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It is a waste to ignore the musings of the mind. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| It is sad to face the fact that he is a sensitive person. We have been married for over 10 years now, and I still don't know how to remind him about seeing a doctor. If a remind him once, he gets irritated. Then if I keep reminding him, he gets angry. Because he says I'm insulting him. For the first time I realize I don't need to remind him at all. He is an adult and reminding him irritates him, going to the extent I am insulting his intelligence. Suddenly I wake up and understand why he feels insulted. I do remind him quite often. And some of the time, I just forget myself, and keep on reminding him. Now if he would do the same to me, I would probably say, he is insulting my intelligence. Suddenly I see his side. I guess it is not the reminders that irritate him, but the constancy of it all. As a promise to myself, I will stop reminding him from now on. But then, if I stop, when will I know that he will go and see his doctor? Yes, of course, I don't need to know about that. I shall just trust him and be happy when he comes one day and tells me, he has been to see his doctor!!! Do you have this problem? |
| She cannot cry. Even as her brothers mourned and shed tears for the death of their youngest brother, her eyes did not water nor did she feel any emotion that should have made her cry. She was sad and the grief in her heart was real. She reminded herself this was the brother she took care when he was newly-born, and as he grew up. There were nights she was up, walked him to sleep when he was teething. There were days she stayed home, to babysit the boy when nobody was around to do it. Then, there was the separation. He went away to a foreign country, worked as an oil engineer, and seldom came home. He seldom wrote letters, either, always giving the excuse he was not a letter-writer. He definitely disliked writing. She heard one day he became a smoker. She was devastated. She wrote to him, begged him to stop the habit, that one day it may kill him. He laughed it all off, of course, and insisted cigarettes were not and will not make one ill. Years passed. The young brother married, had children of his own, but still continued smoking. His children grew up, went to college, and still he smoked. He retired one day from work, and spent practically most of his days smoking - at sport games he attended, at parties with friends, at weekly card games. People gave him a name: The Chimney. He returned one day to the foreign land where he first worked as an engineer. He was alone then. His wife had passed on and his children found life with their own growing families. Still he smoked... One night as she read a book about the poison of smoking, the telephone rang. Annoyed at the call she thought was a "scam", she put down the book. At the other end of the line came a voice of doom: Your brother collapsed at a friend's house party. He was rushed to the emergency. Apparently, his lungs were congested and he could not breathe. He died on the way to the hospital... She listened intently. She waited for the tears. She shivered, her hands shook, her heart beat raced. But there were no tears... elephantsealer |
| What is your goal? We are asked this many times, wherever we go and join a group. What is a satisfactory answer? To do the best we can? To keep up with the activities of the group, and be active all the time? To share our hopes and dreams with the group? What is the right answer? Joining a critique group is something we should consider. Let's say, the critique group is about writing children's book. So, the group decides to critique the work of each member. One member comes up with a story about a girl who loves dancing. Another comes up with a tale about an orphan girl. Still another writes about a boy who is missing. Before we go ahead with this line of thinking, we should consider that all these writers are educated but not published. They critique each other's work, or they give their reason why such a statement or such an idea is not good as a children's book. Most of the time, they do not critique but each and everyone makes a criticism. The reason, because the statement does not sound reasonable or the story will not fly or the number of words are not acceptable as a children's book. What actually happens is that emotion comes up as the sole reason we pretend to critique. We do not understand there are rules to follow, and with our emotion aroused, we criticize. We should critique because the story "tells" and not "show". We critique because the rules of writing are not followed. We criticize because we have not learned the proper way to critique. But we can learn to critique, can we not? |
| What has the old year taught us when it concerns our writing? Take control. Another year has gone by, and still we feel no satisfaction we have done any big thing to get us nearer to our dream: to look at the moon and see the realization of a dream we had since we decided to be a writer. We have submitted and got rejected. We decided to look at the work that had been rejected. We found it lacking. We revised once, twice, thrice, and more until we became completely frustrated and left that piece of writing in the computer, to be forgotten. Once in a while we remembered it is still in the heart of the computer; but we let it be and we don't ever decide to rescue it. We questioned our decision? Why did we start it in the first place? Why was it lacking? Why was it rejected? The rejection notice didn't mention why it was rejected. It was just returned, rejected, a piece of nothing that came out of our heart and mind. What was actually wrong with it? It was typewritten, in English, double spaced, and in good paper; that we can be sure of. We really would have loved for the rejector to have told us the piece of writing was unreadable, not focused, did not follow the rule of "show, don't tell". Was it really that bad the rejector could not be bothered to let the writer know her/his writing was the worst in the slush pile? So, we leave that writing in the computer, to fester, to remind us we are not good enough to write. We now think we are not meant to write. And so, we shall just look at the moon and dream our dream again... |
| The news shook her. Cancer? Why me, she asked, as she lay her head down and cried. She kept the news to herself for a month. She told no one, not even her husband. Nor her children. Why let them know. It was her problem, her cancer. So for a month she said nothing to no one. One night as she lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. She cried a little. The problem was hers and she didn't want to lay it on her family. She must decide what to do. Her doctor advised her to tell her family. It was no good keeping it all to herself. The cancer was found. Now it was time to decide whether to go for surgery. She began to lose weight. She hardly slept at nights. She felt nauseous each time she had dinner with the family. She could not look them straight. She could not tell them. She must bear the burden herself. One day her parents came to town for a week's visit. She was glad to see them. But she still didn't tell them. Somehow, her Mom knew there was something she was keeping from the family. She cornered her daughter, spoke to her, and at last she found out the problem. She hugged her Mom and realized she laid the problem on her aging mother. But to her surprise, her Mom wasn't burdened at all. She was there for her daughter, cancer or no cancer. She cuddled her grown-up little girl, she advised her to take the surgery as soon as the cancer is confirmed. Then, she gathered the whole family, and told them. As she lay listening to the soft music coming from the radio, she realized it was folly of her not to share her burden with the family. One by one her children offered to care for her during and after her surgery. And best of all, they told her off for being selfish, in a soft and kind and loving way... |
