Happy New Year!!!!

Hey Guy and Gals!

I am extra hyper today, please excuse my Caps and exclamation marks. 🙂 Heehee…

Anyways, you people should all know what day it is today right? Yes. 1st JAN 2014!!!!!!!! Whee!!!! A new year!!! Woah. Can’t believe it. It’s like a whole year just FLEW by!

2014… A new Beginning… A new surrounding…. Hard to believe but still true. Ay…

WELL. Anyways, I’m on my way to eat a lunch/breakfast at a random shopping mall. As my dad sadly lost his SD card for the car with the music in it, we had to listen to the radio and I insisted on listening to the Eng Radio Channel. AND. I finally understood what my friend complained about. Hey Mr or Ms Radio, there are not just three English songs in the whole world!!!

Ugh.

Dun spoil your own mood, Cherry. Dun. Dun.

Ok!!!! I’m back!!!! And hyper again!!!

Just came to write and wish you guys a very VERY HaPpY nEw YeAr!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World
Cherry

Journal Entry 5 (Sister Boey’s Gone Home)

Hey there. As promised, see? 

 

Reader’s Digest (May 2009) – Sister Boey’s Gone Home

 

This story is about a person’s past. Soo Chan Hua was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 12. At Tan Tock Seng Hospital, he suffered a lot from the surgery and the treatment. He recalled that it was Sister Boey who helped him through the hard times with kindness and patience. Even after Chan Hua recovered from cancer, Sister Boey never seemed to have forgotten him. When they met coincidentally at the MRT station, Sister Boey offered him an ang pow. It was a simple act but filled with care and concern as Chan Hua indeed needed money to support his family. Chan Hua only knew later on the Sister Boey was a woman of character, filled with love, she has helped many people overcome their pain and fears and never bothered about herself. She was willing to use her whole life to help others. This is truly a great sacrifice. Eventually, Sister Boey also caught cancer but was unwilling to let others worry about her and died soon after.

I find this short story extremely touching and sad at the same time. It tells the world that there are still some out there who are willing to give their whole life to others.It tells us that the world is not completely deprived of kindness and love. This can also give selfish people a lesson, teach them to care for others. I hope that there are more like Sister Boey out there. With one more of these people, 10 people will feel warmth in their darkest days, 10 people will be able to get up on their feet once more to fight the challenges in life. Sometimes, these type of people are actually right beside you, but you fail to notice them only until it is too late, learn to cherish them and be grateful. By saying, “Thank You”, it will make a whole lot of difference in their lives.

I know that I have been saying these inspirational reflections for so long, you might think that is because I only have the mouth to speak it but not willing to do it. I will admit, I am not perfect, it is easy to say but not easy to do. I have not done all of these correct acts yet. However, I am willing to work hard to achieve that and I hope we can do this together, make the world a better place. 

 

Main Article:

As I peered through the open doors of Ward 41, a voice from behind me asked, ”Are you looking for Sister Boey again? She’s gone home already.”

I couldn’t hide my disappointment. ”Is there a chance I might be able to catch her here sometime next week?” I asked the nurse.

”Why not call before you come? Sister Boey’s working part-time now, and her hours are not as regular as they used to be.”

I left feeling empty and irrationally lonely.

It’s no surprise that my feelings for this place were so strong. Tan Tock Seng Hospital in Singapore was where I had endured the agonies of cancer.

In 1988, just before I turned 12, I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s disease. I underwent surgery to remove a huge tumour on my spine, then started a long series of painful treatments: a year of radiotherapy followed by two years of chemotherapy. I was perpetually nauseous, and my hair fell out. Then there were the painful needles to administer drugs and extract spinal fluid and bone marrow. It was like something out of a horror film.

There were times when I felt that I wouldn’t make it, when things were so bleak that all I could do was shut my eyes and wrap my hands around my legs as I curled up in my hospital bed.

Sister Boey was a nurse on my ward, and when I was at my worst, she would stroke my arm and say soft words of comfort. With patience and love worthy of a saint, she helped me through my ordeal.

Eventually the cancer subsided, the treatments stopped and I returned to school. Although life appeared to be normal again, I carried the emotional scars created by that terrible time.

One wet December day, about three years after I had gone into remission, I met up with Sister Boey at the Novena train station. Outlined against the vast building, she seemed so tiny for someone who inspired and warmed up 
entire hospital wards.

