some dancing here myself. The number one reason I have rejected God and religion has less to do with my intellectual pragmatism and distrust in faith, and more to do with simply not wanting to be associated with, lumped into, or perceived as aligned with, people that are ensconced in a force field of fear. So paralyzed by the uncertainty of life and the fundamental paucity of answers to most of life’s big questions, these people latched onto something and someone, based completely on faith.

God is a port in a storm. I understand the need and desire for such a port. But I personally reject it because it is a mirage.

Hypocrisy is also ingrained in the religious experience. Coupled with the fear and denial, it creates an environment in which I cannot live, let alone thrive.

Some key words: worship; fear; guilt; sin.

Who in their right mind would want anything to do with those four pernicious concepts? I know I didn't. I mentioned that fear was my first thoughtful rejection. In addition, Catholic guilt is a powerful weapon used by the church to keep the flock in line, and aligned. In a secular life there are more concrete, direct consequences to human foibles and missteps then ‘feeling bad’.

And ‘worship’ sounds simply wrong to me. Equality and fairness are my personal tenets. There is no room for worship when thinking the way I think.

Should I discuss the concept of sin?

As long as I can start with calling myself a card-carrying pagan, I’ll dive into this pool. I think the 10 commandments are, for the most part, a good idea. They are pretty solid guidelines which, if someone chooses to live by them, will provide civilized society some parameters for human behavior.

But when the commandments attempt to legislate human morality that is where I back out. Like “though shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife”. Harboring thoughts about Mrs. Jackson across the street as she works in her garden in her bikini top is simply not a sin in my book. Acting on it, depending on the marital status of those involved, may be a different story. I do believe in the marital vows and fidelity.

This has been a rambling explanation, which probably explains better than anything my ultimate answer of “I don’t know”.

But faith leaves no wiggle room. There is no part of faith that embraces “I don’t know”. One either believes or doesn’t.

I don’t.

My ultimate goal is to get to the next level, which is simply: I don’t care.

True love

From the very beginning, 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 quarreled very often. Though
the girl loved the guy deeply, she always asked him: "How deep is your
love for me?" As the guy is not good with his words, this often caused
the girl to be very upset. With that & the family's pressure, the girl
often vents her anger on him. As for him, he only endured it in
silence.

After a couple of years, the guy finally graduated & decided to
further his studies 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 left, 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 was 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 realized 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 had lost her
voice....

The doctor 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 accompanied 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, 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.

With a new environment, the girl learns sign language & started a
new life. Telling herself everyday that she must forget the guy. One
day, her friend came & told her that he's back. She asked her friend not
to let him know what happened to her. Since then, there wasn't anymore
news of him.

A year has passed & her friend came with an envelope, containing a
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 to tell her "I've spent a year 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.

Treat every relationship as if it's the last one, then you'll know
how to Give. Treat every moment as is it's the last day, then you'll
know how to treasure.

Treasure what you have right now, or else you will
regret one day...

Friend

Nurse: "It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am ,
when an elderly gentleman, in his 80's, presented to have sutures
(stitches) removed from
his thumb.

He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an
appointment at 9:00 am . I
(nurse) took his vital signs and had him take a seat,
knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided,

since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam
it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed
supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in
conversation.

Asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning
somewhere else, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he
needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she
had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease.

As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound,

I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no
longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. "And you are still
going every morning, even
though she doesn't know who you are?" He smiled as he
patted my hand and said. "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she
is."

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps
on my arm, and
thought, "That is the kind of love I want in my life."

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love
is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

Good friends are like stars...You don't always see
them, but you always know they're there

A boy's love

Girl and a boy were on a motorcycle, speeding through the night.
They loved each other a lot.....
Girl:"slow down a little.. I'm scared.."
Boy: "No, it's so fun.."
Girl: "please..it's so scary.."
Boy: "Then say that you love me.."
Girl: "Fine..I love you..can you slow down now?"
Boy: "Give me a big hug.."
The girl gave him a big hug.
Girl: "Now can you slow down?"
Boy: "Can you take off my helmet and put it on? It's uncomfortable
and it's bothering me while i ride."
The next day, there was a story in the newspaper. A motorcycle had
crashed into a building because its brakes were broken. There were two
people on the motorcycle, of which one died, and the other had survived...The guy
knew that the brakes were broken. He didn't want to let the girl know,
because he knew that the girl would have gotten scared. Instead, he was told
the last time that she loved him,got a hug from her, put his helmet on her
so that she can live, and die himself...

Once in a while, Right in the middle of an ordinary life, Love
gives us a fairy tale...

Message "Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing
those you hold well"

Installing Love-Love In Terms of Computer

Customer Service Rep: Can you install LOVE?

Customer: I can do that. I'm not very technical, but I think I am ready to install now. What do I do first?

Customer Service Rep: The first step is to open your HEART. Have you located your HEART ma'am?

Customer: Yes I have, but there are several programs running right now.Is it okay to install while they are running?

Customer Service Rep: What programs are running ma'am?

Customer: Let me see....I have PASTHURT.EXE, LOWESTEEM.EXE, GRUDGE.EXE, and RESENTMENT.COM running right now.

