Writing is the communication of the writer's hopes and dreams. To write is to express the laughter, the tears, the joys of the heart. It is the writer's desire to communicate all his feelings and desires in her/her heart to a reader.
September 18, 2014 at 1:55am
The Way Home
|I heard her today, again. She was in her room. Praying. Or just whispering, I supposed so I won't hear her.
"Please, Lord, let him come home to me; very soon before I die."
It was a plea, from a mother who had years of waiting, waiting for a son to return. She never wavered in her belief, that the son who said goodbye many years before to seek his fortune in the world, her son was ever going to come home. Her heart said he was alive - somewhere out there - and that he was ready to come home.
I tiptoed away from Mom's bedroom door. My heart was heavy because I had no more words of comfort for her. I'd exhausted every word in the dictionary to ease her pain. I'd helped her make contact with people who were expert in finding the lost. I'd read every newspaper, journal, text that was available, to support her in finding my brother.
All through my high school years, my college years, the years I spent developing my career in journalism - all through the past years I gave to Mom, years I should have enjoyed but years I devoted to comfort her and support her to find her son. I didn't consider them "lost years" because I loved her. I never complained; never said a word to discourage her. I prayed for her during all these past years - now that her life is fading away from her.
She'd lay in bed, staring and seeing only the shadowy image of her son. She'd forgotten how he looked, how old he was when he left. She'd go through all his letters, notes, and postcards - and loving birthday cards - and she'd cry her heart out. She always prayed. She never lost hope. She'd see the morning light with a smile and a bright hope - one day her son would knock on the door, and he'd give her a surprise. And there was going to be a big celebration, a thanksgiving party for the return of her son.
I heard her as she came out of her bedroom. The wrinkles on her face were like patterns of crossed lines, that hid the beauty that was Mom's in her young years. Her hair had thinned into fine lines of greys. Her steps were slow, like staggered stages of steps climbing a mountain. But her eyes were clear, glassy at times when she teared but her eyes were alert, bright, and expectant. There was hope in her eyes, a never-ending expectation that tomorrow is another day to pray for the return of a son.
September 1, 2014 at 3:02am
What Is It That Makes Us Happy?
|One of the things that makes us happy is a celebration of a birthday. We love to remember our birth date, the day we became a person.
When we are reminded that we were a mere "twinkle" in the eye of either our father or mother, we tend to think of ourselves as products of misconception. The joke, of course, is on us -- because we began as nothing more than an idea. There is nothing wrong about an idea because it is the beginning of a good thing.
Like being born as a girl or a boy, and growing up to be an adult! And going to school and learning all the goodness of the world, goodness we take and use to guide us to become -- as much as possible - a perfect human being.
In a normal world, we are led to believe in the goodness of the heart; in the kindness of action, and in the completion of a plan. We start with an idea and we progress into a plan of action. In order for the plan of action to be completed, we must learn to obey the rules of action, to adhere to guidelines that would eventually lead us to a satisfactory conclusion of the plan.
The idea of the "twinkle" in the eye then becomes a person, a human with a heart, an individual with a sense of correctness, a "twinkle" of love that becomes a birthday celebrant.
Who among us will say that celebrating one's birthday is not a happy occasion?
Not I, said the celebrant!!!
August 13, 2014 at 3:02am
A Question of Worth
|Today, the 12th of August, 2014, we learn of the death of Robin Williams. We are saddened because of the way he died -- he hanged himself.
We ask ourselves why? All the goodness, all the laughter he shared with others, all his life he shared with his family, all of these and more - what a waste! We question his action, hanging himself. It must have taken at least a number of minutes to die, to struggle for breath, to lose consciousness. Did Robin Williams commit suicide because he is crazy? Because only a crazed mind would go through a hanging.
We are sad because we are not quite sure why he killed himself. We hear of drugs, of alcoholism, of pain, of a life that is filled with struggle to keep sane. What is the purpose of all the laughter he shared with people? What is it that made him choose to end his life? Why? Why? Why?
It is such a cruel thing to do - not only to his family but a shameful act of betrayal to all of us who became his fans, and who adored him for his ability to make us laugh. We enjoyed him. We laughed with him. We shared the product of his mind. We loved him for what he was and not for what he became - a coward. Because killing himself was a most hideous act, a sure thing he had no talent at all, that what he was in life was nothing but a hypocrite, that he was a just a pretender, that he made us believe he was talented but in fact he was just a nobody pretending to be somebody.