She smiled and handed me an ang pow, a red packet meant for money. ”A little something for Christmas. I wanted to give this to you before the season passed by. But, aiyah, we can never find time to meet.”

She knew that I was living with my younger brother in a rented apartment while I attended Catholic Junior 
College. She also knew how short of money I was. I hated taking handouts, but I loved Sister Boey like a mother and couldn’t refuse her.

”You know that you can come to me for help anytime. I have enough to spare,” she whispered before we parted.
 Over the years she kept finding excuses to give me money – every festive season, every birthday, every whatever. I felt guilty that I couldn’t do a thing for her in return.

Sister Boey retired not long after my last unsuccessful visit to her ward. I phoned her now and then, and she would cheer me up if things were going bad.

I never heard a word of complaint from her – no outpouring of worries, no grumbles about bosses or neighbours, no bellyaching about getting old. She always seemed happy with her life.

So I was shocked when I learned that Sister Boey had breast cancer. I also stayed in touch with Dr June Lou, the paediatrician who had treated me during my battle with cancer, and one day she told me about Sister Boey’s condition. 
I called her that night. ”Aiyah, nothing much lah. I’m getting better,” she declared. ”You don’t have to come and visit me, OK?”

Of course I went to visit her at her small flat.

The chemotherapy had taken its toil. She looked frail and worn, and she had lost her hair. She mentioned how she spent her time looking after her young nephews. Even in her condition, she was doing what she did best – nursing.

Her voice was cheerful, and her eyes were still filled with her joy for life. She gave no hint of pain. But I knew the pain was definitely there. I had been down that road.

As I was leaving, I felt the urge to hug her and say, ”Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you.” But I was a coward. I feared it would be too embarrassing for both of us, so I said nothing.

Being busy, I didn’t see her for several months, and then one night I received a phone call. Sister Boey’s cancer had spread.

When I returned to her apartment, she looked infinitely worse. The only thing holding her together was the skin around her bones.

Her appearance took me back to my mother’s final days, before cancer took her too. I came home from school each day to find a little more of her gone for good. Seeing dear Sister Boey now, I struggled to hold back my tears.

It wasn’t long before I was reunited with Dr Lou and other friends, this time for Sister Boey’s funeral. The chapel was packed with people. I recognised doctors and nurses from the hospital, and there were a lot of unfamiliar faces – no doubt former patients like myself.

I stood before the casket for a long time, looking at Sister Boey’s ashen face – a picture of peace.

There was a portrait of her before the casket. ”That’s a nice photo of her,” I heard Dr Lou say to Sister Boey’s niece.

”Yes, it’s her favourite, taken during her nursing school days. A lot of guys were interested in her, you know? But she was always too busy for boyfriends, too busy looking after others.”

Albert Einstein once said, ”Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” That aptly described Sister Boey. And in living for others, she had lived for herself in the best way possible. As I looked upon her face the last time, in my heart I said the words I should have spoken when she could still hear me: ”Thank you for everything you have done for me. I love you.”
I said goodbye to Sister Boey, and left a bit of myself with her.

Reference: http://www.rdasia.com/sister_boey_s_gone_home_2583

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

What? 

Don’t stare at me with those horrible accusing eyes! I was truly busy ok! Its not my fault i have a tight schedule. Fine. Im sorry alright.

 

Well, good news is, i am writing another Journal Entry right now. Wait for it!

P.S. Merry Christmas Eve!  

Journal Entry 4 (Benefits of Change)

Hello there! 😀

Its me again! 😉

 

Reader’s Digest (February 2010) – Benefits Of Change

 

I realised that for the past few Journal Entries I have been constantly touching on the subject of kindness, which is probably because it has been recently a great issue. I am going to talk about that again today. It has just a little bit of difference in the storyline. Here goes!

The same settings I guess, a lady left during lunch break to grab some lunch and meets a busker. However, there was a slight twist in this story, after she reflects and decides to spare a few coins for him, she thought to herself sub-consciously. She had hoped to feel something after giving the coins, satisfaction? Or maybe something in return for her kindness? Then, she realised wrongly that this dissatisfaction was probably the sole reason why she was always unwilling to spare change for the buskers she meets. Fortunately, after lunch, she returns to her office building and coincidentally saw the busker packing up. She was so shocked when she realised that the man gave all the money to charity as he poured the contents into a money box for bushfire appeal. She immediately felt ashamed and repentant.

