The Witch

By: Mikejuha
email: getmybox@hotmail.com
fb: getmybox@yahoo.com

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I was ten years old when I had this group of friends, about my age, who were really naughty. During our spare time we would congregate at the front yard of one of these friends’ house. The front yard happens to be facing the road. Whenever we ran out of things to do, we would stone everyone passing by that road: boys, elderly people, vehicle, etc, just to scare them. And when the poor terrified persons would focus their furious eyes towards our direction, we would scamper to hide laughing vigorously at our wickedness.

There was this one old woman who lived in a bamboo hut on the hill nearby the road, opposite this friend's house. The hut used to be a place to smoke and dry copra but the owner did not use it anymore. It measured like four square meters; its thatch was rotting and was dotted with cracks and openings. Inside, a narrow bamboo elevation just enough to lie down could be seen and for which the old woman used as her bed and the whole flooring was the filled ground used to be the hollow for producing fire and smoke. On its surroundings, cacao and coconut trees abounded which made it a cool and dark place even on a noon sun.

The old woman was in her seventies, had a long grey hair and usually wore an old dark patched dress. At her age, she looked healthy and strong although she walked like her body was bent all the time. She did all her chores: cooking, laundry, cleaning the surroundings, and fetching water. She also gathers fire woods and odd fallen coconuts which she used to sell for a living. The only things she personally treasured were that hut, a handful of old dresses, and an arched silky comb which she always slot in on her hair.

My friends call her a witch because the woman just sprung up from nowhere and she looked horrifying with her long grey hair and fiery eyes. When she arrived in our place, many children got sick and a few had died. It could have been just a coincidence but since then, everyone’s hair would stand just by the sight of the hut where she lived.

The old woman had no relatives and we did not see anyone visiting her. Like my friends, I believed that she was really a witch. So every time we thought of nasty things and we could see no passers-by to scare, we would attack her hut until she would go out frantically yelling, “Stop it! Stop it!” and we would scamper for a hide laughing and chortling in all evilness.

One day when we got tired of waiting for passers-by, our minds were focused on the “witch’s” house. So we crossed the road, climbed up the hill bringing along packs of stones like soldiers aiming for a battle. And when we reached at a safe throwing distance, we inundated the poor old woman’s hut with stones until she went out darting and yelling. But we continued. I went nearer, hurled a huge rock into the top of the hut and it fell down straight into the floor creating a gaping hole on the roof. Everyone cheered in what I did. Then, as another friend hurled a fist-size stone into the hut, it accidentally landed on the old woman’s face. She fell into the ground, her forehead bleeding. Everyone ran in panic and someone shouted, “Run, or the witch will kill us all!”

I stood there petrified at the bleeding face of the old woman. She cried in pain and struggled to stand up. I could not figure out what exactly to do with my mind screaming, “Run! She’s a witch! She’s a witch!” But a feeling of sympathy crept into my system. I rushed straight to the old woman, helped her up, assisted her to walk and sit into the wooden, decapitated chair which she probably took from someone’s garbage.

Seeing the blood still oozing from her head, I removed my shirt instinctively and pressed it on her wound. I held it for a few minutes, the woman seemed motionless, not saying any word but I saw tears flowed down her face. Then she held the cloth on her forehead as I remained flabbergasted. She still did not talk.

As I looked around and saw the inside of her house for the first time, I felt a sudden surge of pity. All the possessions she had were so meager, even garbage-like. She did not have a radio, no tap water, no relaxing bed or furniture, not even a mosquito net. She had a coconut shell for a glass, and her bolo was a blunt metal with a cloth wrapped at its tip to make for a handle. And in one part of the wall, I saw a wooden crucifix, a rosary hung on it and a picture of the blessed Mary posted beside. “How could people call her a ‘witch’?” was all my mind could ask. All I saw in her was an old woman who, in spite of everything, still struggled to move on to find peace and meaning in her remaining life.

“Lola (grandma), I am sorry for what I and my friends did; they said you are a witch so we stoned your hut” I said in an air of compunction.

She smiled exposing her two swelling lower front teeth, her only remaining, looked at me and said, “It’s ok my little boy. It’s what some people call me” her face gradually turned sad “But, I’m ok; you have nothing to worry. Thank you for helping me. God will have mercy on you. Oh... look at your shirt; it’s soaked with blood now. Your mama will be angry with you” as she removed it from her forehead, handed it to me. Her wound already stopped bleeding.

“It’s ok Lola, I still have many shirts” I said receiving my shirt and moved closer to her to wipe the remaining trace of blood and tears from her face. As I wiped her face, I felt her tenderness, her frailty as well as her strength of will and spirit. It seemed that something in me had known her already. Probably, it was the grandmother figure which I saw in her but I never had experienced in my childhood. My fear had totally vanished.