Customer Service Rep: No problem. LOVE will automatically erase PASTHURT.EXE from your current operating system. It may remain in your permanent memory, but it will no longer disrupt other programs. LOVE will eventually overwrite LOWESTEEM.EXE with a module of its own called HIGHESTEEM.EXE. However, you have to completely turn off GRUDGE.EXE and RESENTMENT.COM. Those programs prevent LOVE from being properly installed. Can you turn those off ma'am?

Customer: I don't know how to turn them off. Can you tell me how?

Customer Service Rep: My pleasure. Go to your Start menu and invoke FORGIVENESS.EXE. Do this as many times as necessary until GRUDGE.EXE and RESENTMENT.COM have been completely erased.

Customer: Okay, I'm done. LOVE has started installing itself automatically. Is that normal?

Customer Service Rep: Yes it is. You should receive a message that says it will reinstall for the life of your HEART. Do you see that message?

Customer: Yes I do. Is it completely installed?

Customer Service Rep: Yes, but remember that you have only the base program. You need to begin connecting to other HEARTS in order to get the upgrades.

Customer: Oops...I have an error message already. What should I do?

Customer Service Rep: What does the message say?

Customer: It says "ERROR 412 - PROGRAM NOT RUN ON INTERNAL COMPONENTS". What does that mean?

Customer Service Rep: Don't worry ma'am, that's a common problem. It means that the LOVE program is set up to run on external HEARTS but has not yet been run on your HEART. It is one of those complicated programming things, but in non-technical terms it means you have to "LOVE" your own machine before It can "LOVE"others.

Customer: So what should I do?

Customer Service Rep: Can you find the directory called "SELF-ACCEPTANCE"?

Customer: Yes, I have it.

Customer Service Rep: Excellent, you are getting good at this.

Customer: Thank you.

Customer Service Rep: You're welcome. Click on the following files and then copy them to the "MYHEART" directory: FORGIVESELF.DOC, SELFESTEEM.TXT, EALIZEWORTH.TXT, and GOODNESS.DOC. The system will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching any faulty programming. Also, you need to delete SELFCRITIC.EXE from all directories, and then empty your recycle bin afterwards to make sure it is completely gone and never comes back.

Customer: Got it. Hey! My HEART is filling up with really neat files. SMILE.MPG is playing on my monitor right now and it shows that WARMTH.COM, PEACE.EXE, and CONTENTMENT.COM are copying themselves all over my HEART!

Customer Service Rep: Then LOVE is installed and running. You should be able to handle it from here. One more thing before I go...

Customer: Yes?

Customer Service Rep: LOVE is freeware. Be sure to give it and its various modules to everybody you meet. They will in turn share it with other people and they will return some really neat modules back to you.

Customer: I will. Thank you for your help.

A Teacher's Lesson

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.

But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners. He is a joy to be around."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag.

Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer - the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

A Gift of Love

The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.

It had been a year since Susan, 34, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. And all she had to cling to was her husband, Mark.

Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again.

Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan, and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task.

Soon, however, Mark realized the arrangement wasn't working. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But she was still so fragile, so angry - how would she react? Just as he predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again.

"I'm blind!", she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I am going? I feel like you're abandoning me."

Mark's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day.

He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat.

Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own. Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus-riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, And his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself.

On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying the fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure do envy you." Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year? Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do you say that you envy me?"

The driver responded, "It must feel good to be taken care of and protected like you are." Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and again asked, "What do you mean?"

The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine-looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you as you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches until you enter your office building.

Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady." Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For although she couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light where there is darkness.

The Love Letter

I was always a little in awe of Great-aunt Stephina Roos. Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would greet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

Tante Sanna would bring in dishes of sweet, sweet, sticky candy, or a great bowl of grapes or peaches, and Great-aunt Stephina would converse gravely about happenings on the farm ,and, more rarely, of the outer world.
When we had finished our sweetmeats or fruit she would accompany us to the stoep, bidding us thank our mother for her gift and sending quaint, old-fashioned messages to her and the Father. Then she would turn and enter the house, closing the door behind, so that it became once more a place of mystery.

As I grew older I found, rather to my surprise, that I had become genuinely fond of my aloof old great-aunt. But to this day I do not know what strange impulse made me take George to see her and to tell her, before I had confided in another living soul, of our engagement. To my astonishment, she was delighted.
"An Englishman,"she exclaimed."But that is splendid, splendid. And you,"she turned to George,"you are making your home in this country? You do not intend to return to England just yet?"
She seemed relieved when she heard that George had bought a farm near our own farm and intended to settle in South Africa. She became quite animated, and chattered away to him.
After that I would often slip away to the little cottage by the mealie lands. Once she was somewhat disappointed on hearing that we had decided to wait for two years before getting married, but when she learned that my father and mother were both pleased with the match she seemed reassured.

Still, she often appeared anxious about my love affair, and would ask questions that seemed to me strange, almost as though she feared that something would happen to destroy my romance. But I was quite unprepared for her outburst when I mentioned that George thought of paying a lightning visit to England before we were married."He must not do it,"she cried."Ina, you must not let him go. Promise me you will prevent him."she was trembling all over. I did what I could to console her, but she looked so tired and pale that I persuaded her to go to her room and rest, promising to return the next day.
When I arrived I found her sitting on the stoep. She looked lonely and pathetic, and for the first time I wondered why no man had ever taken her and looked after her and loved her. Mother had told me that Great-aunt Stephina had been lovely as a young girl, and although no trace of that beauty remained, except perhaps in her brown eyes, yet she looked so small and appealing that any man, one felt, would have wanted to protect her.
She paused, as though she did not quite know how to begin.

