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When you were 1 year old, she fed you and bathed you. You thanked her by crying all night long. When you were 2 years old, she taught you to walk. You thanked her by running away when she called. When you were 3 years old, she made all your meals with love. You thanked her by tossing your plate on the floor. When you were 4 years old, she gave you some crayons You thanked her by coloring the dining room table. When you were 5 years old, she dressed you for the holidays. You thanked her by plopping into the nearest pile of mud. When you were 6 years old, she walked you to school. You thanked her by screaming, "I'M NOT GOING!" When you were 7 years old, she bought you a baseball. You thanked her by throwing it through the next-door-neighbor's window. When you were 8 years old, she handed you an ice cream. You thanked her by dripping it all over your lap. When you were 9 years old, she paid for piano lessons. You thanked her by never even bothering to practice. When you were 10 years old she drove you all day, from soccer to gymnastics to one birthday party after another. You thanked her by jumping out of the car and never looking back. When you were 11 years old, she took you and your friends to the movies. You thanked her by asking to sit in a different row. When you were 12 years old, she warned you not to watch certain TV shows. You thanked her by waiting until she left the house. When you were 13, she suggested a haircut that was becoming. You thanked her by telling her she had no taste. When you were 14, she paid for a month away at summer camp. You thanked her by forgetting to write a single letter. When you were 15, she came home from work, looking for a hug. You thanked her by having your bedroom door locked. When you were 16, she taught you how to drive her car. You thanked her by taking it every chance you could. When you were 17, she was expecting an important call. You thanked her by being on the phone all night. When you were 18, she cried at your high school graduation. You thanked her by staying out partying until dawn. When you were 19, she paid for your college tuition, drove you to campus, carried your bags. You thanked her by saying good-bye outside the dorm so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friends. When you were 20, she asked whether you were seeing anyone. You thanked her by saying, "It's none of your business When you were 21, she suggested certain careers for your future. You thanked her by saying, "I don't want to be like you When you were 22, she hugged you at your college graduation. You thanked her by asking whether she could pay for a trip to Europe. When you were 23, she gave you furniture for your first apartment. You thanked her by telling your friends it was ugly. When you were 24, she met your fiance and asked about your plans for the future. You thanked her by glaring and growling,"Muuhh-ther, please!" When you were 25, she helped to pay for your wedding , and she cried and told you how deeply she loved you. You thanked her by moving halfway across the country When you were 30, she called with some advice on the baby. You thanked her by telling her, "Things are different now." When you were 40, she called to remind you of a relative's birthday. You thanked her by saying you were "really busy right now. When you were 50, she fell ill and needed you to take care of her. You thanked her by reading about the burden parents become to their children. And then, one day, she quietly died. And everything you never did came crashing down like thunder. If she's still around, never forget to love her more than ever. And if she's not, remember her unconditional love. Give your love to your Mom! Until it's too late! Enjoy these precious moments together!
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A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffeeand an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee. When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups have been taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones.'' While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups... And then you began eyeing each other's cups. Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee. Savor the coffee, not the cups! The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything. Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.
Many years ago in a small village, a farmer had the misfortune of owing a large sum of money to a village moneylender.
The moneylender, who was an awful, mean man, fancied the farmer's beautiful daughter. Since the farmer was unable to pay the dept, the moneylender proposed a deal. He said he would forgot the farmer's debt if he could marry his daughter. Both the farmer and his daughter were horrified by the proposal. So the cunning money-lender suggested that they let providence decide the matter. He told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty money bag.
Then the girl would have to pick one pebble from the bag. 1. If she picked the black pebble, she would become his wife and her father's debt would be forgiven.
2. If she picked the white pebble she need not marry him and her father's debt would still be forgiven.
3. But if she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be thrown into jail. They were standing on a pebble strewn path in the farmer's field. As they talked, the moneylender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two black pebbles and put them into the bag. He then told the girl to pick a pebble from the bag.
Now, imagine that you were standing in the field.
What would you have done if you were the girl?
If you had to advise her, what would you have told her? ----
Careful analysis would produce three possibilities: 1. The girl should refuse to take a pebble.