“What is your name?” She asked.

“Michael” I said as I sat on a bamboo bench.

“What a very nice name! Where do you live, Michael?”

“We live beside that road”, pointing to the road just below the hill “Maybe half a kilometer from here”

“And do you still have your parents and grandparents?”

“My parents; I have no more grandparents. My father said my grandmother is still alive but she’s in the other island-province, and I have never seen her”

“Oh, she must be old too, like me” she smiled. “You know, I had a son. He looked like you when he was a kid. His name was Jeremy. When he turned twenty, he went to the big city and since then, I never heard from him anymore. I don’t know if he is still alive today”

“Do you still remember his face?”

“Yes, sometimes, he appears in my dream” she said as tears loomed in her eyes.

“But, how about your husband, or your brother or sister... why don’t you go with them?”

“Oh... I have no brother or sister, Michael; my husband died a long time ago. When he harvested coconuts, he fell from one of the trees.”

“How about your house... where did you stay before?”

“O Michael, you are too young but very inquisitive...” she released a huge smile. “It’s a long story but let’s just say I sold it, although I did not receive any money for it. The new owner kicked me out. They said I signed something that will prove I already received the payment. It was a long time ago. Since then, I stayed on the streets, in any place. And one evening as I was trekking that road looking for a place to sleep, I saw this hut and decided to stay, scavenged things from everyone’s garbage so I can use them.” She paused in a deep sigh and continued, “Hmm, sometimes life is just so hard to live and to understand. But I’m almost there. When I die, I can say to myself and to God that the life He gave me was difficult and painful but I was able to surmount it until the end, without complaint, without surrender...”

I felt a deep sense of pity for what I heard. It was as if a knife pierced into my heart knowing that after other ruthless people deceitfully took her house from her, there I was demolishing her new-found one. I could not anymore understand about the other things she said about life. Perhaps, I was just too young to find out what she meant.

“Don’t worry, Lola, my father is a skilled carpenter, I will ask him to repair your roof so that when rain comes, you will be safe here.”

“O, thank you Michael. If your father will do that, I will be very happy. But, otherwise, it’s ok. I can just place a plastic and some cardboard and it will be ok.” Then she continued, “Oh, you can call me Lola Ayang”

That was how I knew Lola Ayang. Since that encounter, I would already come and visit her, bring her foods or anything that could be of help to her. I even accompanied her to gather firewood or fallen odd coconuts which she would sell. In return, she would tell me different stories. My friends were still skeptical about my friendship with the old woman, but one time when they snooped around to investigate what I was doing in her hut, they heard Lola Ayang narrating me a story. When they heard it, one by one they came out from their hiding places and sat beside me all enthusiastic to listen. And when the story was over, all I heard were my friends clapping their hands and asking questions about what happened to the different characters of the story, and so on. I felt so happy to see my friends so delighted with Lola Ayang’s story. They seemed to have a change of heart.

Then one by one, I introduced them to Lola Ayang. When it was Roger’s turn I said, “Lola, this is Roger, the one who hit you in the face. Say sorry to Lola Ayang, Roger.” I demanded.

Hesitatingly, Roger said, “I’m sorry Lola Ayang. I will never do it again.”

Lola Ayang just smiled and said, “O, forget it. Just never do it again with anyone, ok?”

Since then, Lola Ayang’s hut became our hangout. We would help her in her chores, play games, climbed up the trees that surrounded the hut, or simply listen to Lola’s story. With us following and guarding her wherever she went, she became like the Snow White in the fairy tale and we, the dwarfs. The old woman seemed to have the charm which caught us spellbound. And the good thing was that we never stoned anyone passing by the road anymore. We followed whatever Lola Ayang told us to do or not to do.

One afternoon, it was raining hard. The radio announced that there was a typhoon. While I was in the comfort of my house, I suddenly remembered Lola Ayang. “God! I forgot to ask my father to repair her damaged roof!” I screamed. So, feeling guilty and worried about what could have happened to her, I put on a raincoat, took an umbrella and prepared to check on the old woman.

But Just as I was about to leave, my mom stopped me, “Michael, where are you going! It is raining hard and the wind is so strong, you could be harmed outside!” she shouted.

“Mom, I’ll go check on Lola Ayang, I damaged her roof and it was not repaired!” I pleadingly reasoned.

“Ok, wait there, I’ll ask your father to come with you!”

So my father and I went out. When we reached the hut, Lola Ayang was lying on her small bed all soaked with the rainwater and shaking in the cold temperature. Her lips were paper-white and all her things were wet. My father and I assisted her to stand. “Lola, you will come with us to my house, ok?”