Then she seemed to give herself, mentally, a little shake. "You must have wondered ", she said, "why I was so upset at the thought of young George's going to England without you. I am an old woman, and perhaps I have the silly fancies of the old, but I should like to tell you my own love story, and then you can decide whether it is wise for your man to leave you before you are married."

"I was quite a young girl when I first met Richard Weston. He was an Englishman who boarded with the Van Rensburgs on the next farm, four or five miles from us. Richard was not strong. He had a weak chest, and the doctors had sent him to South Africa so that the dry air could cure him. He taught the Van Rensburg children, who were younger than I was, though we often played together, but he did this for pleasure and not because he needed money.
"We loved one another from the first moment we met, though we did not speak of our love until the evening of my eighteenth birthday. All our friends and relatives had come to my party, and in the evening we danced on the big old carpet which we had laid down in the barn. Richard had come with the Van Rensburgs, and we danced together as often as we dared, which was not very often, for my father hated the Uitlanders. Indeed, for a time he had quarreled with Mynheer Van Rensburg for allowing Richard to board with him, but afterwards he got used to the idea, and was always polite to the Englishman, though he never liked him.
"That was the happiest birthday of my life, for while we were resting between dances Richard took me outside into the cool, moonlit night, and there, under the stars ,he told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Of course I promised I would, for I was too happy to think of what my parents would say, or indeed of anything except Richard was not at our meeting place as he had arranged. I was disappointed but not alarmed, for so many things could happen to either of us to prevent out keeping our tryst. I thought that next time we visited the Van Ransburgs, I should hear what had kept him and we could plan further meetings…
"So when my father asked if I would drive with him to Driefontein I was delighted. But when we reached the homestead and were sitting on the stoep drinking our coffee, we heard that Richard had left quite suddenly and had gone back to England. His father had died, and now he was the heir and must go back to look after his estates.

"I do not remember very much more about that day, except that the sun seemed to have stopped shining and the country no longer looked beautiful and full of promise, but bleak and desolate as it sometimes does in winter or in times of drought. Late that afternoon, Jantje, the little Hottentot herd boy, came up to me and handed me a letter , which he said the English baas had left for me. It was the only love letter I ever received, but it turned all my bitterness and grief into a peacefulness which was the nearest I could get, then, to happiness. I knew Richard still loved me, and somehow, as long as I had his letter, I felt that we could never be really parted, even if he were in England and I had to remain on the farm. I have it yet, and though I am an old, tired woman, it still gives me hope and courage."

"I must have been a wonderful letter, Aunt Stephia,"I said
The old lady came back from her dreams of that far-off romance."Perhaps," she said, hesitating a little, "perhaps, my dear, you would care to read it ?"
"I should love to , Aunt Stephia,"I said gently
She rose at once and tripped into the house as eagerly as a young girl. When she came back she handed me a letter, faded and yellow with age, the edges of the envelope worn and frayed as though it had been much handled. But when I came to open it I found that the seal was unbroken.
"Open it ,open it,"said Great-aunt Stephia, and her voice was shaking
I broke the seal and read.

It was not a love letter in the true sense of the word, but pages of the minutest directions of how"my sweetest Phina"was to elude her father's vigilance, creep down to the drift at night and there meet Jantje with a horse which would take her to Smitsdorp. There she was to go to "my true friend, Henry Wilson",who would give her money and make arrangements for her to follow her lover to Cape Town and from there to England ," where, my love, we can he be married at once. But if, my dearest, you are not sure that you can face lift with me in a land strange to you, then do not take this important step, for I love you too much to wish you the smallest unhappiness. If you do not come, and if I do not hear from you, then I shall know that you could never be happy so far from the people and the country which you love. If, however, you feel you can keep your promise to me, but are of too timid and modest a journey to England unaccompanied, then write to me, and I will, by some means, return to fetch my bride."

I read no further.
"But Aunt Phina!"I gasped. "Why…why…?"
The old lady was watching me with trembling eagerness, her face flushed and her eyes bright with expectation."Read it aloud, my dear,"she said."I want to hear every word of it. There was never anyone I could trust…Uitlanders were hated in my young days…I could not ask anyone."

"But, Auntie, don't you even know what he wrote?"
The old lady looked down, troubled and shy like a child who has unwittingly done wrong.
"No, dear," she said, speaking very low."You see, I never learned to read.

A 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.

With a new environment, the girl learn sign language & started a new life. Telling herself everyday that she must forget the guy. One day, her friend came & told her that he's back. She asked her friend not to let him know what happened to her. Since then, there wasn't anymore news of him.

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.

Text Pal

My cellphone's beeping sound woke me up one night. Used to receiving important messages only, I grabbed my cell and sleepily pushed the keys and read the message.

"Hi there! Care 2 b my txtmate?"

Not knowing who the sender was, I deleted the message right away and placed the phone on my bedside table, I tried to go back to sleep.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard the message tone again.

"Hi there, again! Care 2 b my txtmate?" again, the message said.

"Who the hell could this be asking for txtmate at the wee hours of the night?" I asked myself.