2. The girl should show that there were two black pebbles in the bag and expose the money-lender as a cheat.
3. The girl should pick a black pebble and sacrifice herself in order to save her father from his debt and imprisonment. Take a moment to ponder over the story. The above story is used with the hope that it will help us appreciate the difference between lateral and logical thinking. The girl's dilemma cannot be solved with traditional logical thinking. Think of the consequences if she chooses the above logical answers.
What would you recommend to the Girl to do?
Well, here is what she did....
The girl put her hand into the moneybag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it immediately became lost among all the other pebbles.
"Oh, how clumsy of me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."
Since the remaining pebble is black, it is reasonable to assumed that she had picked the white one. And since the money-lender dared not admit his dishonesty, the girl changed what seemed an impossible situation into an extremely favorable one for herself and her father.
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 Partly this is how i will feel, perhaps.
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Once upon a time there was an artist who was endowed with a terrible gift - when he painted a portrait, it revealed the innermost secrets of the subject to all who looked upon it. The artist, being a fellow of good conscience, (but also unable to stop himself painting, for that was his destiny), devised a strategy. If anyone wanted their portrait painting, he would say to them: ‘I will happily paint your picture. But on one condition. You may look at it yourself, but you must never, ever, show it to anyone else.' People were happy to agree to these terms, as they knew that they would learn much from looking at his painting of themselves: one's innermost secrets are, after all, rarely known to oneself. The artist entered into this pact of secrecy between himself and his subjects with the highest motives: he knew that people would learn much from seeing their own secrets laid bare in his brush-strokes. By looking at his paintings, he felt, they would be able to live better, happier, lives. Thus, he was able to continue painting, and people's secrets stayed hidden, and not out in the world where they could cause upset and havoc. He was the most celebrated artist in the land, despite the fact that no-one had ever seen anything he had painted. One winter's day, however, when the weather was cold and no-one had come to his studio to request a picture for many days, the artist decided to paint a self-portrait. He set up a mirror and his easel and mixed his paints, and began tracing the outline of his own features. He worked on the picture for several days. As he worked he was pleased - his brush-strokes were unusually keen, the likeness was, he had to admit, exceptionally good. But when the painting was dry and he looked upon it again, it told him a terrible secret: it told him that in his heart of hearts, he didn't enter into the pact of secrecy with his subjects in order to protect them - he did it because he liked the feeling of having wriggled like woodworm into the lives of so many people. He liked the fact that all over the land, people couldn't help peeking at pictures of themselves, and either saying a small prayer of thanks to him, or muttering dark words of hatred. The artist was greatly distressed by this revelation, and smashed his easel, stamped on his paints so that they burst all over his feet, and resolved never to paint a picture again. After several days however, he realised that as long as he was alive, he couldn't keep himself from painting. So instead of portraits, he resolved to change his subject. From this day forward, he told himself, he would paint only still lives; Vases of flowers, tiny ornaments, arrangements of bottles. Never again would he paint a human face. Never again would he unwittingly reveal a secret. The artist painted his bottles, flowers, ornaments etc for just a few months before, quite unexpectedly one blustery evening, he was killed at his easel as he worked on a painting. A rich merchant, suspecting his wife of infidelity, had found a miniature that the artist had painted of her. On looking at the portrait, he saw instantly that his wife had not in fact been unfaithful to him, but that her heart harboured a secret much worse: in truth, she had never loved the merchant, she found him ignorant, and had married him out of a mixture of pity and greed. Unable to take out his rage on his wife, whom he loved, he sought out the artist, and stabbed him through the heart. He then took the paintings that were hanging around the studio, the paintings of bottles and flowers and ornaments, and flung them into the river. It is said that the paintings floated away, and have turned up over time at all four corners of the globe. It is also said that you can tell them instantly: they are strange and unsettling to look at. Because although the artist never again revealed the secrets of another human subject after the day he painted his self-portrait, his terrible gift was still at work: the bottles, ornaments, fruit, etc - all these inanimate objects are also full of secrets. But they are speaking in a language we cannot understand. The effect of seeing one of these paintings, saturated as it is with the whisperings of objects, is said to be upsetting in ways that hang just out of reach, like a sneeze that never quite comes. The world of objects, it seems, is a frightening and unpleasant place. We should be thankful we do not have to learn what is really going on. We are saved only from this knowledge by the muteness of Things. From E F Walser's Forgotten Folk Tales, Colophon Press, 1923.