| What's new? The year, of course!!! What does a new year mean to me? It means: a new beginning. The start of a new way to look at the way I've been lack in energy with regard to my writing. I don't think it's because of writer's block. I think it's more because I've been interested in other things more than in my writing. In other words, I've sidelined my writing and did more of other things that I thought are more interesting than my writing. What actually caused me to have lost some of the enthusiasm I possessed when it comes to writing? There have been plenty, I believe, and it has caused me to lag behind; to put my energy on things that are not essential to develop my writing. And now I feel as if I've actually missed writing!!! So, 2014, here I come. My energy is doubled, my mind is set to writing, my whole outlook has changed. I must write and write some more. Did I hear someone asked, Why? Because writing is my life. It is my energy. It is what I am suppose to be made of. It is what I would like to be. It is the path I chose so many years ago when I first wrote my first essay, my first fiction, my first poetry. My promise: never again shall I succumb to blaming any other thing that would take my mind away from writing. Is this what is known as "new year's resolution?" |
| Christmas is upon us again - when the busyness of the season is everywhere. TVs remind us daily of buying and more buying. Wherever we go, we see signs of decorations, lights, Santa Claus figurines, even men dressed in Santa clothes (begging for donations!), and children's faces glowing with smiles. I think Christmas is the saddest month of the year. The winter cold comes and we find ourselves freezing with the cold winds and snow. Our roads become danger places where snow becomes ice and ice becomes the culprit that creates crashes, resulting in either injuries or death. The winter cold reminds us of the homeless, the children of the homeless, the men and women who are out in the cold, freezing perhaps, hungry maybe, alone and cold, without shelter, and even they have shelter, they have to vacate as soon as morning comes. Then, back into the cold winter for the homeless. Do we care even? December comes with all the jingle of happiness, but alas it is also the beginning of busyness: spending, buying, shopping, sales, crowds. Suddenly, we are aware of children in hospitals, of women alone as they continue to bear the load of feeding their children, of men who abandon their families, of homelessness. December brings all these sadness around us. We pretend we are happy but within ourselves we know we have not done anything to alleviate the suffering of others who are not able to buy, buy, spend, spend - and yes, suddenly we are aware of them - and it is Christmas!!! Am I a killjoy? No, I just think December and Christmas are unfortunate enough to be together. I would prefer Christmas to be a daily celebration, a day to remember families who are lost, a day to care for the ill and the sick, a day to love the lonely and the alones, a day to give to and care for the homeless, a day to reconnect with the lost, a day to forgive ourselves and others, who we think have wronged us, a day to be ourselves again. That to me is Christmas!!! |
| Thanksgiving by itself or literally means give thanks. Why do we give thanks? When do we give thanks. How do we give thanks? Where do we give thanks? Why do we give thanks? Because we have received something; a gift/present perhaps? Whether or not we like the gift we have a sense of obligation to thank the person who gave us the gift - for taking the time to select a gift that the giver thinks we would appreciate. When do we give thanks? At the time the gift is given to us, of course. In addition, we should send a card to the giver, with a few words that would express our gratitude for the gift. How do we give thanks? Through words by mouth or by email or by snail mail, naturally. Where do we give thanks? Right at the spot where we receive our gift - especially when the giver is presenting the gift to us. A hug or a kiss on the cheek will be most appreciated by the giver. Who do we give thanks to? The giver, of course. But just wait a second. How did thanksgiving become a yearly holiday? Many, many years ago people learned to put aside a certain day in the calendar because they have received blessings in the form of a good harvest; for the return of a prodigal son/daughter; for the goodness of neighbors who are aware of the poverty that a neighbor is going through; for coming out of a violent storm/earthquake alive and well, safe from physical harm; for family getting together who have been separated by land and sea; and most especially, for the blessings of peace without wars, violence, hatred, injury. That I believe is the true sense of thanksgiving. |
| As I celebrate another birthday, I think back to when I was 7 years old. Back in the Far East where I was born, 7 was the time a child enters first grade. I have always been a shy child, and the beginning of a school year was the start of my awakening. I learned teachers were not in school to pamper any pupil. They were there to teach; and to teach they did, with so much energy, that a shy child got lost in the maze of all the lessons! I realized teachers were not kind at all. They let pupils know they didn't care much whether you're learning anything or were just having a hard time learning as fast as the teachers wanted the pupils to learn. Mathematics was my downfall. I dreaded it and never liked it at all. And teachers didn't care whether you want to learn Math because they think you MUST know it as much they do. Math lessons were my cross because the teacher sent me to the Principal more often than any of the other lessons in the class. I became more withdrawn and more timid at grade one. What did I learn in Math class? I realized I shall always be embarrassed in class; that my inability to absorb numbers will always be a thorn on my side; that no matter how much I tried I shall always suffer humiliation and embarrassment when it comes to numbers! My one joy was English lessons! I was glad when I passed grade one inspire of math. Because in grade two I became known as the No. One speller in class! I just caught on to English and it became such an inspiration to me that led me to journalism when I got to college. What a joy to leave math behind!!! Am I glad I loved English!!! |
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