Again, without bothering to reply I deleted the message.

I was never a 'textmaniac' - someone who enjoys texting anyone and everyone even at the wee hours of night, not to mention during the day. My parents, who were always out of the country forced me to own a cellphone. They told me that having one was more convenient - they could monitor me even if they're miles away.

I wanted to turn the unit off, but since my mother was fond of calling me at night, just to check if I was safe at home, I decided not to.

Just as I was to close my eyes and return to my dreamless sleep, the phone beeped again.

Same number...Such determination!

"Ply reply 2 dis msg & b an angel & save me frm dis abyss of emptiness!!!"

I never knew why, but the message struck me. I got up and pushed the keys... I just realized I was replying to the message.

"Im not an angel, n f u want som1 2 save u, m not superman... I'm just a simple prson who u wake up at dis r of my nyt!!! Nway, do I know u?" I typed.

Seconds later came the reply.

"Nope. U don't know dis lonely soul. Nor does she know u. But I want 2 b ur frnd. I'm Mikaella Cervantes. U?"

"Just call me Julius. How'd u get my no.?" I sent back.

"Hi Julius, nice 2 meet u. Just shuffled the last two digits of mine," she replied.

That was the first and maybe the last time I met someone over the cellphone.

We exchanged messages and learned so much about each other that night. We only said goodbye when my alarm clock rang at 5:00 AM! I had to prepare for school!

And that was also how it all started. A day would not pass without it loving and thoughtful messages from her. It was only then I had learned to appreciate text messages and become eager and excited everytime my phone beeped, hoping it would be her.

Mikaella brought out something about me that I never knew I had; I realized I could also be a romantic person... even if it's just through text messaging.

"Keep me as a frnd & I will keep u in my heart. Lock it up & throw away d key so dat no1 can evr tke u away from me..."
One day, she sent this message to me.

I replied: 'In life, we seldom find a true prson & f u evr find 1, hold on & nvr let go... value dat prson coz it's lyf's gift worth keeping & holdin on..."

I never knew why, but her response sent shivers to my spine, " Value d people hu hav touched ur life bcoz u will never know just wen dey will walk out of ur lyf & nvr come back again."

I couldn't understand what I felt that moment, but one thing I was sure though... I could not go on a day without a single word from her. I'd become used to having her, eventhough we had not met personally. But truly, she already occupied a space, a large one, in fact in my life.

I texted her back. "Dont come close f l8r ull jst pass by; don't touch me f l8r ull jst let me cry; dont luv me f l8r ull jst leave me and won't stay..."

I didn't know why I sent her that message, but somehow I felt, every word came from my heart. In the short span of time we were sending messages to each other, I knew, I was starting to keep her in my heart.

I called her once. The voice on the other end was like an angel's. Soft, kind, full of love. Yet, there was something in it I couldn't define. We only talked for a few minutes. Before she hung up, she told me not to call again. According to her, it would be better if we would just text each other.

But the voice kept ringing, not only in my head, but in my heart, I'd long to hear it once more. I tried to call her again, but she never answered the phone. She just kept on sending messages and quotations, which I copied in a little notebook. Hopeless romantic? I didn't know. All I could say was that all the messages she sent me were wonderful, they came from the heart and cut through the heart.
"Though we r miles apart, u r always n my heart. I close my eyes & der u r. Even f I'll see u never, I'll always b hir 2 care 4 u, far longer dan 4ever..."

One December night, she sent me this message. By that time we had been exchanging messages for more than a month. God knew how happy I was. She was right. Although we had not seen each other, what we felt was enough to make us both realize what was keeping us together.

I sent her another message, "Loving u secretly is a hard thing 4 me 2 do,hoping, wondring that u will feel d same way 2, but I can't read r mind f u luv me 2. But whatever it is, I'll still be loving u."

"How I wish I cud really tell u how much u mean 2 me, but m afraid 2 love, scared 2 get hurt... I hope dat u will wait 4 me & pray dat u will not get tired of loving me...=)" was her reply.

And then I replied again. " The reason y I met u is bcoz of destiny but f destiny will suggest dat I'll live w/o u, den, I'll lie not by destiny but of free will."

Whenever I asked her when we would meet personally, she always answered, "Soon...soon, love...soon."

Not seeing each other did not lessen, even a bit, what I felt for her...rather, it even grew deeper and stronger each day. And I was sure, she felt the same way, too. Love messages continued to flow through our lines, between our hearts, which made us go on each day with the thought that sooner, we would see each other, face to face, heart to heart.

Just a few days before Christmas. She stopped sending messages. At first I just though she had ran out of prepaid.

But there was something that kept bothering me... I couldn't understand what was it, but it made me fell nervous. I tried to call her but she wouldn't answer. Nevertheless, I continued sending messages.

Suddenly one night, just three days before our Lord's birthday. I heard my phone's message tone again... at last!It was from her!

"Oftentyms we say gudbye 2 d 1 we luv w/o wanting 2. Though dat doesn't mean dat we stopped loving dem or we stopped 2 care. Sometyms, GOODBYE is a painful way 2 say I LOVE YOU."

I was dumfounded. I didn't know what to think of. What did she mean? I texted her back, searching for answers, but found nothing. I called her but she would not answer.

For the first time in my life, I felt so miserable...desperate... empty. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to lose her. I had learned to love her. And I wanted to be with her forever.

