:-)

:-)

Life is but many puzzles - whatever the consequences, the pressures, the stupidity, the urgency, the lightness, the significance, .... that comes behind it. Whatever. Big, small, gigantic, minuscule, long, short, tall, short, complex, simple ... Whatever. Getting past them is always, ALWAYS, a joy.

YeeeeeeeeEEEES!!

.

Glass Of Water

What would you do when life tastes as bland as a glass of water?

Yeah, what would you do?

Hmmm ... I guess I should first ask why?

Why?

Wait ... Maybe I should first ask: "Really?"

OK. Really?

Are you sure it hasn't always been like this? Has it ever tasted anything tastier than a glass of plain water?

It sure has. Well ... it should have. Hasn't it? Otherwise, knowing how disgusted I feel right now, it would be darn amazing, no, downright miraculous that I can hang on for forty-odd years.

So, the drink offered has suddenly turned tasteless?

Actually, it's been on and off. Just that so far, the blandness would fade in times. This time round, it's been hanging around for a bit too long. So long that I feel up to the brim with nausea.

Well, taste is relative? Isn't it? Perhaps the taste of the water has always been the same, it's your perception of the taste that's changed?

My perception of the taste?

There is a possibility that the glass of water in front of you has never changed, but depending on your emotion, you would taste sweetness when you're happy, fizziness when you're excited, sourness when you're sad, bitterness when you're disappointed, and bittersweet when you're ... sad and happy at the same time, etc, etc.

That's a thought. So, my boredom towards life at the moment explains the blandness?

Well, that's a load of cow dungs! You stupid donkey!! Of course I'm bored!!! Why would I complain if I'm not.

But that does kill off the 'Really?' question.

So I guess it doesn't matter whether the water does taste bland or it's my perception that makes it so. But why?

Yeah, why?

Yeah, why ...

Hey, guess what?

What?

I feel better already.

So bashing me made you feel better?

Don't be silly. I think talking it out with someone did.

Glad I could be of service. But you do know that, technically, you're talking to yourself, right?

I do. Hey, as long as it helps.

We should do it again. I think you have something there on 'my perception of taste' that's worth further exploring.

In the mean time, go away ...

I'll be seeing you again. Just hope it won't be too soon.

No worries. See ya.

.

Fast Forward

I am over forty years old, but I wish I was eighty ... no, sixty years old now.

These few years will probably be the happiest time of my life. There's a steady, but could be better, income, and no short to medium term worries about food, clothings or accommodation. I still have my health in good condition, although I am starting to feel that certain screws and nuts within me are starting to loosen. I'm not an ambitious man, so all is fine. I'm happy. Most importantly, I have a lovely family with two adorable kids who, I think, also adores me. By this last blessing alone, I can easily declare that this will be the happiest time of my life.

I'm living in probably the happiest time of my life, yet I cannot fully enjoy it.

Like a swarm of flies, problems and worries, work related or otherwise, would not stop buzzing irritatingly around my head. There are no major issues, they won't kill me and they are not anything that I cannot solve, and I accept them as parts and parcels of life like I accept laughters and sunshines. But their ever-presence and persistence are annoying.

It's easy to say 'The gem cannot be polished without friction nor man without trials', or 'Adversities are the spices of life', or 'The art of living lies less in eliminating our troubles than in growing with them', or 'Rock bottom is good solid ground, and a dead end street is just a place to turn around', or simply 'Don't worry, be happy'. All valid, and all I truly believe. They all work. But, still, easier said than done. It takes times to turn the mentality around and turn those pests into solid grounds, or gems, or spices, or artistic works. And if it takes longer than my patience, I will start to get frustrated.

I'm at the happiest stage of my life, and I want to enjoy it! Fully. Totally. Completely. Every single day. Maybe I am asking too much from life.

As each day passes, I am slowly heading out of my current stage of life towards the next, which will probably be less enjoyable. I want to enjoy my life now as much as possible. In addition to the realisation that 40's is not young anymore, I am a bit desperate. I don't want these problems and worries hanging low above me blocking my full view of a clear blue sky. They might not turn into a storm, or they might get blown away, but nobody can focus in the present for ever without looking up once in a while and ponder upon the future.

Childhood was good. All we do is wake up, eat, play, eat some more, play a little bit more and sleep. Carefree. Adolescence was fantastic - friends, parties, outings, crushes. Vibrant. Early stage of adulthood was great - everyday was an adventure, every step was a new frontier conquered. Exciting. Ah ... great time. Happy time. Enjoyable time. Upon hind sight.

Looking back, reluctance to study during childhood seems petty; peer pressure during adolescence appears insignificant; job worries during early adulthood looks immaterial. Looking back, all seems rosy. But, of course, these problems and worries were as heavy then as the problems and worries that I'm facing now. In retrospect, they are weightless.

So, it would seem that to really enjoy and truly appreciate my present life, I need to be in my 60's this instant and live my life in the 40's now.

Of course, by the time I really get to 60 years old, I would probably wish that I was 80 years old. And at 80's, maybe I would wish that I was dead.

.

Nothingness

That's what it was in the beginning - nothingness.

After a seemingly endless time of straining, two words painstakingly surfaced. They were hardly discernible floating in the darkness emanating from the void. Still, the two words did wonder, having poached the tension of the surface. They started to trickle.

At long last, the void disappeared, swallowed by the bright light flashing from the fusion of six words into an entity.

"I wrote. The void is filled."

There, my desire for creativity was fulfilled. Satisfaction.

Until the next surge ...

.

20/20

My children teach me a lot of things in life, the 'truer' things in life, the better things in life, the real meaning of life. In reverse, I do not, or seldom, not that I know how. I find that as a parent, I don't really 'teach' my children regarding life, I instil values in them - values that I think are important and should be adhered to, values that I think might be of any beneficial value to them in the future, values that might turn out to be as valuable as the poop we step on when getting out of a car.

I recently took my 8-years-old boy to the optician and got him a pair of glasses, reluctantly. He'd been complaining about not being able to see what the teachers write on the board in school. Knowing that his near-sightedness is hardly caused by over-reading or over-studying, and most probably by excessive TV or Gameboys, I was a bit upset.

My 10-years-old daughter had the same problem last year, but we managed to avoid the spectacles by teaching her how to relax her eye-muscles when looking at blackboards in school or doing homework, or watching TV at home. She had managed to shake off the slight handicap, proven by her eye test when we took the boy to the optician. So, I tried to teach the same trick to the boy.

