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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. |
| There is a little story I would like to share. Stella was a little five-year-old when I first met her. She lived with Mom and Dad in a little village in the faraway land of Asia, in South East Asia. They lived in a one bedroom home. Her Dad, a farmer, owned a half-acre farm land, a water buffalo, and a small garanary where he stored rice. Rice was the staple food in the village. Stella, at a young age, had an ambition to leave the village one day, and seek her fortune in the City, which is a day's travel by train from the village. She hated to get up early in the morning when her Mom and Dad leave the home to work the farm land. She hated most of all to take care of her little sister. Stella's Mom had to depend on her young daughter to care for the baby, even at a young age of five. She had to work the land beside her husband, especially when the field had to be tilled, or to be plowed to prepare it for the planting season. She and her husband had to start early because there are other chores that needed to be done at home, like cooking, laundry, feed the chickens and the pigs. Stella hated to get up early, before the sun is up. Her anger is directed toward her baby sister. So one day when her Mom and Dad left to prepare the land for the planting season, she decided to go back to bed. She thought her sister was still asleep and everything was quiet in the house. Sometime in midmorning, she was suddenly awakened by a scream. She jumped out of bed and rushed to her sister's crib. The crib was empty. Where was her sister? She looked around the house, called out her sister's name, Elly, short for Elizabeth. She was nowhere in the house. She ran out of the house, her heart thumping against her breast. She was red in the face, sweat filled her brow, her mouth was dry, and the fear that filled her being almost suffocated her. She heard a little cry that came from the kitchen, which sounded like her sister. She dashed to the kitchen. She stood at the door, ashamed and embarrassed. Mom was breast feeding her baby sister. "Mom! You scared me!" "Did I sweetheart? Sorry." "How come you're home?" "I felt terrible leaving you with the baby, so I came back." "But ..." "It's all right, Stella. Dad said he could shoulder the work on her own today." "I'm sorry I have not been doing my share of work." "Don't worry, dear. Dad and I understand you need your sleep." Stella rushed to her Mom and hugged her. "I'll do better tomorrow, I promise." Mom kissed Stella, her smile said she understood how she felt. |
| I remember the amount of reading I did when I was in high school. I was always in the library, reading, but most of the time, borrowing books to take home. I loved reading then, and I still have that strong desire to read today. I noticed, though, that most of the young people I have come in contact do not read books. What I see in their hands are mobiles or ipads. I asked them what books they have in their ipads and I get a shock when they say, books are not interesting. Their mobiles are for "texting" or calling friends and chatting. Even their computers are used mainly for chatting. When they "text" or "chat" they use abbreviations or initials that don't mean anything at all like proper words -- I mean words that are spelled and used properly in a sentence. I ask myself: is this the reason many of our children cannot spell properly or cannot construct a proper sentence? Or is this why our children cannot join in conversations because they have no idea what the conversation is all about? The books I read when I was in high school were cleverly and appropriately constructed to form a proper sentence. a phrase, a paragraph. Reading helped me write essays at exams. Reading gave me ideas to form my own opinion when talking to others. Books became my best friends because I was entertained, and learned lessons that helped me cope with the many tiresome phases in life. Reading expanded my vocabulary. Reading was (and still is) my mentor when I began to write. Reading taught me how to spell properly. Reading put proper words in my mouth when I speak. Do you read? |
| Hey, there! How would you like to see a bright moon, and a bigger moon at that! Apparently, sometime at about 4:00 a.m., the moon will look bigger and brighter because there is this condition that happens every so many years: the moon looks as if it is very near to earth! Yes, it is safe to look at the moon at 4:00 early in the morning on this date, June 22, 2013. It is the moon, indeed, and to see it and almost touch it, would be a lifetime of memory you can take with you to heaven!!! Be there! Be bright! Believe it! |
| There are questions that bother me. It has to do with writing melodramatic scenes in a story. What is the opinion that is accepted in the writing world? Do readers like to read melodramatic scenes in a story? Do readers think including melodramatic scenes in a story good or bad? If melodramatic scenes are necessary to further emphasize the character of the antagonist/protagonist, should the writer go ahead and include it in? A story about young people shooting each other; or a story about a student committing suicide because he is bullied at school (or anywhere else he goes, for that matter?); a story about a young person taking revenge on someone who belittled him; or any story about a student shooting his school because his/her teacher gave him/her a bad grade (non-passing grade)? Let's say the above examples are melodramatic scenes. Are these bad or good in a story? What makes a melodramatic scene good or bad? In what relation? I think melodrama is good in a story. It not only enhances the story but it also adds a suspense, an anti-climax that would increase the reader's appetite to finish the book. |
| I would like to talk about graduation. Recently, my granddaughter graduated from high school. I attended the ceremony and realized that my graduation from high school (which seems a million years ago!) was almost a copy of my granddaughter's graduation. There were the noises, the hoots and laughters, the gathering of parents, siblings, and relatives, and the crowds. And then there was the presentation of diplomas. Watching the ceremony recently, it dawned on me that graduation was actually the start when I wanted very much to write. In my young mind, I thought I was adult enough to think that writing would be a good way to begin a new life. Although I had very good grades with my essays at school, I took it for granted that writing, possibly writing as a journalist, was what I wanted. So I enrolled into the university with journalism as my major and English as my minor. It was an eye-opener. And it was fun as well. But my idea of writing as a young high schooler was not exactly the same as the writing that newspapers put out. I learned to write tight; to begin with the most interesting part of a story, followed by describing the actual event. It was a good learning, and I loved it. Am I glad I took the journalism course! |