The following days I felt nothing but emptiness. It seemed that Mikaella took the life out of me. I missed her so much...her messages...The tones that would tell me she'd sent another loving message. Nothing around me could feel the emptiness I felt.

Tut...tut...tut...tut...tut...just a day before Christmas, my cell beeped again. It was her!

"Meet me at d café, 10 AM 2day," I read aloud, making sure the message was true, then I jumped with joy upon hearing from her again. Hurriedly, I got myself ready and I went to the mall. I knew it was still early, but I wanted to be there before she arrived.

I arrived at the meeting place ten minutes earlier. I was surprised to see her already there, smiling at me. She was very beautiful, Black, deep-set eyes that spoke a thousand words; small, kissable lips; a nose perfectly chiseled and long black hair - everything in her was beautiful. And yes, her eyes radiated kindness and love...but there was a flicker of something in them...sadness?

"Hi, Julius," said the angelic voice I had been dreaming of each night. The voice that I had waited to hear for so long. "Please sit down." "I am very pleased to meet you, Mikaella," I said, as I took my seat and gave the roses I brought for her.

"Thanks, Julius," she smiled, obviously pleased with the roses. I knew she loved pink roses.

"You are always welcome, Love" "Julius, I can't stay," she said, sadness in her voice, or was it tears? "I really must go."

"But we just met, Mikaella. Can't we talk a little longer?" I asked, pleadingly.

"I can't really. I just came here to see you and thank you for the time you shared with me. Thank you for everything, Julius. I will never forget you...you will always be here in my heart."

She was looking at me straight into the eyes, and I could really feel the sadness in her voice and I swear, there was something in her voice and I swear, there was something in those lovely yet lonely eyes...

She got up and smiled at me, lovingly.

"Tomorrow morning, please come and visit me," he said and gave me a piece of white linen paper.
I read what was written and when I looked up, she was gone. The following day, Christmas, I woke up early and excitedly readied myself,thinking of her. I hurriedly went to flower shop and bought a dozen pink roses - for Mikaella.

They lived in an exclusive subdivision.

Upon reaching their house, I told the guard who I was and that I was looking for Mikaella.

The guard stared at me, sadness and amazement in his eyes and told me to wait as he called the owner of the house. As I looked at him while he was going inside the house, only then I noticed that the house was brightly lit.

A woman went out and walked towards me, smiling sadly.

"Hi, I'm Maria, Mikaella's mother. Please come inside, Julius." While we were walking towards the mansion, she explained to me why she knew me very well - Mikaella had always been talking about her friend, Julius. I hardly understood what she was saying. I was busy thinking why Mikaella's mother was crying while talking to me.

As we came near the great hall of the house, it dawned on me that there was a wake inside, Maybe, a relative passed away, I thought. But deep in my heart, I was trembling and afraid.

As we entered the hall where so many people were silently mourning while others were praying, shaking, I asked her mother. "Where is Mikaella?"

She held my hand and silently, led me to the coffin which was surrounded by flowers - pink roses, nothing but pinkroses.

No words could explain how I felt when I gazed at the coffin and saw who was lying there. The same beautiful girl I met...

A man came beside me, I knew he was Mika's father.

"We are so glad you came, Julius. Mika talked of you all the time. She even asked that her phone be buried with her.

She said that in that way, you could still send her messages and you would always be with her."

I couldn't believe everything... My mind was in limbo.

"But how can this be? We just saw each other yesterday."

"That can't possibly be. She passed away three days ago. She had been suffering from a heart disease since she was a child," said her father.

"But..." I couldn't find the words to say.

"She told us not to bother reaching you, "her mother said, still in tears," she said you will come, and here you are.

Pain and bitterness overwhelmed me. I cried silently beside her, staring at her lovely face, memorizing every line of my friend's face, a face I knew I would never forget while I was still alive.

After the internment that afternoon, I went to the chapel she had
told me she went everyday.

Sitting there praying and crying to God, I held my phone and typed: "U taught me how 2 care; u taught me how 2 b kind; u shwd me how 2 lyk som; u shwd me how 2 luv; but ders 1 thing didnt teach me & it hurts mor - u didnt teach me how 2 let go. I LOVE YOU"

I sent the message, and though I knew she wouldn't be able to hold her CP again, I knew in my heart she would get my message. I never expected a reply, yet as my phone beeped again,felt a shiver down my spine. The sender's number did not appear on the screen, and tears rolled down my cheeks as I read the message.

"Let go of d hand of d person u love, but dont let go of God's hand. 4 if u hold 2 his hand. He may b holding d person u love n d ader hand 2 let u hold each other again."

"I will never forget you, Mikaella and will never let go..." I vowed to her and to myself as I left the church.

A Boy's Love Part

A good reminder: "Take time to appreciate what you have now." --Dont miss reading this one

On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to the supermarket to buy the
remaining of the gift I didn't manage to buy earlier.

When I saw all the people there, I started to complain tomyself,"It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go.
Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year.How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake up after it..."

Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to curse the prices, wondering if after all kids really pla ywith such expensive toys.

While looking in the toy section, I noticed a small boy of about 5 years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the doll and looked so sad. I wondered who was this doll for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him, "Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?"

The old lady replied, "You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear."