I tried to explain to him how to relax his eye-muscles when looking at things from afar, how not to strain his eyes, etc, etc. All in vain. He doesn't know how. Time and again I would catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. Then I thought of a brilliant idea, or so I thought.

"If you see it clearly, you see it. If you see it blurry, leave it be. That's looking at things in a relax way."

Well, he didn't get that either. I still catch him squinting his eyes in front of the TV. I was frustrated. Then it struck me.

Perhaps this little fella is trying to teach me another lesson in life. Could it be?

Here he is trying to get a clear view of the world, and yet I ask him to "if you see it blurry, leave it be". It suddenly dawned on me that maybe there might be something fundamentally wrong with what I'm trying to 'teach' him. Suddenly I have doubts regarding my mentality on looking at things. I'm still not totally convinced that I'm incorrect, but I have doubts.

My children teach me things, but they are not necessary good teachers. Like in this case, I think I'm getting a slight hint of what this lesson is teaching me, but the boy hasn't given me any further explanation ... unless ... unless he's trying to make me think!

This little fella is trying to make me think! Instead of laying it out clearly to me, he's given me a lead and make my mind dwell on it.

Hmmm ... what's he trying to say? What's this lesson in life about? Is this another lesson in life?


.

Life

Life is simple. Grow up, make a living, if you feel the need, find a partner in life, make a better living, if you feel like walking alone, that's fine too, if you're adventurous, have a child, and if you're game enough, have children, make an even better living, teach your children to grow up and be independent, learn to let them go, then let them go, grow old and die, presumably life ends then.

Life is simple, when it concerns the "what to do".

When it comes to the "how to do", or "how much", "how good" - life is a bitch.

Life could be a bitch, it's all down to perspective. Shift your angle, the bitch could be a challenge, shift it a little bit more, it could even be interesting. And if you are wise about it, life could be simple.

Life is simple.


I wish.


.

The Wall

He stretches out his right hand, feels the wall carefully. He can sense the contemptuous stare of the wall on him. He retracts his hand slowly, drawing in a long, deep breath. He never blink, not in front of such defiance. He lowers his body, as slowly as he draws in another breath of calmness. He curves his slightly spread legs to steady himself. Then he shuts his eyes.

His eyes are closed not because of what stands in front of him, but what is rising within him. Although, there's no denying the cause and effect relationship between the two. He needs to contain the various simmering negative emotions that are bubbling vigorously deep within him - frustration, discontent, helplessness, confusion and the ensuing rage. He wants to rein in each and everyone of them. He tries to direct them to where he wants them to be, at the centre of him, within him, under control, however arduous the task seems. Sweat starts to ooze out from his slightly grimaced face. The task is not at all easy, despite his numerous unavoidable encounters with them.

It's hard to focus when there are so many of them, each pulling him in different direction with such force, each trying to get out from his body with such haste. He's clueless as to where to start, and how. In the end, everyone of them converges at the top of his chest and he is shaking.

"Arghh ..." he lets out a punch with all his might; a punch that is powerful enough to crush any wall of negative emotions.

He opens his eyes. The wall stand in front of him. Intact.

His fist is a quarter of an inch from the wall, which is seemingly staring at him still, laughing even.

He extends his index finger from his fist and points at the wall slowly, repeatedly. Pulling back his hand, he stands up straight and turns in silent.

As he turns his back towards the wall, he suddenly reverses the direction of his turn in lightning speed, leans his body slightly backward, lifts his right leg from the ground and kicks towards the wall.

Unlike the earlier all-out airy punch, the kick is a controlled release of force, with just enough energy and right at the centre of the wall. There's no shouting from him this time to punctuate his action. But the wall gives out a loud thud.

He stands facing the wall again.

He turns, for the second time, and walks away. The wall stands in defiant.

"One, two ..." he counts silently, at tempo to his steps.

On the contemptuous face of the wall, cracks appear, and spread across its face within seconds.

"Three."

On that count, the wall crumbles.

As the dust settles casually onto the ground, the corners of his mouth curl upwards into a smile.


.

Have A Cup?

Life is best enjoyed in short spans. Take it any longer and all kinds of negative sentiment will start forcing themselves into the gaps, giving it a bitter-sweet flavour. Although, when that happens, life is actually at its fullest and would be best savoured like vintage wine, with maturity and wisdom. But for an unseasoned player like me, life is appreciated most in short spans, like a cup of tea.

A cup of tea can be enjoyed in ten to twenty tasteful sips, not long enough to think too much, except the cup in hands and its delightful content.

Colour and scent - these would be the initial impressions of a cup of tea. As with experiences in life, expectation is important. Too high an expectation, disappointment will ensue; too low, and there'll be no satisfaction to cap the experience. The colour that meets the eyes and the aroma that fills the nose will help set the expectation for an enjoyable drink.

But before the first sip, caution is to be practiced, and haste is to be avoided. No matter how enthusiastic we are towards life, we should not jump into it blindly. Life is to be taken without haste, and caution is required to avoid unwanted surprises. Feel the cup. If it can be held with both hands without being dropped onto the floor, then life is ready to be relished. If it's too hot to be handled, then it's not the right time to handle. But don't let it "over-cool" either. Too cold, it will lack aroma and taste a bit bland. The moment needs to be seized.

When the tea is ready to be consumed, the first sip should be just enough to immerse the tongue. There should be enough room in the mouth to let the tea swirl. Feel the smoothness. Allow half a sip down the stomach to wet the throat. Hold the balance in the mouth for a few second. Taste it. If it helps, close your eyes. Let neither the worry of the future, nor the regrets of the past be a distraction. Explore the senses, seek out the details, enjoy the delicacy, live the moment.

Now, tea is tea, as is life is life. Our mind is a wonderful magician. With the slightest shift of perspective and attention to details of whatever we're holding - sweet can be bitter, bitter can be wholesome, wholesome can be thin, thin can be rich, rich can be plain, and plain can be sweet. Beauty arises from our perception. Beauty brings out satisfaction, satisfaction draws out optimism, and optimism leads into happiness. Life can be wonderful.

After the first sip is down, the experience is not at an end. There's the after taste and the lingering aroma. These are memories to be brought forward for the next sip. Adjustment to our expectation should be made if necessary.

The thing about a cup of tea is, when we have finished enjoying it, the regrets of the past or the worries of the future which wasn't in the picture before might now change their tones or their hue on second look. And life could be a lot more optimistic after a pleasant drink.