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Sally sat in Rosie’s Café, staring out of the window.Her tea was cold, but if she noticed, she didn’t care.Beep.Her mobile buzzed: One new text.Hey, do you have the final draft ready? I need it ASAP.Cheers,AaronAnd for a single, fatal moment, her mind drifted...She saw him every day, in some form or another. As he walked past, her eyes were trained to his, and he was the only one in the crowd who mattered, no matter who else was there.She knew him, so well, she had listened to every word he had ever said to her, every look was burned indelibly into her mind.She needed him to see her. She did all she could think of: she stood in front of a crowd and risked everything to make him notice her.She changed her hair, her clothes, her manners. She did everything she could to be the girl he wanted. But she still seemed as noticeable to him as wallpaper.No-one could see, to look at her. Her face was blank, her eyes open to the world around her. No one could see that her senses were attentive to nothing but his every move, while her mind tried to rationalize this new presence in her consciousness.She wanted him to see it too, but she couldn’t say a word. A whole world was stretched between them, a world of his ignorance or indifference to her thoughts and her feelings.She had spent years just waiting for him to notice. A hundred times she thought that he had finally realized, and a hundred times she was proven wrong.She knew that it would never go away. It was a shallow depth, a longing for the man in her head, not the man beside her. The perfect being who would see her for who she was, and give up everything to be with her.And she knew it was stupid, and crazy, and self-destructive.So she convinced herself to lock him out. Her heart and mind left, they dreamed about other faces as his sat, in profile, half a meter away.She did this a thousand times. Every time, every lousy time, he found the key back in, without realizing he’d done it. They were friends, he knew her, on some level. She supposed that that was how he did it.But he had never looked at her twice.Her hands skimmed over the keys of her phone, the words flowing as she wrote back:I’m at Rosie’s Cafe. Meet me? SallyHer hand hovered over the ‘send key’.She sighed, and added one last line to her message:xxx
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When you were 1 year old, she fed you and bathed you. You thanked her by crying all night long. When you were 2 years old, she taught you to walk. You thanked her by running away when she called. When you were 3 years old, she made all your meals with love. You thanked her by tossing your plate on the floor. When you were 4 years old, she gave you some crayons You thanked her by coloring the dining room table. When you were 5 years old, she dressed you for the holidays. You thanked her by plopping into the nearest pile of mud. When you were 6 years old, she walked you to school. You thanked her by screaming, "I'M NOT GOING!" When you were 7 years old, she bought you a baseball. You thanked her by throwing it through the next-door-neighbor's window. When you were 8 years old, she handed you an ice cream. You thanked her by dripping it all over your lap. When you were 9 years old, she paid for piano lessons. You thanked her by never even bothering to practice. When you were 10 years old she drove you all day, from soccer to gymnastics to one birthday party after another. You thanked her by jumping out of the car and never looking back. When you were 11 years old, she took you and your friends to the movies. You thanked her by asking to sit in a different row. When you were 12 years old, she warned you not to watch certain TV shows. You thanked her by waiting until she left the house. When you were 13, she suggested a haircut that was becoming. You thanked her by telling her she had no taste. When you were 14, she paid for a month away at summer camp. You thanked her by forgetting to write a single letter. When you were 15, she came home from work, looking for a hug. You thanked her by having your bedroom door locked. When you were 16, she taught you how to drive her car. You thanked her by taking it every chance you could. When you were 17, she was expecting an important call. You thanked her by being on the phone all night. When you were 18, she cried at your high school graduation. You thanked her by staying out partying until dawn. When you were 19, she paid for your college tuition, drove you to campus, carried your bags. You thanked her by saying good-bye outside the dorm so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friends. When you were 20, she asked whether you were seeing anyone. You thanked her by saying, "It's none of your business When you were 21, she suggested certain careers for your future. You thanked her by saying, "I don't want to be like you When you were 22, she hugged you at your college graduation. You thanked her by asking whether she could pay for a trip to Europe. When you were 23, she gave you furniture for your first apartment. You thanked her by telling your friends it was ugly. When you were 24, she met your fiance and asked about your plans for the future. You thanked her by glaring and growling,"Muuhh-ther, please!" When you were 25, she helped to pay for your wedding , and she cried and told you how deeply she loved you. You thanked her by moving halfway across the country When you were 30, she called with some advice on the baby. You thanked her by telling her, "Things are different now." When you were 40, she called to remind you of a relative's birthday. You thanked her by saying you were "really busy right now. When you were 50, she fell ill and needed you to take care of her. You thanked her by reading about the burden parents become to their children. And then, one day, she quietly died. And everything you never did came crashing down like thunder. If she's still around, never forget to love her more than ever. And if she's not, remember her unconditional love. Give your love to your Mom! Until it's too late! Enjoy these precious moments together!