Then she asked him to stay here for 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I started to walk toward him and I asked him who did he want to give this doll to.
"It is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her."

I replied to him that may be Santa Claus will bring it to her, after all, and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly.

"No, Santa Claus can not bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there."

His eyes were so sad while saying this.

"My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy will also go to see God very soon, so I thought that she could bring the doll with her to give it to my sister."

My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, "I told daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the supermarket."
Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me, "I also want mummy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me."

I love my mummy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister."

Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.I quickly reached
for my wallet and took a few notes and said to the boy, "What if we checked
again, just in case if you have enough money?"

"Ok," he said. "I hope that I have enough."

I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it.
There was enough for the doll, and even some spare money.

The little boy said, "Thank you God for giving me enough money."

Then he looked at me and added,
"I asked yesterday before I slept for God to
make sure I have enough money to buy this doll so that mummy can give it to my sister. He heard me."
"I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn't dare to ask God too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and the white rose."

"You know, my mummy loves white rose."

A few minutes later, the old lady came again and I left with my trolley. I
finished my shopping in a totally
different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my
mind.

Then I remembered a local newspaper article 2 days ago, which mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car where there was one young lady and a little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-assisting machine, because the young lady would not be able to get out of the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away.I couldn't stop myself and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to the mortuary where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wish before burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rosein her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to that day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a second, a drunk man had taken all this away from him.

Only Love Part

It's a cold February night. People are bustling through the streets, either pulling up their coat collars or wrapping scarves around their necks, trying to stay warm.

It's so cold today.I'm standing at my window, looking at the people moving like little dots. Standing in a heated room, I'm beginning to pity those people. Why don't they go home? Do they plan on wandering until morning?

"Almost time to go home! My boyfriend must be going crazy." One of the nurses breathe a sign of relief. "Still needs to work overtime on Valentine's Day. It's so unfair!"

"You are fortunate." Another nurse says. "Some people don't have anyone waiting for them."

"You mean Dr. Shu?"
Like Sherlock Holmes, my ears perk up when I hear my name.
"Do you remember how she lost control on this day last year?"
"Of course I do." A nurse shudders. "I've never seen Dr. Shu like that. Crying and yelling, like she was crazy."
They are talking about how I was last year. They are correct. I was out of control, like they said.
"You can't blame Dr. Shu. If my boyfriend died in front of my eyes, I would probably go crazy as well."
"Keep it down. She hasn't left work yet. She might hear you."
The two nurses are too late. I heard the entire conversation through the canvas wall.
"Dr. Shu, what are you doing standing here?"

Just as I was deciding whether or not to reveal myself, another nurse exposed me. I awkwardly step out. The 2 nurses who discussed me start to blush. Their faces became redder than the bow on Valentine's Day chocolates.

"I'm waiting to go home." I pretend that I didn't hear anything.
"Dr. Shu, you must have gotten too involved in your work. It's already past time to go home. See you tomorrow. Happy Valentine's Day!" She waves goodbye.

"Happy Valentine's Day." I wave back and watch the 2 nurses hurry away.

That's fine. I was ready to go home anyway. Even though no lover is waiting
for me, at least there's a lazy cat waiting for me to feed.

After I come home, the first thing I do is feed the cat. I forgot when I first had the cat. Probably since last year's Valentine's Day. At that time, I was like an abandoned cat, with eyes filled with despair. Cats don't cry, I do. That's the only difference.

"Better drink all the milk or I'll skin you." I threatened the cat. Her name is Christine, my least favorite English name. I don't know why I named the cat Christine. Christine meowed once to let me know she heard me, but her eyes are complaining about my severity. Her eyes remind me of someone I used to know, standing in front of me with eyes of rebellions.

An year ago today, I had lunch with my boyfriend and took the opportunity to complain to him.

"Today is Valentine's Day. Why didn't you give me any flowers?"

He raised his eyebrow. "Why should I give you flowers? You are not my anyone."

"Then... you should at least give me a card!" I pouted my lips, hurt by his tone.

"I know, I know. After lunch, I'll send you an e-card."

E-card. That sounds so impersonal, but that's the way he is. "You have to e-mail it to me. I'll be waiting." I excitedly smiled and planned to sneak home after lunch to check e-mail. Even though he wouldn't use any romantic words, I still looked forward to the card.

"I can't stand you women. Why do you make such a big deal out of Valentine's Day??" He grumbled while eating his food. His comment induced me to fight with him again.

"You are not romantic at all!! Don't you watch any Japanese drama?"

"Japanese drama? I only watch Discovery Channel."

"Your life is so boring." I made a face at him. "One recent drama was really good. You should have watched it."

"What's that drama called?" He didn't believe in the love portrayed in TV and movies. He always thought they were lies.

"It's called 'Story of A Century'." I gladly answered.

"What kind of trashy plot did it have?"

"What do you mean trash?? Show some respect!" I was so angry. "That drama was very touching, and the theme song was beautiful as well. It's called 'Only Love', performed by Nana Mouskouri." I wonder if he knew who Nana was.

"Nana, I know her. A Greek singer with really expensive albums."

"Her voice is worth it." Even though I secretly agreed with him, I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

"Whatever." He glanced at his watch. "I'll give you 5 minutes to tell me the plot. After that, I'm leaving."

