GOD's child | INSPI(RED)

nicholas
290591
GOD's child
tkstudentcouncil
bones reloaded
tknpsec3 '06
~~tk2F'05~~
~~tk3A'06~~
~~tk4A'07~~
VJC 08S37

planes
black
tksc exco 2006
VJC 25th Students' Council
disney
new york
new zealand OPC '06
sydney, australia
OBS Arm-sen-bat-ho '06
People to People '09
living strong
staying happy
fighting all odds
keeping the faith
making a difference
WISHLIST
GOD
climbing level 2 by end of yr
be faithful to GOD
prioritize my stuffs
not to get too stressed n neglect things around me
~~taekwondo black belt by 18~~
be more focused, concentrate more
have fun cos life is too short to take it seriously x)

FRIENDS

TK
amirul
atiqah
dai weng
nina
cherie
kiara
junliang
nattaye
fionn
evonne
ming jie
munshi
NCOs 2007
jaclyn
jie rong
jinghan
ruiwen
jessica
jessie
jevonne
syjia
song yang
vera
vera's e-shop
OBS Arm-sen-bat-ho
wan fong
wanswen
yong quan
zheng jun
tk class of 2007

VJC
VJC 08S37
jerald
sarah
leon
collin
lennart
hannah
victoria
katharine
kenrick
xiaowei

junhui

TALK

Archives

May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
March 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
October 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
August 2010
September 2010

Credits

Thank you mellyjelly/drumthings for this fantabulous skin=D

Monday, December 31, 2007

Love Maintenance

The Brain and Love - The Psychology of Love by Marvin Rosen

“No one falls out of love ... One climbs out of it. We give up the hopeless task of making over someone into our ideal. We end the relationship” Yet relationships do survive. As love matures, blemishes may be more apparent but other positive qualities emerge that allow the love relationship to endure.

The maintenance of a relationship involves more than the qualities of initial attraction or the absence of disliked qualities. Initial qualities that influence partner selection, such as physical attractiveness, become less important over time. Other factors now enter into decision-making processes, leading to maintenance of the relationship. These include such things as the person's acceptability to friends, special skills that the partner demonstrates, and common interests in leisure-time activities. However, in mature love relationships, including marriage, the emotional reactions of both partners toward each other need to remain positive overall. The process for long-term relationships requires sufficient time for both partners to get to know each other. Findings from interviews of couples support the need of most respondents for intimacy, beyond passion.

Perhaps the most positive factor in the maintenance of a loving relationship is that each person continues to evaluate the other positively and to communicate this knowledge. At the beginning of a relationship, both partners initiate physical closeness; they make frequent eye contact, give each other gifts, say kind things, hold hands, are thoughtful of each other, and avoid criticism. As the relationship continues, these things tend to occur less frequently. Partners might take each other for granted. If this type of thoughtlessness is constant, it jeopardizes the relationship.

HAPPY 2008!

4:29 AMsent a prayer

Saturday, December 29, 2007

In Retrospect

People I wanna thank for this year in particular. GOD, my family, Cherie, Jevonne, Vera, and the people in TK who have impacted my life in one way or another:

1F & 2F (in no order)
Junliang, Luqman, Yi Feng Gavin, Zairil, Timothy, Wan Yi, Shawn, Nigel, Wei Hao, Edward, Johnathan, Jia Zheng, Su Wei, Kimberly, Fionn, Rui Wen, Jennifer, Alexandria, Cherie, Cheryl, Amelia, Wan, Syarifah, Shafiqah, Jaclyn, Vanessa, Evonne, Supanee, Vera, Kiara, Nina

Teachers: Ms Jeanne Nah, Ms Nani, Mdm Nora, Mr Teo KK, Ms Lim AB, Mdm Shirley Ong, Mrs Khairul, Mdm Goo LH, Ms Kwok SH, Ms Ong SC, Ms Ang ET, Ms Gwendoline Lim, Ms Ong HK, Ms Sri, Mrs Audrey Chen, Ms Erma, Mrs Tan WH