| What does Memorial Day mean? The popular answer is: barbecues, parties. It is another holiday that we do not go to work. It is a fun day when all we think of is eating, drinking, eating more and drinking more - and that's about it. By the end of the day we are tired - and off to sleep we go! Then there is another answer: the remembrance of wars past, of military personnel, of fallen heroes. We remember husbands, wives, sisters, brothers - soldiers of our land - who offered their lives so that we, civilians, can continue to savor the freedom that our fallen heroes tried to defend with their lives in the wars. We remember the nightmares of bombs; the sentence of death that weapons of destruction brings down upon the people, whose country is the setting of such wars; the cruelty dealt upon a country and its people; the loss of dignity and honor of a defeated country; the shame that we bear in our hearts for starting an evil war; we remember the grief and regret that overcome us for taking up arms against another country - all these and many more, we remember; and as we remember, we know in our hearts and in our minds that wars are wrong, wars are evil, wars are the downfall of a country. Lest we forget, Memorial Day is a day of reminiscing, a day to look at the white crosses in cemeteries, and know that we are FREE!!! |
| What does Memorial Day mean? The popular answer is: barbecues, parties. It is another holiday that we do not go to work. It is a fun day when all we think of is eating, drinking, eating more and drinking more - and that's about it. By the end of the day we are tired - and off to sleep we go! Then there is another answer: the remembrance of wars past, of military personnel, of fallen heroes. We remember husbands, wives, sisters, brothers - soldiers of our land - who offered their lives so that we, civilians, can continue to savor the freedom that our fallen heroes tried to defend with their lives in the wars. We remember the nightmares of bombs; the sentence of death that weapons of destruction brings down upon the people, whose country is the setting of such wars; the cruelty dealt upon a country and its people; the loss of dignity and honor of a defeated country; the shame that we bear in our hearts for starting an evil war; we remember the grief and regret that overcome us for taking up arms against another country - all these and more, we remember; and as we remember, we know in our hearts and in our minds that wars are wrong, are evil, are the downfall of a country. Lest we forget, Memorial Day is a day of reminiscing, a day to look at the white crosses in cemeteries, and know that we are FREE!!! |
| "The Scream of Madness" was born after I visited an asylum for women. My heart went to a lady cuddling a doll. When I asked the supervisor about the lady, I was informed that she lost her child at birth. She was devastated with her loss she became depressed. She cried every day. Her husband didn't understand why she took it hard and ultimately left her. He learned too late, though, that she could no longer have another child. We all have a fear of something or other. But the fear of inheriting the madness of our ancestors is what I tried to write about in "The Scream of Madness". Clearly, there is that fear going through the daughter's mind as she tried to determine whether or not the madness that ran through her "father" was in her blood. Fear is something we face daily in our lives. How, for example, do we cope if our child is taken away from us? We ask for help. From the police, from our neighbors, from our friends, from anyone who is willing to help. We make every effort to find our child, by ourselves, turn every corner, search the world, do everything possible, if only to keep us busy and stop horrible thoughts about what's happening to our child, go mad ourselves thinking whether our child is still alive. We may even go as far as using every penny we have to find our missing child. We will not stop until we have our child back in our arms. |
A couple who have been married, say for 60 years, decide to become hobos. What are their chances to complete five years of being on the road as hobos? Married for 60 years, the couple have saved some amount of money to take with them as they start their hoboing. They are elderly but they are healthy since they have learned to take care of their bodies when they were young. There is no question of getting ill. They hop on buses, trains, and some times "thumb" a ride with trucks when they are in places with no buses or trains. First problem: they have been on the road now for 12 months, and they are still enjoying it. They managed to get into a motel in a mountain village - the only motel around. In the middle of the night, a fire consumed the motel; however, they were able to get out of their room without any problem. Their backpacks were burned, though. Fortunately, their money was intact since the couple have made it a point they leave their money belts on their bodies. Their big expense: buy new clothes, backpacks, blankets, shoes, toothbrushes/toothpaste, and re-order the daily medicine that got burned in their backpacks. The expense halved their savings. The second year of hoboing brought the couple to a tiny village which is occupied by 50 residents, mostly elderly like themselves. They were able to rent a small cottage and became acquainted with the villagers. They were welcomed and as they settled in, they realized they had to stay around. Most of the elderly in village were not as healthy as they were. The hobo couple helped with the gardening, cooking, house cleaning at times, and mostly providing help and aid to the villagers. Before long they realized they had been in the village for 12 months. Their second year of hoboing gave them more energy to continue. They left the village, knowing full well they were able to help the villagers. Off they went and bade goodbye to the villagers, who were totally grateful the couple hobos found their way to the village. What other problems will they meet on the road as they continue their life on the road? |
| There is a part of our thoughts that tells us we must write, for writing gives an opportunity to express what is in our heart. When we write, we communicate to a reader what the important things that make us turn into a violent person; what it is that gives us pleasure and a tendency to laugh and enjoy something; what it is that turn us into a liar, to hide something that we cannot forever disclose to those we love; what it is that gives us energy to run, walk, jog; what it is that makes us succumb to pain and hurts; what it is that annoys us and makes us revengeful; and finally what it is that makes us love, be graceful, be thankful, be kind. |
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