If it took her all this trouble to realise the beauty of giving, I am glad she did, and I hope that we can all have this chance to realise this. As the writer said, giving is happiness in itself and better than getting anything. People have this misconception that when you give something out or make a little sacrifice, we must always get something back in return. Thus, to give change to buskers are deemed unworthy as you will not be given back anything. That may be true but think of it in a different light and you will understand how something was indeed given back to us. Happiness and self-satisfaction. These are much more than solid things, it helps to fill up the selfish and self-centred hearts with happiness and care.

This is, I don’t know, the third time I am reviewing on this subject and again, I wish to wake everyone up and plead for people to start thinking of people not as well off as you are, help them. Just once is enough. See for yourself the effect of it. Spread the kindness and, together, we can make this world a better place to live in. 

 

As usual, actual article below:

I used to live selfishly: all my decisions were made putting my own needs and wants as the first consideration. It seems rather corny to say that one moment changed my life, but I honestly feel that it did have a huge impact on me.

I was on my lunch break and had left the office to get something to eat. On the way, I saw a busker. This wasn’t something out of the ordinary; there was always someone smart enough to busk near the office buildings during lunch.

As I walked past him, holding some coins in my hand, I thought to myself that he was only going to use the money to feed his addiction to drugs or alcohol. He looked like that type – young and ragged. Then I stopped, rather shocked at myself. What was I going to spend the money on? I only was going to feed my addiction to Coca-Cola or chocolate. I realised I had no right to place myself above him just because he was busking.

I stopped and dropped all the coins into his hat and he smiled at me. I watched for a while. As selfish as it sounds, I expected something more to come from that moment. I wanted a natural high or even a feeling of happiness, but nothing happened. So then I smiled and walked off, remembering why I never did things like that. It was a waste of money.

At the end of the day as I walked to the train station, I saw the busker packing up. I watched him pick up the hat and empty the money into a small plastic bag. Then he walked over to a café counter and poured the entire contents into a tin collecting for a bushfire appeal.

He was busking for charity. I realised just how selfish I had been. It took someone to take my money and donate it to charity for me to realise how easy it is for me to do the same. I now donate any change I have to charity tins and enjoy the feeling of happiness for the rest of the day. You could say I’m now addicted to the feeling of giving.

Reference: http://www.rdasia.com/benefits-of-change

 

Thanks for reading till here! 😀

Seeya!

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

 

Journal Entry 3 (Passing on the Kindness)

Hi there.

Here is the promised Journal Entry. Do read it. 

 

Reader’s Digest (October 2009) – Passing on the Kindness

 

This is a really short story about how kindness can be passed from one person to another, making this world a much better place. It tells of a seven month pregnant lady who was in a plight trying to brave a slight drizzle to get to her car. It was then that a stranger alighted from his van and held out an umbrella and assisted her to her van. She was touched and unable to repay the kindness, decided to pass it on instead. This simple decision could change a person’s day, she helped a few construction workers by giving them an umbrella, prevent them from catching a cold in the heavy rain.

I really and truly love this story as it tells us how easy it is for us to spread kindness, show warmth to others. It also gives us hope that maybe, just maybe, if we chose to make a little sacrifice, kindness can spread around the world. The sacrifice may not be one like, giving away a million dollars, or suffering pain, a red rose each time, or a bottle of water is enough to make a whole lot of difference. These small actions can change the world and make it a better place.

I believe this is a very familiar message to everyone but if it is then just simply ask yourself one word. Why. Why isn’t the world a better place? Why do I still see selfishness everywhere I go? It might be simple to say pass the kindness forward, but to do it is a different matter. For example, if the lady in this story does not wish to give up her umbrella of maybe does not wish to communicate with construction workers then maybe the workers will end up very wet or worse, caught a cold. There can be many things holding us back from doing kindness, these things, once overcame, can do much good.

Yes, I am just a child, you can say that I do not know anything and that I am just saying this innocently. Well, who knows? That might just be the case, but why not give it a try, spare yourself a minute, use a dollar to make a person feel happiness. After that, decide for yourself whether it is worthwhile.

I do not have anything else to say because if we are unwilling to change no matter what I say, it would be useless, but for those who have a heart, this is enough to change everything. 

 

Below is the actual article:

My friends and I had just finished lunch at a hotel when it started to pour heavily. When it became lighter, I decided to brave the drizzle to get my car, which was parked at my office three streets away.