Bones Reloaded
Junliang, Vera, Nina, Kiara

3A & 4A (in no order)
Brenda, Celine, Sabrina, Pamela, Fionn, Elaine, Grace, Jessie, Hui Ting, Kendra, Jennifer, Qingshan, Si Ting, Xiaowei, Mendy, Shearen, Shenna, Cassandra, Li Xuan, Wang Min, Soo Mi, Hwee San, Jolene, Amos, Boon Hao, Jian Yong, Lemuel, Kah Chee, Jia Hsien, Yen Sin, Nandeesh, Firdaus, Narin, Wei Lun, Aaron, Rico, Shun Him

Teachers: Ms Ang ET, Mdm Rubina, Mrs Esther Yap, Ms Maureen Lian, Mrs Hwang LB, Mrs Tan SF, Mrs Lena Poh, Mdm He Xiaohua, Ms Low KS, Mr Tchen BH, Mrs Yeo BL, Mrs Neo LK

tksc exco ’06
Olivia, Jevonne, Cherie, Atiqah

OPC ’06
Jie Rong, Jia Hsien, Jolene, Lenny, Amirul, Cherie, Donna, Wan Fong, Atiqah, Kah Chee, Thong Kiat, Zaki, Jevonne, Daphne, Abygail, Wei Rong, Amalina, Nicholas, Jun Liang

Mr Balbinder Singh, Ms Ada Tan, Jacob, Kelvin

Council

Teachers: Mdm Halilah, Mrs Yeo, Mdm Shahera, Mr Rizal, Ms Nadirah

Sec 4: Grace, Kah Chee, Jia Hsien, Celine, Atiqah, Jevonne, Cherie, Olivia, Stephanie, Yasmin, Amalina, Tania, Zaki, Lenny, Yi Hee, Royce, Bernice, Yin Mei, Syjia, Jia Min, Gladys, Daphne, Jocelyn, Tina, Ming Jie

Sec 3: Andy, Felix, Erwin, Rui Han, Mabel, Kristal, Hui Min, Chin Kiat, Audy, Erfi, Clement, Zhi Wei, Wan Jing, Wei Fang, Janice, Amalya, Jessica, Michelle,

Of course, Mr Tan KH, Mrs Priscilla Chan, Mr Koh TS and Mr Lee YK

The Last Lesson

I started for school very late that morning and was in great dread of a scolding, especially because M. Hamel had said that he would question us on participles, and I did not know the first word about them. For a moment I thought of running away and spending the day out of doors. It was so warm, so bright! The birds were chirping at the edge of the woods; and in the open field back of the sawmill the Prussian soldiers were drilling. It was all much more tempting than the rule for participles, but I had the strength to resist, and hurried off to school.

When I passed the town hall there was a crowd in front of the bulletin-board. For the last two years all our bad news had come from there—the lost battles, the draft, the orders of the commanding officer—and I thought to myself, without stopping:

“What can be the matter now?”

Then, as I hurried by as fast as I could go, the blacksmith, Wachter, who was there, with his apprentice, reading the bulletin, called after me:

“Don’t go so fast, bub; you’ll get to your school in plenty of time!”

I thought he was making fun of me, and reached M. Hamel’s little garden all out of breath.
Usually, when school began, there was a great bustle, which could be heard out in the street, the opening and closing of desks, lessons repeated in unison, very loud, with our hands over our ears to understand better, and the teacher’s great ruler rapping on the table. But now it was all so still! I had counted on the commotion to get to my desk without being seen; but, of course, that day everything had to be as quiet as Sunday morning. Through the window I saw my classmates, already in their places, and M. Hamel walking up and down with his terrible iron ruler under his arm. I had to open the door and go in before everybody. You can imagine how I blushed and how frightened I was.

But nothing happened. M. Hamel saw me and said very kindly:

“Go to your place quickly, little Franz. We were beginning without you.”

