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I read something somewhere about a tip on how to do a HARD task....mould your attitude into one that fits the task.
Not exactly beautiful wordings but....hope you'll get the message. Basically, instead of getting angrier and ANGRIER at something that is hard to do, try singing or think cheerful thoughts. :wave:
Ratchasi......great!! Will remember these if & when I do get married!! :thumbsup:Quote:
Originally Posted by a.ratchasi
Around two weeks ago I was called to judge a talent contest at one of the city colleges. I noticed all the participants were given slips of paper with a topic written on it and told to come up and speak for three minutes.
Lots were drawn as to who would be the first speaker and the next and the next. The first contestant I noticed looked a little disgruntled as he got onto the podium to address the others.
"My fellow students and respected judges," he said loudly, "this is an unfair contest!"
I, along with my fellow judges looked up surprised. "I have been given this paper," he continued, "to speak on a subject with just a few minutes preparation whereas those after me have more time to work on their speech. This is unfair!" He then proceeded to leave the stage and stormed out of the hall.
Nobody missed him and the contest went on smoothly.
I met him on the landing as I was being escorted out later.
"Who said life is fair?" I asked him with a smile. He looked at me startled and I asked him to walk with me to my car. "Life," I
told him, "is fighting the unfair and still winning! Do you read automobile magazines?"
"Yes," he said eagerly, "I do."
"Have you seen statistics shown when a new car is being introduced into the market? They talk about speed and torque and
transmission and horse power."
"Yes," he nodded.
"But there is a line they put after all these figures. They say all this
data is when there are ideal road conditions!"
"Yes," he said again.
"Show me ideal road conditions?" I asked him and he smiled. "The car that sells well," I continued is the car that will deliver power and speed and durability in the worst of roads, in potholes and mud and slush. That car is a winner!"
We had reached my car and he stood by my side as I heaved myself in. "Don't look for ideal playing conditions," I said. "Fight the
unfair and come out a winner!" I looked back in my rear view mirror as I drove away and saw him smile and wave and knew he would fight the unfair from now on.
The fight never stops. Ask all the successful people in our own country. They fight regardless whether the battle is fair or
unfair. Stop telling the world about the unfair deal you've got out of life; start battling the unfair, come out victorious..!
Same here, NM, same, here! :D
A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco.
"Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me.
"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know," the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."
"No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us."
"Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told. The police believed it was suicide.
The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
Love . . .
Brittney loved basketball, Friends and parties too, And when it came to painting, That's all she wanted to do. She painted everything she saw, Birds, flowers, and the sky, Some
days she sat at her window, And painted everything that passed her by. But lately she'd been feeling woozy, Her muscles ached a lot, And her parents got kind of worried, So they took her to the doctor, The doctor took a couple of tests, To see if everything was okay, Then the nurse came out with a look of sadness, And this is what she had to say..
"I'm sorry, but you've got leukemia, " You've got about 3 months more." Then Brittney got up and ran out of the room, And slammed the office door. She ran down the street screaming, And cried her eyes out dry, And stayed up all night, Wondering what it's
like to die.
Her parents held her tightly, And said, "We love you," We'll make your last few months the greatest, "We'll do anything for you." So Brittney and her parents moved to Florida, to live by the sea, Because Brittney loved the ocean, And when she died,
that's where she wanted to be.
She spent her days painting, And horseback riding in by the bay, But one day she met this guy, And his name was Jay. They collected seashells together, And talked about all kinds of things, And then one day while walking, He handed her a ring.
It said, "I love you," Which brought tears to Brittney's eyes, And when he put it on her finger, She began to cry. He asked her what was wrong, and she then replied, "I've got leukemia, and about a month more. " He said," No matter what, I love you And no matter what, you are the one I adore." So they spent everyday together, And swam in the Atlantic all day, But Brittney was getting weaker, And it was hard for her stay awake.
So one day Brittney painted her picture, And gave it to Jay, She said, "I want you to remember me," "Even when I leave this place.."
And one day while they were walking, And searching for seashells in the sand, Brittney collapsed and started to lose her breath, And said to Jay, "Please hold my hand." I love you more than anyone," You are my only true love," But now my time is up," And I'll watch over you from above," Then Brittney's body was lifeless, As she lay in Jay's arms, And he sat there all day, And kept her safe from harm..
I hope this teaches us a lesson. To tell someone you love them whenever you can. Because maybe they'll be gone tomorrow. And you won't be there to hold their hand. Because love is everything to everybody. Without it, the world would be dead. So always tell someone you love them. A parent, boyfriend/girlfriend, or friend.
A man approached Mother Teresa and said, Mother, I want to do something great for God, but I don't know what. Should I start a school, be a missionary in a foreign land, build up a charitable agency? He had great visions. Mother Teresa looked at him closely, with kindness, and responded: What you need to do is make sure that no one in your family goes unloved.
What the Modern Woman Wants
By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand.
'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat.
The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look.
The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.
'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curv ed smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her d aughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe a nd the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely un derstood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the weal th and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar.
Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid?
But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.
Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder.
She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'
The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a lon g time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home.
There's one near Hougang-it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'
The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.'
'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.
This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy, ' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love,Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...
Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
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A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16- to 18-year-olds, has won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries.
In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life.
Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.
'Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country,' said Amanda, who likes drama, history and literature and wants to become a lawyer and a politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising t he competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14- to 15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included students from Australia, Canada and South Africa.
Verified:http://www.thecommonwealth.org/Templ...p?NodeID=38805
ratchasi,
Very touching story indeed. Couldn't believe it is by a 15 year old. Just some time before, I posted a quote in 'Quotes' thread- Be nice to yr kids, they decide your nursing home. I think we need to change it to 'Old age' home! :shock:
Yes, scorpio. It is touching indeed.
Sadly, more and more parents are seen as liability. Thus the need for such 'homes'.