But, if you didn't enjoy the tea before, although you can't throw it away, as in life, you can finish it in a few quick gulps and get it over with. The next cup is always just a few moments away for us to start anew.

Make sense?

That's my cup of tea for the moment - another post, another cup; another excursion, another cup, another journey, another cup; another day, another cup.

If you didn't enjoy this cup, do come back another day for another cup.

Cheers.


.

Of Courage And A Nine-Year-Old

"It's okay to fail. Everybody fails once in a while. The important thing is how you react to the failure. I would rather be someone who is able to bounce back after a failure than someone who has never failed."

"Look at the positives. It's a good chance to learn how to rebound from a setback. Try to think about what went wrong, figure a way to improve your shortcomings, make this failure worthwhile, make it a seed for future success."

Try driving these pep talks to a nine-year old little girl who had just brought back a poor exam result and were feeling down after a session with her mother, and you'd realise how difficult parenting can be, effective parenting, that is.

My little girl has always been up and down with her grades. My wife and I practise a good-cop-bad-cop routine on her with her academic progress. My wife, being the bad cop, would exert pressure when required, and I would come in to release the pressure from her when I think fit. In this particular instance, it's especially bad for my little girl.

She's a bit over-confident prior to the exam and was slightly slack in her preparation, despite numerous reminders from her mom. Therefore, when she brought home a poor mark that barely extended beyond the passing mark, she was in for a storm.

Lesson learnt? I guess so. I hope so.

Did my subsequent pep talks work? Well, she seemed blur on the message "Look at the positives from the failure", but she could totally accept and understand "It's OK to fail" - loud and clear.

But her worries were not over yet. She was to receive the results for a few other subjects the next day. Her confidence being on the lows, her eyebrows were locked the whole night fearing another round of bad marks comes tomorrow.

Another opportunity to practise my parenting skill? - Definitely.

"Be brave. Own up to your work", "Have courage to face the consequences of your own doing", "Be brave, be courageous", "With bravery and courage, nothing needs to be feared", "Be brave, be courageous" - "Baba, you said that already."

After another round of ineffective pep talks on a blank and frowning face, I finally accepted the wisdom of "It's OK to fail", and went to sleep with the "Look at the positives from the failure" at the back of my mind. It's a good thing I don't have to present my marks from effective parenting to any cops.

So, how do you instil bravery and courage into a nine-year-old?

The next day, I think I did it. I hope I did it.

When I got home that day after work, I was a bit anxious about how my little girl went through her day. To my relief, my little girl ran to me and gave me a big hug with a big smile. I think my "trick" worked. I hope my "trick" worked.

Right before I left for work that morning, inspiration struck me. I tore out a piece of paper, and on it I wrote the word Yong Qi (Courage in Chinese). That's it? No. I felt something was missing, it lacked punches - there is nothing there to back it up.

"Jie Jie, Baba's going to give you Courage to bring to school today, OK?" I told my just-awaken daughter, with a cheeky, but encouraging smile.

"Huh?" My little girl put on a puzzled and skeptical look. None the less, she accepted the piece of paper. The piece of paper with the word Yong Qi and signed with "From Baba who loves you very much!".

I'm not really sure the trick worked for you that day, Jie Jie, but I hope soon, you'll be able to draw bravery and courage from within you and face any problem with your head held high, and a smile on your face. But I guess that piece of paper is a good start. Love, Baba.



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Quiet Time

There's nothing more important than a cosy Sunday to cap off a working week, to prove life could still be enjoyable. It's the best time to do some much-needed soul searching, enjoying some quiet time, relaxing and recharging unless ... you have a seven-years old boy with you.

On the only day when you can sleep until the sun slides its butts westward, my little boy would invariably wake up earlier than usual. That would be fine if he keeps his Sunday to himself. But probably due to my endearing fatherly love, he would insist on sharing his Sunday with me as fully as possible.

But he doesn't send the invitation by gently waking me up. He would bang my bedroom door going in and out doing his "chores" - clearing up the messes he left behind in the room, on his table, on my table, or in the living room from last night.

Ok, Ok! Sunday morning nap is gone - I'm awake.

"Morning, son. So, what do you want to do today?"

"Baba, I want to watch TV."

“.…..”

That's partly my fault; but mainly my wife is to be blamed. Sunday mornings are the only mornings when my children can switch on the TV before breakfast and enjoy their cartoons, as long as they've kept their places neat and tidy, on insistence from my wife, and on apathy from me.

Ok, TV then. I can probably go back to my morning nap.

But, after spending three minutes picking up pieces left scattering by the tornado of my fury and frustration by breathing-in-breathing-out, and another ten minutes of the same even-if-you-don't-try-you-would-do-it-anyway trick to get back to sleep, I would realise that the only way to get back to total unconsciousness would be banging my head against the wall.

So, I'm up.

Well, might as well start enjoying a beautiful Sunday - with a shouting match of the children over the TV remote control.

Fine, I don't get my Sunday sleep-in, the kids don’t get their Sunday cartoon either. Breakfast.

After herding the children into the car, off to Sunday breakfast.

Being the only day I get to eat my breakfast leisurely without being hurried to work, Sunday breakfast is like wearing my favourite underpants - if I don't wear it right, I feel out of sort. So it's important to start my day with an enjoyable breakfast.

"What do you want for breakfast, kids?"

"Kopitiam!" - their favourite.

"OK, we're having wonton mee!" - my favourite.

That's democracy being practiced by a dictator. Take it or leave it, kiddos.

With that, my seven-year old throws another fit (before you go pointing finger at me, the kids do get to go to their favourite place once in a while). It's hard to imagine how I would think he's the greatest gift to me with that sulky face.

With satisfied taste buds, a full stomach and a newspaper in hand, I finally get to my quiet time. The kids? They're enjoying themselves with the second most important modern invention to keep kids away from parents after the TV - computer games.

Quiet time? Only if I live in a separate house.

I think my son plays computer games like no other kids play computer games. At least for other parents’ sake, I would like to think so.

"Die, you ugly monster!", "No, you don't!", "Take that!", "Hahaha, I told you I'll beat you!", "I'm gonna get you!", "Yes! I told you so!", "Muahahaha, you can't beat the master!"

As if the music from the games is not already noisy enough, my son would actually interact with the game verbally too. Hats off to the game programmers - Bravo, I hope your kids do the same to you too.

It's cute for a while. After half an hour of the verbal abuses, it gets annoying and I would start to wonder who’s this replica of the sweet little boy whom I hold so dear to.