I jumped over the bench and sat down at my desk. Not till then, when I had got a little over my fright, did I see that our teacher had on his beautiful green coat, his frilled shirt, and the little black silk cap, all embroidered, that he never wore except on inspection and prize days. Besides, the whole school seemed so strange and solemn. But the thing that surprised me most was to see, on the back benches that were always empty, the village people sitting quietly like ourselves; old Hauser, with his three-cornered hat, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and several others besides. Everybody looked sad; and Hauser had brought an old primer, thumbed at the edges, and he held it open on his knees with his great spectacles lying across the pages.

While I was wondering about it all, M. Hamel mounted his chair, and, in the same grave and gentle tone which he had used to me, said:

“My children, this is the last lesson I shall give you. The order has come from Berlin to teach only German in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The new master comes to-morrow. This is your last French lesson. I want you to be very attentive.”

What a thunderclap these words were to me!

Oh, the wretches; that was what they had put up at the town-hall!

My last French lesson! Why, I hardly knew how to write! I should never learn any more! I must stop there, then! Oh, how sorry I was for not learning my lessons, for seeking birds’ eggs, or going sliding on the Saar! My books, that had seemed such a nuisance a while ago, so heavy to carry, my grammar, and my history of the saints, were old friends now that I couldn’t give up. And M. Hamel, too; the idea that he was going away, that I should never see him again, made me forget all about his ruler and how cranky he was.

Poor man! It was in honor of this last lesson that he had put on his fine Sunday clothes, and now I understood why the old men of the village were sitting there in the back of the room. It was because they were sorry, too, that they had not gone to school more. It was their way of thanking our master for his forty years of faithful service and of showing their respect for the country that was theirs no more.

While I was thinking of all this, I heard my name called. It was my turn to recite. What would I not have given to be able to say that dreadful rule for the participle all through, very loud and clear, and without one mistake? But I got mixed up on the first words and stood there, holding on to my desk, my heart beating, and not daring to look up. I heard M. Hamel say to me:
“I won’t scold you, little Franz; you must feel bad enough. See how it is! Every day we have said to ourselves: ‘Bah! I’ve plenty of time. I’ll learn it to-morrow.’ And now you see where we’ve come out. Ah, that’s the great trouble with Alsace; she puts off learning till to-morrow. Now those fellows out there will have the right to say to you: ‘How is it; you pretend to be Frenchmen, and yet you can neither speak nor write your own language?’ But you are not the worst, poor little Franz. We’ve all a great deal to reproach ourselves with.

“Your parents were not anxious enough to have you learn. They preferred to put you to work on a farm or at the mills, so as to have a little more money. And I? I’ve been to blame also. Have I not often sent you to water my flowers instead of learning your lessons? And when I wanted to go fishing, did I not just give you a holiday?”

Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel went on to talk of the French language, saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world—the clearest, the most logical; that we must guard it among us and never forget it, because when a people are enslaved, as long as they hold fast to their language it is as if they had the key to their prison. Then he opened a grammar and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how well I understood it. All he said seemed so easy, so easy! I think, too, that I had never listened so carefully, and that he had never explained everything with so much patience. It seemed almost as if the poor man wanted to give us all he knew before going away, and to put it all into our heads at one stroke.

After the grammar, we had a lesson in writing. That day M. Hamel had new copies for us, written in a beautiful round hand: France, Alsace, France, Alsace. They looked like little flags floating everywhere in the school-room, hung from the rod at the top of our desks. You ought to have seen how every one set to work, and how quiet it was! The only sound was the scratching of the pens over the paper. Once some beetles flew in; but nobody paid any attention to them, not even the littlest ones, who worked right on tracing their fish-hooks, as if that was French, too. On the roof the pigeons cooed very low, and I thought to myself:

“Will they make them sing in German, even the pigeons?”

Whenever I looked up from my writing I saw M. Hamel sitting motionless in his chair and gazing first at one thing, then at another, as if he wanted to fix in his mind just how everything looked in that little school-room. Fancy! For forty years he had been there in the same place, with his garden outside the window and his class in front of him, just like that. Only the desks and benches had been worn smooth; the walnut-trees in the garden were taller, and the hopvine that he had planted himself twined about the windows to the roof. How it must have broken his heart to leave it all, poor man; to hear his sister moving about in the room above, packing their trunks! For they must leave the country next day.