Yes, we are saddened. We have been cheated. We have been looking up to someone we thought was a good person. We have been misled to adore him. We have been led to believe he was someone we could hold as a person whose intellect are worthy to be admired. We wasted our admiration and love to someone whose life was a waste!!!
Why Robin Williams? Did you think killing yourself would take away the bad taste in our mouth? Did you think it was clever to hang yourself so you can die? You are such a cruel individual. You made us believe you are good, you are the best among all those individuals in your field of work. Now it turns out you are a dummy, a mere pretender, a very sad person who is not worthy of admiration and love.
What a waste. Yes, Robin Williams, you are just a waste!!!!
|The days of soccer in Brazil are now finished. We look back and realize we have enjoyed ourselves so very much we actually forgot to watch other TV shows!!! It is worth it, though because we did not have to contend with "commercials", which we condemn as "pitiful, a waste of money, and really worthless".
The excitement of watching a game of soccer is something magical and far more enjoyable than a lousy commercial. With the technology we now enjoy, we are able to record shows we love, and eliminate the commercials altogether. Recording and forwarding are such encouraging rules that we use - just so we can get rid of commercials!!!
Take, for example, when we are watching a part of a show, and suddenly a commercials comes on, cutting off our vision of what happens when our interest is at a peak. Don't we hate that? Yes, we do. Commercials are there because the station says so; and no matter how we hate it, they are going to come up and spoil our interest in a show. But thank goodness we have an item we can push and get rid of commercials. We wonder. Do stations know their commercials are plain bothersome?
We were awfully glad, though, those commercials practically melted into nothing by just a flip of a botton!!!
In the meantime, let's have more soccer!!!
What Makes Us Selfish?
|Today I am reminded of things that we sometimes forget: like telling your adult children you love them; like saying sorry when you've hurt someone's feeling; like doing something for someone who needs help; like loving someone.
What is it that makes us selfish? Are we born selfish? Did we acquire selfishness? Did we teach ourselves to be selfish? Are we by nature selfish?
What is it that makes us selfish? There is a story about a woman who admitted she was selfish. She said she needed to be selfish because her family was selfish, especially her mother. She realized early on her mother did not care for her at all - nor did she care for the rest of the family. All she cared for was her husband. She did not want him to love anyone else, not even the children, because she wanted his love all to herself. She did not want to share her husband with anybody else - most especially her children. Was that the ultimate of selfishness?
Is it wrong to be selfish? Let's look at this mother who loves her husband, and did not want to share her husband's love with her children. Was she wrong? Why did she not want to share her husband's love with her children? Why did she have children in the first place? Because her husband wanted children? But there is such a thing as contraception or a surgery that would remove her reproductive organs. Was she wrong to be selfish?
People have their own ideas of things, especially things that concern their feelings of love, hatred, pity, sympathy. If the daughter experienced the selfishness of her mother, do we condemn her for hating her mother? Do we conclude that one day when she does marry, that she will become like her mother?
Selfishness, what art are thou?
The Artist in the Writer
|What is the role of the artist in the writer? What comes first, the artist or the writer?
If the artist has the stronger influence on the writer, does it mean the literary work comes as a picture or image of the thoughts of the writer? Let's see:
The artist would write a work that would represent her artistic nature, such as: the beauty of the daylilies that she visits daily in her garden influences her to write poetry, an artistic work that talks about love, heartbreak, tears, laughter, separation, revival, forgiveness. The poet is the artist who writes about the heart, about love's enduring influence, about the pain of separation, about the laughter in the joy of recapturing lost love, about forgiveness that resulted in misunderstanding. Such is art.
The writer as a nonfiction artist believes and uses words that are explanations of the way the object works. Let's look at a boomerang. What is a boomerang? It's a piece of wood that is carved into a half moon, that can fly when thrown upward. There is no art in the explanation, only words that give meaning to the article that is being described. Art is lost in nonfiction!
And so to the writers of today, take your art seriously and paper the world with all the artistic talent you have!!!
Small Acts of Kindness
|I have read somewhere about people who are trying to change their attitude, and learning to do small acts of kindness.
I think it is admirable for people to perform acts of kindness. I believe it is possible to be kind, and to learn to change one's attitudes and thinking toward another.