My friends argued that I shouldn’t go, mainly because I was seven months pregnant then. I assured them that I’d be very careful. One of them wanted to come with me but I insisted that she stayed with another friend who needed help with her baby.

I walked out of the hotel and started making my way to the car. At the traffic junction, a van stopped and the passenger alighted with an umbrella. Before I knew what was happening, he walked right beside me and told me he’d escort me to my destination. I was very embarrassed and declined, but he was very persistent.

During our walk, he kept telling me to walk slower, as the ground was wet. When we got to the car-park, I thanked him and we parted ways. I did not get his name and may not even recognise him now. Did he purposely stop for me? I’ll never know.

So how did I pay it forward? I was at home when I noticed two Indian construction workers walking in the heavy rain. They were probably on their way to the construction site near my estate, which was a long walk in. I went out and passed them an umbrella. They were taken aback by my gesture, and I told them they should take the umbrella and keep it. They were very grateful and like me, probably wondered why a stranger was offering such kindness. 

Reference: http://www.rdasia.com/passing-on-the-kindness

P.S. Here is another video that just popped into my mind while writing this article. Spare a few minutes to watch this. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwAYpLVyeFU

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

 

Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick….

Hello. Hi. Hey. Cheerios. 

 

You might be wondering where I disappeared to these past two days, but you know, you can’t exactly blame me. 

I was sick.

This is really not an excuse. I got a stomachache and then fever. It happened two days ago and yesterday, I just felt really weak so I couldn’t focus on anything, had to postpone another day. Thus, I ended up with doing it today. I am writing it right now… Wait for it!

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

 

Journal Entry 2 (Flushed Away)

Hiya!!! 😀 

This is the (not-so-long) long awaited Journal Entry! Tada! Please read it! 

 

Reader’s Digest (October 2009) – Flushed Away

 

This article is a simple story about how a lady relates of her childhood’s greatest fear – The Outhouse. She finds that the distinct nauseous smell of the outhouse was unbearable and that the lighting was insufficient. She still vividly remembers the night soilmen who would dutifully come before dawn to collect the bucket of waste. Unbelievably, without a single twitch of his nose.

For me, I am only a child who was born in the 20^th Century and thus unable to imagine the sufferings of people in the olden days. I have all I ever could need, a modern toilet, private kitchen, latest facilities, those some people never get to enjoy. When I read this story, it triggered many emotions in me, fear, disgust, pity and most importantly, satisfaction. I am considered maybe a preteen but unlike others, I am very timid by nature, afraid of many things, not just creepy crawlies, but also supernatural things. Thus, when I read of the environment of the Outhouse, I could not help but pity them. I would never even dared step into the dark place. Also, to imagine going to the Outhouse at the end of the day, just brings about great disgust.

One other thing that truly touched me was the description of the night soilmen. To say the truth, what are heroes? Those who save people and kill evil but yet uses only the fanciest equipment? I doubt so. True heroes exist in daily life, realistic people. The soilmen are one of them. They do not mind the stink in the buckets they carry back and forth, they do not mind waking up before dawn so that others can enjoy the clean toilets when they wake up. They help make the place better, helping people. I do not think that helping must mean saving people seconds before they die, simple acts of sacrifice is enough to make a whole lot of difference to a person’s life. Can you imagine what will happen without the night soilmen? I sincerely look up to these people willing to take up a job so tiring and heroic. Even though I am grateful to have the latest technologies, it is such a pity that these great people slowly disappear with the advance of technology.

 

This will be all I am going to write today. Again, the original article is below, take a look!

 

 

Reference: http://www.rdasia.com/flushed-away

” In 1966, I was three years old. My family lived in a tenanted room in a house in a kampung. We had the use of a common kitchen and the surrounding grounds. Most of my memories of kampung life are happy ones. The kampung held everything a young child like me could ever want – space, playmates and adventure.

On hindsight, the one thing I would have wished for was a flushing toilet, located inside the house. To the younger generation today, this may appear to be an absurd statement. Don’t all houses have attached toilets?

I was born at a time when indoor toilets that flushed were not the norm. They were considered a great luxury. Proper sewage and sanitation systems were underdeveloped or simply non-existent, particularly in the kampung.

The house I lived in was enclosed by wire fencing. A small gate led to about ten other similar houses within the compound. I used to walk warily out of our gate because just around the corner, two outhouses loomed ominously. We shared them with a few other households.