After dinner, homework time. Quite time?

Not my son.

My son is slow in this area. Not that he's not bright. Just that he would keep alternating between doing his homework and other mindless drivels, like sharpening his pencil, playing with his erasers, practicing his kungfu, singing a song, or doing a dance. Eventually the carnival will draw complaints from his older sister. He'll then defend himself with a "No" and attack with a "You". Then his sister will defend with her "No" and attack with her "You" and Voila! - a shouting match.

When all else fails – cane.

With some cracking sound effect from the cane on the sofa, order would be finally restored. That's when my son is at his most efficient with his homework. Ten minutes, the record to date, and the devil within him will rise again.

But, after all that, it's still easy to get past the devil in the boy.

The devil can wreak havoc all he likes, but the angel within him will prevail eventually - when I pull the blanket over his chest, run my fingers through his soft hair and caress that angelic face of his on his bed.

Finally, at long, long last, some quiet time ...

"Baba ...will you read me a bedtime story?""


Gladly.


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How Can I Resist?

One would have thought that at my ripe-old-soon-to-be-senile age of 40+, I would be way too old to have a crush; my heart would be as still as mirrors barring any ripples of any sorts breaking its calm and peace. But a crush I did have. And my, my, how it rippled.

I wasn't unprepared before the fated encounter. I have heard of the thrill and the dizziness. But I would very much like to know some more with my own experience, for I've yearned for another romantic fling of the kind long enough. But no anticipation would have prepared me well enough for the hold I found myself in.

The encounter totally blew me away, or rather, suck me in endless.

I was enchanted from the very first instance. Like sand slipping through my fingers, I suddenly lose control, and there's a fire within my soul that was rekindled and spread wild and crazy. It was dancing me to the top of my emotion and singing me to the deep of my passion. Like bowing before a dazzling queen, my heart was being commanded to beat fast on the highs and wrench tight on the lows at the majestic gestures. The way that I was touched, the way that I was held, I was wrapped so tight, I held my breath during most of the time. And how I was teased. As time passed, I found myself involved deeper and deeper into the romances, flowing helplessly with the tide.

It didn't dawn on me at that times, but after it ended, for days I couldn't shake off the honey-sweetness I felt in my heart. Like honey, the music of the songs we sang, the poetries of the dances we danced were sticking onto the wall of my imagination all day. And the longing feeling to be reunited again put butterfly into my heartbeat. It was then that I realized I had caught something that had not happened since my teenage years - I was daydreaming. I have had a crush.

It's almost like a dream that I've had eons ago coming back to me. I was sent back to the exuberant and hot-blooded days of my adolescent, easily captivated by the presence of beauty. I was made to feel alive by a mere thought, my mind was sending out signals of SOS from the grips it was held captive. One look into the spell I was in, the bells would start ringing and my mind would forget everything and lose itself into the whirlwind of sweet sensation again. I couldn't shake the smile off my face, and felt like dropping everything in my hands and run for our next rendezvous. I really couldn't, and wouldn't make up my mind to make it come to an end.

I was enjoying the feeling of a crush once again.

When all is said and done, I just want to express my feeling in a way that I could - thank you for the music, for giving it to me, and laying all your love on me too. This was the Waterloo to the army of my dreary days.

Oh no, Mamma Mia! Here I go again. No super trouper can save me now ...

My chiquitita, come thrills me again.

Gimme music, gimme dancing, gimme ABBA!






Here I go again!

One would have thought that at my ripe-old-soon-to-be-senile age of 40+, I would be way too old to have a crush; my heart would be as still as mirrors barring any ripples of any sorts breaking its calm and peace. But a crush I did have. And my, my, how it rippled.

I wasn't unprepared before the fated encounter. I have heard of the thrill and the dizziness. But I would very much like to know some more with my own experience, for I've yearned for another romantic fling of the kind long enough. But no anticipation would have prepared me well enough for the hold I found myself in.

The encounter totally blew me away, or rather, suck me in endless.

I was enchanted from the very first instance. Like sand slipping through my fingers, I suddenly lose control, and there's a fire within my soul that was rekindled and spread wild and crazy. It was dancing me to the top of my emotion and singing me to the deep of my passion. Like bowing before a dazzling queen, my heart was being commanded to beat fast on the highs and wrench tight on the lows at the majestic gestures. The way that I was touched, the way that I was held, I was wrapped so tight, I held my breath during most of the time. And how I was teased. As time passed, I found myself involved deeper and deeper into the romances, flowing helplessly with the tide.

It didn't dawn on me at that times, but after it ended, for days I couldn't shake off the honey-sweetness I felt in my heart. Like honey, the music of the songs we sang, the poetries of the dances we danced were sticking onto the wall of my imagination all day. And the longing feeling to be reunited again put butterfly into my heartbeat. It was then that I realized I had caught something that had not happened since my teenage years - I was daydreaming. I have had a crush.

It's almost like a dream that I've had eons ago coming back to me. I was sent back to the exuberant and hot-blooded days of my adolescent, easily captivated by the presence of beauty. I was made to feel alive by a mere thought, my mind was sending out signals of SOS from the grips it was held captive. One look into the spell I was in, the bells would start ringing and my mind would forget everything and lose itself into the whirlwind of sweet sensation again. I couldn't shake the smile off my face, and felt like dropping everything in my hands and run for our next rendezvous. I really couldn't, and wouldn't make up my mind to make it come to an end.

I was enjoying the feeling of a crush once again.

When all is said and done, I just want to express my feeling in a way that I could - thank you for the music, for giving it to me, and laying all your love on me too. This was the Waterloo to the army of my dreary days.

Oh no, Mamma Mia! Here I go again. No super trouper can save me now ...

My chiquitita, come thrills me again.

Gimme music, gimme dancing, gimme ABBA!


.

Life's A Bitch

Life's a bitch. Or an elephant. Or an ostrich. A rhino? A phoenix? A dragon? Dinosaur? Unicorn???

Life can be anything you want it to be. You just need to know how to ride it.

And you do need to know how to ride it, because there's no way to get rid of it and waking up and feeling like shit is definitely not the way to live.

That's why I prefer a weekend-break over a vacation-break anytime.

Life sucks by nature in absolute. The trick is to turn the absolute into relative - the all-familiar half-empty-half-full mentality. There is enough said about that.

With a shift in our angle and perspective, it's not that difficult to attain the half-full outlook. But look at the glass long enough, half-full will slowly become less-half-full, and then less-half-full will slowly become lesser-half-full. Heck, how can it not? Evaporation is the cause. But I digress.