But he had the courage to hear every lesson to the very last. After the writing, we had a lesson in history, and then the babies chanted their ba, be bi, bo, bu. Down there at the back of the room old Hauser had put on his spectacles and, holding his primer in both hands, spelled the letters with them. You could see that he, too, was crying; his voice trembled with emotion, and it was so funny to hear him that we all wanted to laugh and cry. Ah, how well I remember it, that last lesson!

All at once the church-clock struck twelve. Then the Angelus. At the same moment the trumpets of the Prussians, returning from drill, sounded under our windows. M. Hamel stood up, very pale, in his chair. I never saw him look so tall.

“My friends,” said he, “I—I—” But something choked him. He could not go on.

Then he turned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and, bearing on with all his might, he wrote as large as he could:

“Vive La France!”

Then he stopped and leaned his head against the wall, and, without a word, he made a gesture to us with his hand:

“School is dismissed—you may go.”

www.world-english.org

11:40 PMsent a prayer

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

The Cab Ride I'll Never Forget
by Kent Nerburn

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers".

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

Yesterday's joy will become today's sadness; yet today's sadness will grow into tomorrow's joy.

blessed christmas!

3:40 AMsent a prayer

the story behind 'Make a Wish' foundation

The Littlest Firefighter

The 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that.

But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Bopsy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?"

"Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true."

Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six year old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! "And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat -- not a toy one -- with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast."

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Bopsy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Bopsy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Bopsy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic's van, and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Bopsy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Bopsy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Bopsy as he made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital, extended its ladder up to Bopsy's third floor open window and five firefighters climbed up the ladder into Bopsy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Bopsy looked up at the fire chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?" "Yes, Bopsy, you are a fireman now," the chief said. With those words, Bopsy smiled and closed his eyes one last time. He passed away later that evening.

If we all discovered that we only had five minutes left to say all that we wanted to say, and you were in the telephone booth, who would you call and what will you tell them?

perhaps every phone booth, in fact, will be occupied by people calling other people to tell them that they loved them.

but why wait till the time when you know it's too late to do so?

3:34 AMsent a prayer

Saturday, December 22, 2007

The Holiday excerpts

Some people ask themselves 'Why am I attracted to a person I know is not good?'

I happen to know the answer to this. Because you’re hoping you’re wrong, and every time she does something that tells you she’s not good, you ignore it, and every time she comes through and surprises you, she wins you over and you lose that argument with yourself that she’s not for you.

I know it’s hard to believe people when they say “I know how you feel”, but I actually know how you feel. I understand the feeling as small and insignificant as humanly possible, and how it can actually ache in places that you don’t know you had inside you, and it doesn’t matter how many haircuts you get or gyms you join or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends, you still go to be every night going over the same detail, and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell, for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy? And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new and you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again, and little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.

11:28 PMsent a prayer

The Holiday excerpts

I have found almost everything to be written about love to be true. Shakespeare said “Journeys end in lovers meeting”. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to tat, but I’m more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I’m constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said “Love is blind”. Now that is something I know to be true. For some, quite inexplicably, love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then, of course, love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then there’s another kind of love, the cruellest kind, the one that almost kills its victims, it’s called unrequited love. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other, but what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair, we are the cursed of the loved ones, we are the unloved ones, the walking wounded, the handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space.

11:25 PMsent a prayer

Friday, December 21, 2007

Love, involving both feelings and behavior, can be analyzed on the basis of economic principles. Decisions are often made on the basis of fuzzy perceptions of value, inadequate information, intense physiological inputs, unrealistic expectations, and poor judgment. Gains and losses in love typically do not involve money, but rather an exchange of emotions, rewarding experiences, and satisfying communications.