The outhouses were simple cubicles made of cheap wooden planks. I still remember how the worn-out doors creaked open to reveal a crude hole in the centre of the floor. A metal oval bucket with two handles was placed under this hole. Woe and mess would befall you if the bucket wasn’t properly aligned with the hole. The outhouses had no lights – a permanent darkness greeted all visitors.

It was no wonder that, at my young age, going to the toilet petrified me. Even before the darkness engulfed me, the stench invaded my nostrils. More often than not, my eyes welled up with tears and I retched violently. This agony intensified as the urgency to use the outhouse outweighed my sensory nightmare.

My greatest fear was to visit the cubicles at the end of the day. As there was little natural light, I needed the help of a flashlight to find my way in the monster’s den. By this late hour, the horrible mass sitting in the bucket had reached a peak, literally.

With my short legs, I had to squat in an awkward position to ensure I could carry on my “business” without creating a mess. At the same time I had to be mindful of not allowing my bare backside to come into contact with the gooey mass in the bucket.

Did I mention the flies? Dozens swarmed around my tiny expanse of a butt, creating a most unwelcome tickling sensation. A few would fall prey to waiting spider webs.

Under these circumstances, I considered it a treat when my mother allowed me to use a potty inside the house instead of sending me to the outhouse. The other big toilet treat was being the first visitor to the dreaded cubicles after the night soilman had cleared the laden buckets.

He usually came early, just after dawn. He would replace the used buckets with empty ones, then hook one full bucket over each end of a bamboo pole and carry them off on his shoulders. This unsung hero did all this without a single twitch of his nostrils.

I asked my mother where he went with the buckets laden with our “contributions”. She told me he took them to farms where they were likely used as fertiliser. This answer gave me an aversion to eating vegetables for a long time.

 

As children, we called the night soilman Sai Apek. It may sound demeaning to modern ears, but it was an honest term of endearment for a man who meant so much to us. He really was a man of immense importance for all of us children with short legs.

Sai Apek and all his colleagues have long since vanished, flushed away into the pages of history by modern indoor plumbing. I would like to meet him one day and say, “Thank you, Sai Apek. You played such a vital role in my life. I miss the sight of you!” It’s all too late now and this will forever remain a regret.

Modernisation has spoiled me. I find myself dreaming of the ultimate Japanese toilet that offers self-flushing functions. It has automated jet streams with regulated hot or cold sprays of water that eliminate the need for toilet paper. There’s even a dryer mode. Each visit to the toilet is a spa treatment complete with music to drown out unexpected, unpleasant sounds and aromatherapy at the press of a button.

Despite such dreams, I have never forgotten the past. Occasionally when I flush my toilet, images of the dreaded outhouses and my saviour, Sai Apek, still swirl through my mind. “

 

Done for today. 🙂

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

A Post With No Central Theme

Hello there! I’m so bored…

I am currently stuck in a super duper whatever-er train, heading for the shopping mall to grab some clothes. Should NOT have done that. So many people! 😥

Anyways, I was extra busy today so I wasn’t able to finish the journal entry. *excuse* Yeah, yeah, I’m procrastinating, happy? I’m not much of a persevering person am I? Hehehehe….

For now, while I have some time, I shall write a not-so-journal like journal entry.

It is about a recent riot that I read about that happened yesterday in my country, one that was surprising as none ever happened for a long time.

It happened when a construction worker was accidentally knocked down by a bus and unfortunately passed away before being able to be sent to the hospital. The paramedics tried their best to rescue the body, however needed quite a while. Other bystanders around them (of the same race) were all of a sudden, infuriated and started hitting the bus window pane. More and more joined in and soon it was declared a riot. People were reported to have burnt police cars even.

From the start, I would like to state clearly that this post is by no means bias to anyone or anything and purely my opinions, if it offends anybody, I am sorry.

I am guessing this riot is not based purely on the fact that one of their fellow citizen has passed away but I believe a built up of many displeasing events. However, I feel that this kind of behavior still need to be withheld as much as possible because it will not necessarily solve the main issue that lead to it and it might also cause harm to many innocent people. We have always been taught to be considerate to others but yet such things, wouldn’t it make all efforts of morally-upright teachings futile?