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A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffeeand an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee. When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups have been taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones.'' While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups... And then you began eyeing each other's cups. Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee. Savor the coffee, not the cups! The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything. Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.
Many years ago in a small village, a farmer had the misfortune of owing a large sum of money to a village moneylender.
The moneylender, who was an awful, mean man, fancied the farmer's beautiful daughter. Since the farmer was unable to pay the dept, the moneylender proposed a deal. He said he would forgot the farmer's debt if he could marry his daughter. Both the farmer and his daughter were horrified by the proposal. So the cunning money-lender suggested that they let providence decide the matter. He told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty money bag.
Then the girl would have to pick one pebble from the bag. 1. If she picked the black pebble, she would become his wife and her father's debt would be forgiven.
2. If she picked the white pebble she need not marry him and her father's debt would still be forgiven.
3. But if she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be thrown into jail. They were standing on a pebble strewn path in the farmer's field. As they talked, the moneylender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two black pebbles and put them into the bag. He then told the girl to pick a pebble from the bag.
Now, imagine that you were standing in the field.
What would you have done if you were the girl?
If you had to advise her, what would you have told her? ----
Careful analysis would produce three possibilities: 1. The girl should refuse to take a pebble.
2. The girl should show that there were two black pebbles in the bag and expose the money-lender as a cheat.
3. The girl should pick a black pebble and sacrifice herself in order to save her father from his debt and imprisonment. Take a moment to ponder over the story. The above story is used with the hope that it will help us appreciate the difference between lateral and logical thinking. The girl's dilemma cannot be solved with traditional logical thinking. Think of the consequences if she chooses the above logical answers.
What would you recommend to the Girl to do?
Well, here is what she did....
The girl put her hand into the moneybag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it immediately became lost among all the other pebbles.
"Oh, how clumsy of me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."
Since the remaining pebble is black, it is reasonable to assumed that she had picked the white one. And since the money-lender dared not admit his dishonesty, the girl changed what seemed an impossible situation into an extremely favorable one for herself and her father.
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Partly this is how i will feel, perhaps.
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Once upon a time there was an artist who was endowed with a terrible gift - when he painted a portrait, it revealed the innermost secrets of the subject to all who looked upon it. The artist, being a fellow of good conscience, (but also unable to stop himself painting, for that was his destiny), devised a strategy. If anyone wanted their portrait painting, he would say to them: ‘I will happily paint your picture. But on one condition. You may look at it yourself, but you must never, ever, show it to anyone else.' People were happy to agree to these terms, as they knew that they would learn much from looking at his painting of themselves: one's innermost secrets are, after all, rarely known to oneself. The artist entered into this pact of secrecy between himself and his subjects with the highest motives: he knew that people would learn much from seeing their own secrets laid bare in his brush-strokes. By looking at his paintings, he felt, they would be able to live better, happier, lives. Thus, he was able to continue painting, and people's secrets stayed hidden, and not out in the world where they could cause upset and havoc. He was the most celebrated artist in the land, despite the fact that no-one had ever seen anything he had painted. One winter's day, however, when the weather was cold and no-one had come to his studio to request a picture for many days, the artist decided to paint a self-portrait. He set up a mirror and his easel and mixed his paints, and began tracing the outline of his own features. He worked on the picture for several days. As he worked he was pleased - his brush-strokes were unusually keen, the likeness was, he had to admit, exceptionally good. But when the painting was dry and he looked upon it again, it told him a terrible secret: it told him that in his heart of hearts, he didn't enter into the pact of secrecy with his subjects in order to protect them - he did it because he liked the feeling of having wriggled like woodworm into the lives of so many people. He liked the fact that all over the land, people couldn't help peeking at pictures of themselves, and either saying a small prayer of thanks to him, or muttering dark words of hatred. The artist was greatly distressed by this revelation, and smashed his easel, stamped on his paints so that they burst all over his