Relationships that provide greater rewards will last longer. In intimate relationships, rewards consist of companionship, emotional support, and comfort in times of stress. There is a sense of consistency. Your boyfriend or girlfriend is someone you have learned you can count on when you have had a bad day at school or a fight with a friend. Costs are judged in terms of the time it takes to maintain the relationship, conflicts that may occur, and compromises and sacrifices that may be necessary to maintain the relationship. While consistency-one of the rewards of a relationship-is initially satisfying, it also brings a certain loss of freedom. It is assumed that you will not initiate another relationship with someone else. Maintaining the relationship may mean giving up some time spent in the company of friends. The most satisfying relationships, though, achieve a healthy balance. The benefits and cost to one person in the relationship should roughly equal the benefits and costs to the other.

In all relationships, success is based on the recognition of one’s own needs and sensitivity in relation to what the other person genuinely is able and willing to provide. The willingness to engage in a love relationship highlights a sense of priorities. These must be balanced with the priorities of the partner. There must be a willingness to give as well as receive, and to make compromises. One must believe that rewards exceed those that may be found elsewhere. As relationships mature, incentives for each partner may change. New balances must be worked out or the relationship becomes strained to the point of rupture.

10:21 PMsent a prayer

Of forgiving and forgetting

At times, forgiving others coupled with the painful journey of forgetting seems a really distant thing to do. And perhaps it is the people who are close to us, in one way or another, who somehow are the most difficult to forgive. In a way, it is as if your refusal to forgive is too much a part of you to lose it. Who would you be without it? Not yourself. Lost somehow.

I think some things are too hard to forgive and I think some things don’t deserve to be forgiven. What if it wasn’t actually about forgetting the past, but rather the fact that we keep remembering the past whenever we are faced with a road block in our lives?

4:42 AMsent a prayer

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Defining Love

The best way to define something is to list its characteristics. One important aspect of romantic love is the desire to be in the presence of a particular person. One wishes to be approved by that person, to care for and be cared for by that person. One would make sacrifices for him or her. Love includes the desire to join physically with that person and to be intimate. One wishes to know all about that person. If these characteristics are present but are not intense, this is probably a case of “like,” not love.

To love someone means one is pleased by that person’s physical appearance – and approves of his or her manner and way of talking. One cannot get enough of that person and wants to be constantly nearby. For love to be mature, one must learn to respect the person one loves and identify with his or her values. We are proud of our loved one’s accomplishments, saddened by his or her disappointments. We want our relationship to go on forever and trust that it will. In many instances, when passion lessens, the relationship ends. When love is real, it becomes a commitment. We give up ideas of the same type of relationship with someone else. Love brings continuous increases in the degree of caring. If love is not reciprocated, we suffer. Such are the joys and pains of love.

Love is a Great Thing

Love is a great thing, yea, a great and thorough God. By itself it makes that is heavy light; and it bears evenly all that is uneven.

It carries a burden which is no burden; it will not be kept back by anything low and mean; it desires to be free from all worldly affections, and not to be entangles by any outward prosperity, or any adversity subdued.

Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility. It is therefore able to undertake all things, and it completes many things, and warrants them to take effect, where he who does not love would faint and lie down.

Though weary, it is not tired; though pressed it is not straitened; though alarmed, it is not confounded; but as a living flame it forces itself upwards and securely passes through all.

Love is active and sincere, courageous, patient, faithful, prudent and manly.

3:32 AMsent a prayer

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Of reciprocity

I gave some thought to reciprocity a while back. How do we define reciprocity? Of course, the thought that comes to mind will be that of both parties giving and receiving equally from each other.

But what if the balance and equilibrium of reciprocity is challenged? And thereby leading to a case of over-receiving and under-giving and over-giving but under-receiving. Who then, loses more? What if the person who over-gives is one who believes that he or she shouldn’t limit what he or she gives to others as it may be the last time he or she may be seeing them. Or perhaps that he or she believes that everyone deserves the best and that only the best will do – someone like a perfectionist. I suppose there are people out there like that, and about the under-receiving part of him or her, perhaps it is just fair that as long as the cycle of reciprocity is neither imbalanced nor one-way, perhaps that’s what matters after all.

And to me, it means the world.

4:53 AMsent a prayer

Thursday, December 13, 2007

australia 2007 (sydney, cairns, port stephens, blue mountains)