I tried hard to explain 6 hours worth of story in just 5 minutes. The drama portrayed the love stories of 3 generations of women spanning 100 years, from 1901 to 2000. Each generation was portrayed by the same actress. The story was tear-jerking.

"What's so touching about it?" He asked, after listening to the story.

"Don't you think each generation's story is wonderful? If I have such great screen writing ability, I wouldn't be a doctor anymore. I would become a screenwriter."

"If you become a screenwriter, I bet no one would watch the show. The TV station can go out of business." He quickly interjected.

"I'm going back to work. Hurry and send me the card!" I was so mad that I went home immediately, not even finishing my coffee.

As soon as I walked in my door, I turned on my computer and go online.

Staring at the empty in-box, I began to reminisce about how we met. Maybe no one will believe me, but my boyfriend and I were actually neighbors. Our homes were only 1 wall away. Ever since we were kids, we liked to fight with each other all day long. I still remember when I moved to the country that year. Used to the city life, I couldn't get used to the simple life in the country. After school, I would just go home and do nothing. Whenever that happened, he would always come over to tease me.
"Why are you staring off into space??" He loved to pull on my hair. "You're so ugly when you're doing nothing. But you're also not pretty when you smile." In other words, I'm really ugly.

"You're the one who's ugly!" I pull back my hair. "If you think I'm so ugly, why do you visit me??"

"Can't help it. My home is right next to your home." He argued.

"Then I'll move!" The next day, I drew a line in the ground using some white chalk. A line that I forbid him to cross.

That year, we were both in the 5th grade. We couldn't stand each other and hoped the other would move away. But 5 years passed, and neither of us moved. Not only that, we got into the same high school and into the same class.

"You're that infamous couple." All the students and teachers in the school would say whenever they saw us.

"We're not!" I always tried to explain. "We're only neighbors." At that time, I hated my parents for making us live next to him.
"My standard is not that low." He would say. "Who wants her to be a girlfriend?? It's not like I don't have eyes."

"Yes, I know your eyes are on top of your head." I really disliked him. "Better than having eyes on the bottom of my head like you." He implied that I couldn't judge guys. At that time, I had a crush on a senior.

I didn't think that his sarcasm had a hidden meaning. After a while, I found out that the senior student had lots of girlfriends. When I cried about it, he silently passed me a handkerchief and awkwardly held me in his arms.

"I told you he wasn't any good." He roughly comforted me. I cried in his arms the whole night, and began to see him in a different way. Things began to change between us. We still fought all the time, but he started to look at me differently. And I blushed and my heart beat faster when he was near. We both knew: we fell in love with each other.

Even with this knowledge, neither of us said anything. Even though we would
not be able to resist and kissed each other constantly. Even though we cared about each other's every moves. Both of us refused to admit our love.

Time flew by quickly, and it was time to face separation. I chose to study medicine, and he chose physics. Yet we still couldn't separate from each other. Our parents worried that we didn't know anyone in Taipei, so they forced us to live in the same apartment building. Once again, we became neighbors. We still fought, but sometimes we fought into the bedroom. Alright, we became lovers, but we still wouldn't say we loved each other. We didn't even spend Valentine's Day together until he saw me share dinner with a man one Valentine's Day. That night, he waited for me in front of my door and said that he would take me out to dinner on Valentine's Day from then on. I have to say that he was very arrogant. But I nodded and accepted his request. Since then, we spent every Valentine's Day together. After graduation, I became an intern. He started a small computer company with some friends and became a programmer. We were busy with our own lives and had no time for a relationship. Three years later, I became a doctor, and his business began to boom. We separately moved to bigger
apartments and stopped being neighbors. On the surface, we left each other. In reality, we were still together. We spent every Valentine's Day together but each year became more dreary than the next because he never told me he loved me even with all my hints.

Facing the empty in-box, I suddenly grew very angry. He wouldn't say it and wouldn't send me a card. What did he mean? Who did he think I was? I called his cell phone.

"Hello." He picked up the phone.

"I didn't receive the card." I immediately showed my displeasure.

"You didn't receive it?" He seemed really busy. "But I sent it."

He was really busy but I didn't care. "I didn't receive it. Send it again."

"Okay, I'll send you 100 times. Is that good enough??" He said with impatience. His tone further infuriated me. Is that how lovers speak to each other?

"Don't bother sending it to me. And you don't have to pick me up tonight.

I'll eat dinner by myself."

"Don't be childish, ok? I'm really busy."

"I AM childish!" I hung up the phone and tears rolled down my cheeks.

Childish?? Why didn't he consider the situation? We've gone out for so many years and spent countless Valentine's Day together. I never received any flowers nor cards from him. Now, I just want a little e-card. Is that too much to ask for??

I unplugged the phone from the wall and turned off my cell phone. I didn't want to hear his explanations. After I returned to the hospital, I instructed the receptionist not to forward me any phone calls. I wanted to concentrate on work.

Because there were so many emergencies today, I was sweating 1 hour later and forgot about our argument.

"Dr. Shu, please take a look at that patient."

As I was collecting my equipment, the shrill sound of an ambulance sounded outside the ER. When I stepped out the door, the emergency medics hurriedly wheeled in a gurney.

"What happened to him?" I asked the 1st medic. Everyone else were trying to help put the patient on the gurney. He was covered with blood.

"Car accident." The medic replied. "Very serious. He may die."