The more difficult trick is in the maintenance - of the optimal mentality, not of the water level.

Humans are greedy and lazy by nature, for good and for bad. Greed and laziness got us light bulbs, trains, aeroplanes, automobiles, mobile phones, and other conveniences. But greed and laziness also got us dissatisfaction, complaints, angers, violence, etc. The difference? Greed and laziness as a starting point against greed and laziness as an end.

Greed and laziness are evils by their own. We need ingenuity, creativity and the willingness to satisfy the greed and laziness to turn the negatives into positives. Can you imagine a world without light bulbs? Sure, we might have a greener earth today, but without the trains, the aeroplanes, the automobiles, the mobile phones? That's probably one unthinkable state we would rather not be in. And who would ... oops, sidetracked again. But humans are inherently easily distracted too.

Let the status quo of optimism lasts a tad too long, and our greed and laziness will penetrate our feeble wall of concentration and start to wreak havoc in our mind. True to its physical attributes, a half-empty glass will only remain as half-full for so long.

Therefore, unless you are a pure optimist by birth, optimism needs practices, foresight and hard works too.

The only constant is change. A colorful life is a life with ups and downs, ins and outs, back and forth, yin and yang - in essence, contrasts. A life with no contrast is called - a death. A seasoned optimist will know how to adjust his heart according to his changing environment to achieve a perfect balance. A more complete optimist will know how to anticipate the forthcoming changes and sustain a perfect balance. A master optimist will maintain a perfect balance indefinitely regardless of the environment. But then again, a master optimist would probably belong to a mental institution.

For us mere mortals, we can only scream and shout as life takes us on a roller-coastal ride. After having gone through the cycle frequent enough, we'll start to get the hang of it. Change our angle and perspective slightly according to the twists and turns and we'll start to groove with the cycle. We would probably still scream and shout, but in joys. As the ride gets smoother, life gets sweeter. But we can't get lazy. Slack it out too long, it'll come back and bite us.

That's why a weekend-break would be just nice. Long enough to refresh, and short enough to prevent straying from the groove.

That's also why I dislike vacation. Sure, a vacation will be fun. It'll be enjoyable. I can have the times of my life. But it's also long enough to leave my groove in life bent and crooked when it ends. It's always tough to get into the groove of life again after a vacation, especially an enjoyable vacation. Life always feels like shit at the stage where vacation ends, and life resumes. You'll have to retake another strenuous session of questions and answers to adjust your perspective of life to get back into the groove.

As of today, four weeks after my last vacation, I'm still trudging through my questions and answers session somewhere along the half way mark. And it looks like before I finish the session, life will stay bitchy too.


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MJ And ME

So, Michael Jackson is gone. So too has another part of me.

Growing up in the 80s, Michael Jackson was one of the leading artists for my adolescent days. Days that were my most carefree, when food on the table and roof over the head appeared magically without a thought; days when my hormones were running wild and my mind kept morphing with the most vivid of imagination.

What could be more inflammable to the teenage imagination than a one-gloved, military-clothed, moon-walking, crotch clutching sensational performer? And the ability to command hysterical screams from millions and make teenagers faint with a single gesture of a hand? Damn. If I had become a singer out of that era, I would probably owe my singing career to the King of Pop. Of course I had other singers around that time. But MJ was like no others.

No others were like MJ. No others could be nearly like him, with the way he amazed and enchanted us with his musical talents, choreographic creativity, larger and weirder than life charisma, and his ability to rock, and shock.

Who else could make you shake your hip when he's singing and dancing, and shake your head when he's not? Yup, nobody like Jacko.

There IS nobody like Michael Jackson because there is no other person, past or present, who virtually lived out his whole life on a stage under the watchful eyes of millions, through the lenses of relentless media. No person could come out of that kind of abnormal environment and be normal. While at the same age, we grew up from our childhood, he probably grew tilted 45 degree under those stresses out of adulthood. Perhaps that contributed to his musical talent in some way.

As soon as I stepped out of my carefree days, my youthful days were gone. A multitude of artists had splashed all kinds of color with their signature and style on my canvas of youth. When I demystified the appearing act of food on the table and roof over my head, the picture of my youth was completed and framed. I can no longer go back to that times and change the picture. But the picture is not dead.

The colours are alive. The colours change their hue according to the activities of the artist who painted it back then, until the artist passes away. The colour dies. And a part of me dies.

We feel sad when we lose something that we hold dear to. When I learned the news of MJ's death, I felt at a loss. The patches painted by MJ can no longer morph. This is it - a major part of my picture of youth is dead. Freezed.

That's what Michael Jackson is to me - a painter of my youthful days. A creative painter. Remarkably creative. Out-of-this-world creative.

Of course, there's something immensely different between dying at the ripe old age of 80s or 90s and an untimely death at the age of 50, in terms of shocking value. And MJ did know how to shock, even with his death. It'll leave behind a legacy like no others - hung. Work undone, work could have been done ...

So, the Michael Jackson that we adore is dead. All of his creativity was spent ...

Unless ...

He has some pre-arranged bizarre kind of funeral in store for us?

With MJ, I guess you'd never know ...






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Hold Tight

I love my two little children more than my own life. Whenever they sleep with me, I would cover all of us under the same blanket and hold onto them lest they would disappear into the deep of nights.

There's nothing more content than immersing myself in the children's body warmth and falling into sleep surrounded by the coolness of the night. Although, waking up to a brand new day with them sleeping soundly by my side would probably better that.

~

It was a hot night - nothing unusual considering the hot spell we've been having lately; I was tired - as usual after a hard day at work; and I don't usually switch on the air-conditioning unit in my room until I've decided to call it a day.

But it was a tad hotter that night; and I was a speck more tired; so I switch on the air-cond a bit earlier than usual and clicked into my nightly online escapade. Barely 10 minute spent online, my mind was already getting blurry white and my eyelids were feeling heavy. I laid myself into the soft comfort of my bed and pillows amid the cooling air for a brief nap.

As I was wandering in the foggy edge of total unconsciousness, I was pulled back into the bright light by the rustling sound when my 7-years-old little boy climbed into bed beside me.

"Baba's too tired to read tonight ..." I murmured.

When they were younger, my children used to insist on having their bedtime stories read by the mersmerising voice (ahem...) of mine despite my tired plea. As they grow older, they started to be more understanding - either that or they are just fed up with the futility of their insistence. Also, as they grow into the bedtime reading habit, they're more willing to read themselves to sleep.