I believe, and hope that they have rioted for a reason, and a reasonable one too. But what ever it is, I do not think that at this day and age, we should still try and use pure violence to solve problems. We can easily speak to the rightful authority and prevent disruptive acts you might regret.

This are only my humble opinions which might not necessarily be correct. You can air out your opinions below in the comments section.

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World
Cherry

Journal Entry 1 (Returned With Interest)

Hello there,

P.S. Its not really considered ‘later’, is it? A few minutes difference. In any case, read this! ^.^ 

 

Reader’s Digest (August 2009) – Returned With Interest

 

This was an article that I came across while reading Reader’s Digest. As it is the series that my brother bought, you can tell that it was dated quite a while back.

It is actually a short story written by a working adult in Thailand. It was a sweltering hot midday. The writer explains that she saw an old woman in traditional clothing lying on some rubble. She gave the woman enough money to survive for a few months and immediately felt great. However, the old woman unexpectedly returned it to the writer, eyes seemingly mocking her.

I believe what the title meant was that the old woman not only returned her the unnecessary money, she returned to the writer something else, something much more precious. The old woman taught the writer that kindness should not be displayed by material means.

This is not some new knowledge, we all know this deep inside our heart. Yet despite knowing this, I believe many people, maybe even including me, still when met with such situations, choose to give money with the thought that it could settle everything. What they truly need might just be a warm sincere hug or words of comfort. You do not need to be rich to be able to do things like these, but these things are priceless.

Sincerity. Is that not what kind acts truly mean? When you past by a poor beggar on the road, would you be willing to spare a few moments for him or her, see if you could really help? Would you try to appreciate what he or she tries to do to make a living? Or do you just walk by coldly and throw down some spare change you have in hand? Worse, you give him or her a look of contempt?

Think for just a moment. Yes, the beggar might just thank you for giving him enough to earn himself another meal. However, your cold actions, look of contempt punches a hole in his already broken heart, makes himself feel less confident and worthy. He tries to do something at least to show that he is not blatantly asking for money and yet with that simple act, he will feel as if he was still a beggar, worthless.

I am not judging anyone nor am I saying people are wrong to sacrifice a few coins for them. To say the truth, I might do the same, forget myself. Maybe not looks of contempt, but curiousity at their imperfection might I sometimes give them. Thus, this is merely my opinions on an article I happen to chance upon.

If there are indeed any faults in it, I sincerely apologize and please feel free to comment and criticize my views, I am more than happy to understand what other people think about this article. Thanks. The article is below, do take a look.

 

Returned With Interest…

“With a group of colleagues, I travelled to the north of Thailand – Chiang Rai. I loved the heat, the chaotic streets, the busy markets and the smell of Thai cuisine.

One day, I set off from my hotel to find a temple that intrigued me. The heat of the midday sun was oppressive as I walked past some building works. I did a double take as I glanced between two unfinished buildings. There, an old woman in traditional clothing lay on the dusty rubble. The terrible thought crossed my mind that she might be dead.

Feeling quite helpless, I approached her. Her face was well wrinkled and sun-kissed. She looked quite beautiful but very ill. As a reflex, I reached into my pocket to find some money. Tentatively, I pushed it into her hand. It was enough money for her to survive for a few months. I felt like the “kind stranger”.

Without a common language, she looked at me with the wisdom and pity that could burn into a soul. She weakly pushed back the money. I was left shocked. Her eyes were mocking me. It took at least a kilometre of walking to realise I was quite the fool. She didn’t need money. She needed shade, a bottle of water and possibly some human comfort.

That evening, I sat analysing my material version of “kindness”. This beautiful woman had given me something that I will carry for the rest of my life. When I look back upon the experience, I hope my face carries that same wise smile that once mocked me.”

Reference from: http://www.rdasia.com/returned_with_interest

 

By the way, somehow, after writing this post, it reminded me of a song by Carrie Underwood, “Change”. I copied the link down below so you can check it out. It is an amazing song.

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry

 

Change – Carrie Underwood: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Recj83eN50

News! News! People!

Good Afternoon People!

Attention all people who bothers reading my blog,

I will be posting an English ‘Diary’ Entry (so called) every two days from today onwards. It is sort of like an assignment to practice my writing skills but it is also to share with you guys my opinions of some articles I am reading. I will be posting one later on. So, look forward to it! or backwards if you want, I don’t care!  

Thats all for now.

 

A Girl Who Wishes To Live In A Fantasy World

Cherry