I nodded and ran to the operating room with them. When I arrived, the nurses told me that the man had already stopped breathing and also his heartbeat also stopped

"Prepare for shock." I calmly instructed the nurses. Saving people is our duty. We can't lose our calm.

But when I saw who laid on the operating table, I lost my calm. That person was my boyfriend!
"No..." I stood in shock. "NO!!!" I grabbed the paddles and continuously shocked his body. His body bounced up and down from the shocks. The scared nurses went to find another doctor, to tell him that I was crazy.

I didn't know if I was crazy or not. I just wanted to save my lover. Even though we fought all the time. Even though he never showed me his love. I still wanted to save him. He still owed me a card. He couldn't die! I threw away the paddles and began to press on his heart. I pressed with all my strength, hoping it would revive him, but he didn't wake up. He didn't even say "It hurts". He just laid there with his eyes closed, punishing me with his silence.

Dr. Jian angrily pushed me away. By that time, I couldn't see clearly anymore. I cried. I wailed. I bowled until no sounds could come out of my mouth.

"It's too late, Dr. Shu. He's already dead. I'm sorry." Dr. Jian patted me on the shoulder. They knew each other and ate together once. I introduced them.

"He can't die." I shook my head. "He can't die!!" I struggled to run to him.

"Dr. Shu, control yourself!" Dr. Jian slapped me. "I understand what you're going through, but you're a doctor."

Yes, I'm a doctor, but I'm also a regular person. How can Dr. Jian understand how I feel? I've loved him for so many years that it's become a habit. How can I just throw away a habit? Besides, he still owed me a card. "I want him to live! I want him to live!" I ran to him again and tried to knock the life back into his body.

"Take her away!" That day, I lost my control and my professionalism.

And that day happened to be Valentine's Day.

Afterwards, I asked his co-workers why he left work early that day.

They told me that after I hung up the phone, he tried to call me several times but couldn't reach me. Worried, he drove to the hospital to find me and got hit by a large truck on the way.

When I heard this, I froze. My tantrum killed him. Just because of an unmailed card, he died. After that, I lost my privilege to be childish.

Like an abandoned cat, I couldn't even cry anymore. After his death, I couldn't cry anymore, regardless of how touching the plot or how tear-jerking the dialogue. They didn't affect me anymore.

Now, I'm only left with a cat and a seldomly used computer. Stepping over the cat, I turned on the computer. Even though I know no one will send me a mail, I still hoped that someone will remember me on this day.

Meow, meow. I looked at Christine to see what's wrong. She finished her milk. I went into the kitchen to get her more milk then came back to look at the computer screen.

I have.... 100 emails! Who would be bored enough to send me 100 junk mail?

I was just about to delete them all when I received another mail, and this one said: "Because of system error, we could not send these until today.

We apologize for the delay." The sender was my ISP.

I looked at the 1st mail. It showed the send date is last year's Valentine's Day. My heart began to beat fast. Could he have sent these?

With a trembling hand, I opened the mail. The first thing that popped up was a gorgeous red rose set against green leaves. Then a beautiful melody began to play.... "Only Love". I couldn't believe it. The rose was so beautiful and the music was so dreamy. I almost thought I was in a fantasy. Most touching of all were the words underneath the rose, because the words read like a beautiful poem.

"Hwei."

That's my name.

"Knowing you so many years, I've never sent you any flowers. Today I send you a rose."

I received it and it's so beautiful.

"You know we are always fighting. We can never really open our hearts and tell each other how we feel."

Yes, but it's all your fault for being so distant.

"I know I always make you mad by the things I say."

Good that you're admitting it.

"But today I want to say to you: I'm sorry, and I love you."

I waited so many years for those words.

"And I want to tell you a good news. I finally saved enough money."

You already have enough money. Why did you need so much?

"So Hwei, let's get married!! I was afraid to propose to you, because I didn't trust in my ability to give you the good life you deserve. But now I've saved enough money so we don't have to wait anymore."

Who wanted you to wait? I'm already yours.
"Today, I use this card to propose to you. Will you marry me, Hwei? Will you?"

That's the content of the whole card. Like a fool, I kept reading his words and talking to him. It's like I can hear his voice and see him again.

As if it's back to 1 year ago with us constantly fighting.

The song played over and over. Repeating Nana's heartbreaking voice.

Only love can make a memory. Only love can make a moment last. You were there and all the world was young and all it's songs unsung. and I remember you then when love was all, all you were living for,
and how you gave that love to me...."

The lyrics of this song fits our love so closely. When he was alive, my world was so young. Every day, I could find a something different to fight with him about. But after he left, my life is only left with memories and coldness that will never go away.

"Will you marry me?"

When I read these words, my tears unconsciously came, wetting the keyboard.

Will I? If he's in front of me, I will definitely kick him and call him a big fool. If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't have waited until today.

So I moved the cursor over the "Reply" box, and typed the response that I've already prepared for so many years - "I will."

I will - be by his side for the rest of my life. I will - fight with him forever. That is how I answered him, but the only response I got was the repeating song "Only Love."

Nevertheless, I opened every single letter, accepted every singled rose, and typed the same response: "I will."

I replied 100 times, and "Only Love" played 100 times. In this cold Valentine's night, the line that's been broken for 1 year finally got reconnected.

I answered you. What about you?