As the air was getting cooler in the room, I was shaken to consciousness again, this time coming all the way back from the darkness of deep slumber.

"I'm still tired, boy," I murmured again, in a slightly agitated tone.

"Baba, Baba, come sleep under the blanket with me," my son whispered.

I had the sweetest dream that night ...

Or, was that the dream I had?

~

I cherish all the tender moments I have with my children. When it happens, I'm sure my heart couldn't contain another ounce of contentment. But when the children tug my hand and yearn for my companionship in such manner during such time, the contentment in my heart will melt, overflowing in smooth heavenly bliss.

~

I'm going to miss them, very, very, very much when they grow up and no longer yearn for my presence by their side as such.

Don't grow up too quickly ...


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Thoughts From Champions League Final 2009 - Part 2

I love sports. I enjoy watching and reading about sports. The artistic expression of human motions, displayed by men and women through their skill to perfection, or otherwise; the sparkles from the interaction amongst individuals as a team, attract my imagination and admiration. But what intrigues me most is the drama from the spirit of humanity going through the challenges of sports. For example, currently in golf, I'm waiting to see how Tiger Woods would reclaim his supremacy after his knee surgery (I'm quite sure he will); in tennis, Roger Federer after his fall of form (him, I'm not so certain). Football? The future direction of Ronaldo (who will most likely leave Manchester United), EPL's (or Ex-EPL's) Newcastles FC. Badminton? Our national team's perennial struggle to climb to the top, of course. Formula 1? The momentum of Ferrari with their recent revival in the just concluded Monte Carlo race, and Brawn GP ability to ride their spectacular waves of success at the top, etc.

I have no fvaourite team in the Champions League Final at Rome a few nights ago, it was an exciting and entertaining game of football to watch. I neither yelled in joy nor cursed in disappointment after the final whistle. But, when I watched Thierry Henry of the winning team dancing in celebration after the final whistle, I was pensive.

Thierry Henry started his professional football career in France, Italy and then England. It was during his spell in England with Arsenal football club that his star as a footballer (no, not soccer player) started to shine brightly.

Thierry Henry developed into a world-class footballer during his times in Arsenal. With Arsenal, he had won all major domestic club titles and set some impressive football records. Coupled with his successful international career, he has in his collection all the winner medals a footballer dreams to have, except one - the European Champions League.

He had his chance in achieving that in the Champions League Final of 2006 in Paris, when Arsenal played Barcelona from Spain. Arsenal lost 2-1 in the rain of Paris. Henry was 29-years old then.

In 2007, Thierry Henry faced a major crossroad in his professional football career. At the age of 30, the possibility of a downhill slide in form is looming. Finding him leading a young squad in Arsenal, dream of laying his hands on the winner medal of the Champions League remained elusive in the short term. In June 2007, when a decision was made, he left England for Spain after 8 years with Arsenal in pursuit of personal glory.

Thierry Henry didn't have a successful first year in Spain with his new team. But this year, his second, with a great team, Thierry Henry finally grabbed the coveted winner medal of Champions League. As I watched him dancing victoriously on the pitch after the final whistle, my eyes was gazing pensively on his shirts, in the colors of Barcelona FC.

The image of him holding the winner cup wearing a shirt of the football club that crushed his dream of glory 3 years ago was fascinating. My fascination of the competition was at its peak during the semi-final stage of the competition. When Arsenal had a chance to meet Barcelona in the final. The prospect of Thierry Henry playing against his old club, which he had no success with in this competition, in the final thrilled me to the tips of my hair. But, the greatest of irony did not materialise ... actually, the greatest irony would be Arsenal making it into the final and beating Barcelona to win the Champions League.

When Arsenal failed to qualify for the final, the whole world knew Thierry Henry made the right decision in 2007. When he wore the winner cup on his head after the final whistle in Rome, Thierry Henry knew his decision was fully justified - in terms of personal glory.

But to me, although he has all the winner medals that he dreamed of in his cabinet now, there's still something lacking in making him a football legend, even though he is undeniably a great footballer.

When he left Arsenal in 2007 for his personal glory, in my humble opinion, he has lost a very holy quality that would make anyone a legend - a holistic ideal. Mind you, I don't think he left without the blessing of his supporters, and he certainly left with the blessing of his then manager and mentor, Arsense Wenger. But chasing personal glory in sacrifice of a team humanized Thierry Henry. The decision swung him away from a potential legend to the worldly status of a great footballer.

If he had stayed, and never won the Champions League title, come close a few more times in winning it, I think he would be more of a football legend than what he has achieved now. Alan Shearer comes to mind - glory to the team before glory to an individual.

But still, congratulations to Thierry Henry to finally achieve his dream. I'm happy for him. But still, I just couldn't stop thinking about the significance of his decision in 2007 to leave his beloved Arsenal in the realm of team sport.

And that's when I think of my Part 1 post about my daughter's incident. Strange?


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Thoughts From Champions League Final 2009 - Part 1

"No, I think you shouldn't raise your hand," I interrupted.

My nine-years old daughter came home with the story of how her class was given a collective punishment for being too noisy during one of her class. Apparently the mild-mannered teacher was too soft to control a bunch of noisy nine-years-old and the principal had to take over.

After giving a verbal lashing to the class, the principal decided to punish them for their misbehaviour. However, the pupils were given a chance to clear their innocence. The principal asked the one who didn't talk during the ruckus to put up their hand to avoid punishment. None took the offer, and all of them were punished.

"Well, did you talk during the class," my wife inquired.

"No, I didn't," the little girl replied.

"Then, why didn't you put up your hand?" my wife asked.

That's when I voiced my opinion.

My reasoning?

Firstly, it's not exactly a serious offense.

It's not a serious offence because ... nobody got hurt? Alright, maybe the pride of the teacher was dented. But in this case, being overpowered by a group of nine-years old? Anyway ...

Secondly, they are a group of nine-years old after all. The misbehaviour was probably out of cheekiness more than malice - it's a mischief. They were talkative, they were noisy, they were talking noisily, they were nine-years old, so what? Okay, they did it in front of the teacher, it's disrespectful and that's not good. They deserved the punishment.

The main point is - when the children were offered the chance to avoid punishment in such situation, should we encourage the child to raise her hand or stay quiet? My immediate reaction would be to remain with her mates.