Why, for example, would I forgive the person who brutally beats me because he wants my purse? From that moment on, my human feelings toward the thief are hatred, a consuming dislike to the point of either actually killing her/him or finding someone who would do her/him harm, to satisfy my hatred. How am I to do a small act of kindness to anyone who steals and do harm to another?
Yet, I read about people who are trying to do acts of kindness. How do they do it? I do admire them, praise them for thinking of and wanting to be kind. I cheer them for their good heart. I respect them because as humans I know it would be quite difficult for me to be kind if I am consumed with hatred.
So, if you are one of those who believe you can do an act of kindness, I salute you. May you continue your good effort; may you recruit others to do small acts of kindness, may you become successful in all your effort.
Blessings to you, whoever you are.
|I believe writing is the most difficult task to do, especially to a beginner. There are critiques who would put you down just because you have no degree in writing. There are those who would tell you your writing is full of "non data" or "inaccuracies" just because they think your work is not worth a read; that you are "stupid" enough to do research, and then produce your work in print. There are still others who would pretend to review your work, come up with a "fix" to your idea, and totally cross you out as someone who tries to outdo the real published writers.
I believe there are people who are aware of their "need" to let you know they can write your work much better; that however your work is as precise as the research you undertook, that you are treading into their "world", and that you should stop, look, and listen, and be aware you are NOT welcome in their part of their world. What they are actually telling you is, get off, you will never be like "us", like the "experts".
Is the writing world actually that bad? Are writers really and truly afraid of competition? Do published writers think beginners cannot write because their experience, expertise, and know-how are not EQUAL to the published writers? I feel sad to come to this conclusion.
Are published writers afraid of competition?
What is the point in writing?
Children of the World2
|From across the ocean came another news of children, who have been abducted. This time, the children are young girls.
From Africa the head of an organization that abducted the children announced through a video that he took the children and was going to sell them in the open market. He laughed and enjoyed the announcement.
The TV picture turned to the parents, mostly mothers, who were anxious, worried about their girls, and praying for the return of their young ones.
What is happening to our world? to our children? to our homes? What was the reason behind the abduction? What have the girls done to deserve a life of slavery? Has the world gone mad?
Has God abandoned His children?
It is heartbreaking to read about events that concern children. We watch TV news, we read news in papers, and more than that, we are aware of our children getting shot in the streets, abducted, injured in accidents, abandoned.
We feel the heartbreak of parents who lose their children. We sympathize with their tears. We question the many incidents that happen to children, and we are at a loss how or what we can do to help, even as we realize there is very little we can do. Especially when news of children happen outside of our own community.
We can pray. We can donate our services and financial ability to the United Nations responsible for the safety of children in the world. We can educate our people to organize funding charities, to help keep our children safer. We can be more aware of the problems children face when they are away from us. We can love our children much, much more so that they in return would love us and keep us informed of their anxieties. We must learn to create a loving atmosphere within our homes so that our children would have no reason to look for love outside our family.
To parents of the world, what have you done to keep your children safe?
April 22, 2014 at 12:36am
Children of the World
|I grieve for the children who lost their lives at sea, in South Korea. Whatever the reason for the sinking of the ferry, I feel a sadness in my heart for their parents, who have to ask themselves the question, why my children?
This is a tragedy that parents have to endure, a part and parcel of the many worries and heartbreak in life. Whatever and whoever was responsible for this ferry sinking, parents must find it in their hearts NOT to blame themselves. From the moment parents decide to have children, they must ask themselves: have we got a big heart to accommodate the many incidents that children bring to their life?
Children are not commodities. They are our life, our hearts, our breath. They give us laughter. They are the many reasons our life are complete. They are the "salt of the earth", the lives who will continue to make our planet a living and breathing planet.
Cry, dear parents, blame yourselves for the loss of your children, but remember you decided to have children, and you must know that one day you will shed buckets of tears and heartbreak upon heartbreak for creating your children.
Accept the tragedy, the death of your children, because the circumstances that led to their passing are not your creation. Be thankful you had them, loved them, cared for them, that you would have died for them. Life just dealt you a blow that you may or may not recover from. Remember, though, that your love has been your children's life until the day they decided to take a chance to go their own way.
© Copyright 2014 elephantsealer (UN: liliapadwes at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
elephantsealer has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|Log In To Leave Feedback|