feet, and resolved never to paint a picture again. After several days however, he realised that as long as he was alive, he couldn't keep himself from painting. So instead of portraits, he resolved to change his subject. From this day forward, he told himself, he would paint only still lives; Vases of flowers, tiny ornaments, arrangements of bottles. Never again would he paint a human face. Never again would he unwittingly reveal a secret. The artist painted his bottles, flowers, ornaments etc for just a few months before, quite unexpectedly one blustery evening, he was killed at his easel as he worked on a painting. A rich merchant, suspecting his wife of infidelity, had found a miniature that the artist had painted of her. On looking at the portrait, he saw instantly that his wife had not in fact been unfaithful to him, but that her heart harboured a secret much worse: in truth, she had never loved the merchant, she found him ignorant, and had married him out of a mixture of pity and greed. Unable to take out his rage on his wife, whom he loved, he sought out the artist, and stabbed him through the heart. He then took the paintings that were hanging around the studio, the paintings of bottles and flowers and ornaments, and flung them into the river. It is said that the paintings floated away, and have turned up over time at all four corners of the globe. It is also said that you can tell them instantly: they are strange and unsettling to look at. Because although the artist never again revealed the secrets of another human subject after the day he painted his self-portrait, his terrible gift was still at work: the bottles, ornaments, fruit, etc - all these inanimate objects are also full of secrets. But they are speaking in a language we cannot understand. The effect of seeing one of these paintings, saturated as it is with the whisperings of objects, is said to be upsetting in ways that hang just out of reach, like a sneeze that never quite comes. The world of objects, it seems, is a frightening and unpleasant place. We should be thankful we do not have to learn what is really going on. We are saved only from this knowledge by the muteness of Things. From E F Walser's Forgotten Folk Tales, Colophon Press, 1923.
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Sally sat in Rosie’s Café, staring out of the window.Her tea was cold, but if she noticed, she didn’t care.Beep.Her mobile buzzed: One new text.Hey, do you have the final draft ready? I need it ASAP.Cheers,AaronAnd for a single, fatal moment, her mind drifted...She saw him every day, in some form or another. As he walked past, her eyes were trained to his, and he was the only one in the crowd who mattered, no matter who else was there.She knew him, so well, she had listened to every word he had ever said to her, every look was burned indelibly into her mind.She needed him to see her. She did all she could think of: she stood in front of a crowd and risked everything to make him notice her.She changed her hair, her clothes, her manners. She did everything she could to be the girl he wanted. But she still seemed as noticeable to him as wallpaper.No-one could see, to look at her. Her face was blank, her eyes open to the world around her. No one could see that her senses were attentive to nothing but his every move, while her mind tried to rationalize this new presence in her consciousness.She wanted him to see it too, but she couldn’t say a word. A whole world was stretched between them, a world of his ignorance or indifference to her thoughts and her feelings.She had spent years just waiting for him to notice. A hundred times she thought that he had finally realized, and a hundred times she was proven wrong.She knew that it would never go away. It was a shallow depth, a longing for the man in her head, not the man beside her. The perfect being who would see her for who she was, and give up everything to be with her.And she knew it was stupid, and crazy, and self-destructive.So she convinced herself to lock him out. Her heart and mind left, they dreamed about other faces as his sat, in profile, half a meter away.She did this a thousand times. Every time, every lousy time, he found the key back in, without realizing he’d done it. They were friends, he knew her, on some level. She supposed that that was how he did it.But he had never looked at her twice.Her hands skimmed over the keys of her phone, the words flowing as she wrote back:I’m at Rosie’s Cafe. Meet me? SallyHer hand hovered over the ‘send key’.She sighed, and added one last line to her message:xxx
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I'm loud, hyper active, noisy, straight forward and impatience.
I'm obsessed with hardcore music, night life, branded retro/vintage blackz & messy emo.
22's Noven,I (heart) you!
I ♥ Yishun4tou, my brothers, my sisters and reading.
Ps: Human's trust are blinded by greed.
Any enquires please email to jeanette94_fk@hotmail.com.
Thank you!
Unbreakable love.
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Atiq♥
AhJon
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Cherie, Sister♥
Dominic
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Hermia
Junhong
Jacelin, Sister♥
Junkai, Brother
Kelvin, Brother♥
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Kianhou
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Lihern
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Meiyi, Sister♥
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Weixin
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Zhixiu
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Unconditional Love