Assuming I was right in pronouncing this misbehaviour as a "not-a-serious" offence, should we ask the nine-years-old to declare her innocence, as a matter of principle, and detach herself from her friends? Or should she remain quiet and "enjoy" the punishment together with her friends? Who knows, one day in the future, when they get together during a class re-union party of 10th or 20th anniversary, perhaps they'll look back and have a collective good laugh about the incident. It'll be like "Do you remember the soft teacher we had back in primary school and when the whole class was punished ..."

Poor Teach' ... But this post is not about the mild-mannered teacher ...

~

Y'know, I have had this subject at the back of my mind as my coming post for a few weeks. I didn't have the urge to put it down until three days ago - at the end of the Champions League 2009 Final at Rome between Manchester United and Barcelona ...


~ Part 2 ~


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The Answers to LIFE

What is Life?

Pick up the end called "Birth", pick up the other end called "Death", and it is everything that's dangling helplessly in between.


Where is Life?

It starts at one end of a spectrum marked by the blissful happiness and stops with the unbearable pain of sadness at the other end.


When is Life?

The time between when you fall asleep out of boredom in heaven, and when you wake up in relief at the same place.



Why Life?

It's a long journey between when you step aboard and when you alight, you would need some entertainment during the journey to kill time.



Who is Life?

Your mysterious tour guide in this journey.



How's Life?

Shit as usual.


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The Power Of One Dollar

He knew not where to go. From where he stood, there's not a clear path in front of him.

People were hurrying up and down the street. He felt as if he was the only one standing still in the busy street. "One week! That's the most I can do for you. You have one week to sort this out," the bank manager's words were still echoing in his mind. He knew he couldn't ask for more. For him, the manager had been more than helpful. He turned back and looked at the door of the building.

It was the same door that he walked out two years ago, punching in the air in excitement. Top of the world, he felt. With his loan approved, he could finally endeavour to materialise his visions for his business of three years. Amid all the potentials he envisioned, he saw clearly one thing on top, hope of a better tomorrow.

Within the next six months, his business grew in accordance to his five-years plan. He no longer had to sweat through the day. He had seven employees for that, around two brand new machineries. That numbers grew into twenty-seven and five within the next year. Orders were starting to stream in. Instead of trucks parking at his warehouse for loading, containers were blocking the entry of his car into his overused factory premises. Things couldn't have turned out any better.

Being a cautious man, he was not blinded by the exponential growth of his business. Every addition of workforce or machinery was carefully weighed against future orders; every order that arrive on his desktop was checked, double-checked and rechecked against every available credit risk analysis tool. With his conservative policy, he slowly built up a capital reserve. He was confident as his business strode forward. However, as cautious as he was, he failed to foresee the calamity that was coming his way, the speediness of its timing nor the size of its impact.

On retrospect, the fact that he was able to fend off the crisis for six months was proofs of the effectiveness of his conservative policies and his business acumen.

There he stood that day, trembling slightly. Fear had occupied him. Desperation had sipped into him. His mind felt heavy, as were his legs. Every step forward exhausted him like never before. His mind kept wondering if there was other avenue that he had not explored or something else he could do instead of wasting time walking in the street. If only the crisis had come three years late or five years early, he thought. Three year late, and his five-years business plan would have enabled his business to weather any storm. As faith would have it, the crisis arrived at a time when his business was just beginning to find its footing. If the crisis came five years earlier, he was confident he would not have any problems dealing with it too.

Five years ago, he was running his business small with two workers. He earned enough financially. He had all the satisfaction from work by producing a product of his own design. Despite being relatively new in the industry, he had come up with a product that drew praises even from the old timers. At that time, problems of any magnitude were managed with a flick on the nose and rolled up sleeves. Solutions were quick to arrive. What's the worst that could happen? With no obligation, he was ready to start all over again if necessary. But his mentality changed the day his son was born.

He could consume his meals with nothing but bread. He didn't mind doing without the tip of the technology gadgets. He still preferred his car of nine years for transportation. He winced at having dinner at fancy restaurants. But, he wanted the very best for his son in the future. That's when he started to think big.

But, he's not the kind that would look to the sky and complain. Fear found its way into him because he no longer carried the future of his alone - livelihood of twenty seven people he needed to consider. And it was this dependency on him that caused him to drag on instead of making drastic moves to counter the crisis the moments it surfaced. Desperation succeeded in growing within him because it knew that the moment he gave up, twenty seven families would suffer. His guts felt wrenched so tightly he was trembling slightly, a consequence of two sleep-deprived nights and a stomach with no proper meals for two days. His mind was so heavy with his responsibilities it was a mess. Having exhausted all avenues in the last two months, he could feel the wall at the end of the road coming at him fast.

As he strolled along the street, hands in his pockets, his eyes were aimlessly wandering around him. A sign at the window of a grocery store caught his attention and drew him into the store.

He walked out the store with a different expression. The desperate frown was gone, so had the aimlessly gloomy eyes. He was holding a lottery ticket in his hand. If Lady Luck smiled at him, he would be exchanging that ticket with enough prize money to solve his financial problems.

That was the 12th of January, 1998, six months after the financial crisis of 1997 hit Asia.

Eleven years later, he is still holding the ticket, with the number 5011742.

The ticket didn't help him sort out his financial problems in that fateful year. Lady Luck didn't smile at him that day. He went bankrupt during the financial crisis of the late 90's. That ticket, which he has kept for eleven years, had given him more than any amount of prize money could.

He still remembered vividly the calmness that swept over him the moment he exchanged his one dollar bill with the lottery ticket. He is a realistic man; he didn't place much hope on winning any prize money. He never had. But to his surprise, the moment he's holding the ticket, he could think again. Fear and desperation subsided. His mind was again calm and clear as a peaceful lake lying in the centre of protective mountains. Eleven years onwards, he has never forgotten the drastic reversal of emotion of the moment.

Eleven years ago, the night after having purchased the lottery ticket, he was able to go to sleep peacefully again, after a proper dinner. With his peace of mind, he managed to solve the problem of that week. But he failed with the following challenges in the coming months, and went bankrupt. He didn't earn any wrath from his employees. They knew what he went through and how he had kept their fate at the back of his mind. They left the company that year. But most of them came back to work for him again six years later, when he managed to rebuild his business into a considerable size again, and cleared his bankruptcy charges.

And today in the face of another financial crisis, he is calm. Fear and desperation are nowhere to be seen. He is better prepared now to face crisis of any kind in any size. For now, with the image of the peaceful lake in mind, he knows he has a weapon within him to ride any storm - the audacity of Hopes.


.

Damn You!!!

"Yeah, F**k YOU!" - Recognise this?

"A**hole!!" - Ever done that?

"You piece of SHIT!" - What about this?

"Ahhh! Go to HELL!" - Familiar?

I used to have them up my sleeves. They would roll off my tongue readily during the moments, though not always out loud. But between then and now, I have fewer and fewer use of their services over times. It's not because I've toned down with age. It's not because I've resigned and given in. It's because I started to recognise them as what they truly are - hormones personified.

Our brains release a certain kind of hormones into our bodies according to the provocation we receive from our sensory contacts with the surrounding and people around us. And these hormones cause our body to react in a certain way. We like the positive bunch. They can make us live until 103, and be happy about it. It's the negative ones that we have to deal with. We might still live until 103 with them, but we might wish we had not.

I do nothing with the positive bunch. I don't query their presence. I don't probe their origins. I don't analyse their effect on me. I would embrace them, enjoy them, immerse myself totally within them and feel blessed by them. It's like reading a joke (or watching a movie) which has its punch line written all over the buildups. I'd keep reading without wondering how it'll end until I reach the punch line, and have a hearty laugh.

However, when the undesired hormones make their round in my body after a negative provocation, I would feel consumed, burnt, being done with. It ruins the rest of my day. I hate it because I don't like to waste any day - for that matter, any moment - of my life in a non-productive and negative ways. But, I have learnt how to deal with it.

I would go back to the basic and start feeling for my heartbeat, the very essence of my existence. My heartbeat defines my existence. Then I remind myself what drives a heartbeat. Emotions.

Anger hastens the beat. Calmness steadies it. Joy pumps up the rhythm. Tranquility slows it down. Jealousy confuses the tempo. Excitement races it to the top gear. Rage can drive it up a notch higher than top gear. Sorrow silences the sound. Peace calms it down.

Sure, the heartbeat can continue without emotions - loosely, that's the description of "vegetable people". Therefore: human, emotions, meaningful life, are one. Emotions will never go away as long as I'm a human who wants to have a meaningful life. There's no point having resentment towards the negative emotions and question their purposes in our lives. So, I would accept the negative emotions as much as the positive emotions. But how do I counter the poisonous effect they have on my being?

Detachment.

Having an understanding of the following sequence: sensory provocation - emotions - reaction, lays down the basis of my antidote.

I won't, and can't do anything about the sensory provocation. What has happened, happened. No point crying over spilt milk.

There will be instances where a reaction is warranted and justified, but that's a separate discussion.

The antidote applies to instances where a reaction to such negative provocation is non-productive to everyone, and yet I would still feel badly disturbed for the lack of it. The antidote is to diffuse these negative agitation boiling within.

In such cases, the knowledge that emotion is nothing more than the result of hormones wreaking havoc within us will be pivotal.

At this point I would like to break the flow with a joke.

A man found himself in amusement when he was in the toilet of a pub. He was watching a man holding a glass of beer, and poured the drink straight down the urinal. Bemused, he asked the other man what's he doing. The man replied coolly, "Well, I refuse, hics, simply, totally, utterly refuse, hics, to be the middleman, hics, between the glass, hics, and the urinal."



Therefore, under these negative provocations, I would just say to myself, "I refuse, simply, totally, utterly refuse to be the output channels of my negative hormones."

Do it often enough, and I find myself totally detached from the sequence of events and able to observe the happening as a third party. When I'm able to detach myself in this manner, I would be liberated from the holds of the negative emotions. I'm no longer the slave of my own negative emotions. I'm in control. I don't even feel the negative emotions anymore ... well, not that often anyway. After all, I'm just human.


.

Rainy Comfort

"Strolling along country road with my baby. It starts to rain, it begins to fall ..."

Whenever the rain begins to set me into a relaxing mood, the catchy piano introduction of this oldie will echo at the back of my mind. My body will start to swing ever so slightly to the rhythm, and my heart will slide into the happy grooves of the song. A smile will appear.

Nights are but mere phenomena of earth turning her back to the sun, without days; without the sun, the moon would be no more fascinating than the rock at the feet. One feature of the tropical weather that I really enjoy is the rain. Not just any kind of rain.

The day will start through a morning of refreshingly cool air, a blue sky hemmed with white clouds dotting above the surrounding mountain ranges of greens. As I walk into a day as lively as this, a deep breath in will do wonders to the mind, and to life. Energized.

As the sun works itself into the middle of the sky, the clouds will follow suit, and slowly make themselves prominent by pressing heavier towards the earth. Oppressive - is the only description for the heat as I work through the day sweating, the fan being my only cooling device. As evening rolls into the day, the sun will punch its card, as I do, on its way out down the west, and the dark heavy clouds will give in, eventually. Torrential downpour.

The biggest raindrops will come down hard, striking furiously against the roofs of building and cars, sizzling vapour will rise from the scorching surface of the roads, and water level of the drains will overflow. The rain will be so loud it will be the only sound audible, drowning all thoughts with its furore. Within instants the tropical heat will be flushed away, and the air will turn cooling.

"Without an umbrella we're soaked to the skin. I feel the shiver run up, my spine ..."

By the time dinner is finished, the rain will have eased into a drizzle, soft as feathers. The air will have cooled further into the night. A deep breath in will do wonders to the mind, and to life. Peaceful.

The sound that is as soothing as the rain then will be the sweeping fan. The duet of the dropping rain and the humming fan will be joined occasionally by the clicking beats from my keyboard, as my creativity takes a pleasant stroll through lines and lines of words, painting thoughts in my mind. When my fingers are not dancing on the keyboard, the mouse will take over as my helms, surfing over oceans and dropping by all over the world. As I silently sing and swing to my favourite tune of the rain, heavenly joy.

Although, heaven is not where I would like to check in right now. Not when I have two of the dearest angels doing their homework with their mother knitting merrily in the next room.

"Oooh ... I hear laughter in the rain, walking hand in hand with the one I love ..."

Children's laughter - the only clue I have of what heaven's like.

The occasional laughing outburst from my little girl and her younger brother amid their quiet chat while doing homework is the constant source of my blissful smile. Even their intermittent inevitable bickering could not wipe the smile off my face and chase away my happy feeling. A pond, deep blue and peaceful, colorful ripples, in the gentle rain, is my happy heart.

"Oooh ... how I love the rainy days and the happy way, I feel inside ..."

~

After a week without rain under a hot spell, I miss the rains.







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