She did not answer but allowed us to guide her until we reached our house still shaking. Mother helped her to change her wet clothes with her old ones. After she had changed, mom gave her a hot chocolate to drink. All she could say was, “Thank you! Thank you! God will have mercy on you”

She slept with us for one night. And when the weather was fine the following day, father hurried to repair her hut’s roof, using nipa leaves from the creek in our farm. I and my friends helped in the repair too. Lola Ayang was so happy.

That day, I stayed behind after the roof was fully restored and everyone left. I helped her fix her other wet things when suddenly she said, “Michael, when I am gone and you will meet or know of someone by the name of Jeremy, ask him who his mother was. I have a feeling that he’s just there and I will not live that long to see him anymore... At least, if you meet him, you can tell him all about me. Will you promise that?”

“Yes, Lola I promise” I replied, so full of innocence on what made her say that.

One morning as my friend Roger was playing by the road near Lola Ayang’s hut, a mad dog, its eyes red and fiery and its saliva dangling from its mouth appeared and upon seeing Roger, chased him. Roger ran as fast as he could to Lola Ayang’s hut. Lola Ayang hurriedly took her bolo and faced the approaching dog. While Roger was able to free himself from the dog’s chase, it was Lola Ayang whom the dog tackled. As the dog approached, Lola readied the bolo for a big whack. But the dog bit Lola Ayang’s leg first before she could hit it in the head. The dog fell on the ground as all of us scampered to hit its still moving body with anything we could get hold of.

When we were sure the dog was already dead, we shouted for joy and celebration. But in the corner, there was Lola Ayang seemingly in pain from the bite of the dog. I approached her, “Are you OK, Lola?”

“I will be fine” she said her voice struggling, her hand laid over her wound. “I just need a little rest and I will be fine.” Then she looked for some old clothes to bind it.

Having heard of Lola’s assurance that she was fine, we proceeded to bury the dead dog and left the old woman allowing her take a rest.

But it was the last time. The following day, she was found dead in her hut due to the mad dog’s bite.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw Lola Ayang lying lifeless on her bed. She looked in pain but her face revealed the strength that she must have mustered to fight for life. I felt my tears just flowed down.

All of my friends went to the hut. And there was Roger crying so hard in all remorse and gratefulness. But no amount of tears could bring her back to life. Until the end, Lola Ayang stood up to make one last act of kindness: to offer her life just so that Roger – the boy who hit her on the face – could live.

When everyone learned of Lola Ayang’s heroism, everyone in the village gathered at her hut to show their sympathy, gratitude, and admiration. They extended help and everything they could contribute to give the old woman a decent burial. For those who believed she was a witch, she was vindicated. In her death, Lola Ayang regained the respect and love that she long deserved.

Until this moment, all I could remember of the old woman was her smile, her stories, her determination, her contentment in spite of everything, her unquestioning faith, and her wish to find her Jeremy.

I don’t know if I will ever find Jeremy to tell him her story. But her story lives in me, in my friends, and in those whose lives she touched. Wherever she may be, I know that she now have the peace, the comfort, and the happiness that she rightfully deserves.

End.

Jake (To My Best Friend And Hero)

By: Mikejuha
email: getmybox@hotmail.com
fb: getmybox@yahoo.com

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When I was twelve years old, I used to visit a rice paddy a few meters away from our house. The paddy, measuring like 150 square meters, was situated at the foot of a hill which teemed with wild plants. I liked the place so much because on its edge, the big trees provided cool shades and refreshing air, not to mention the wild fruits like guavas and papayas ready for grabs. Nearby, a small fresh-water creek provided for an added touch of communing with nature if not an invitation for a swim. On the hill, I could see the bird’s-eye view of my entire village, a place of just around thirty families where everyone knows everybody, even the names of our neighbors’ pet dogs and cats.

The paddy was under the charge of Jake, a boy of my age. He was much bigger, with a body so firm and a skin as brown as the mud he assiduously tilled. His arms were strong and in his eyes reflected the physical hardships he passed through all those years of his life. Jake was the fourth child of five brothers and four sisters; the eldest being fifteen, the next, fourteen, then thirteen, and so on – maybe a gap of a year in succession. Their family was big, noisy, even messy one. And even if there were many of them to share with whatever little was there in the family, I liked their set-up; unlike my family which was lonely and boring. I mean, probably because being the youngest kid, the next sibling closest to me was ten years older. So, that at my age of twelve, both my sisters and an only brother had their own separate families to look after. I was like an only child, left alone in the house most of the time when my parents would work in the farm.

My friendship with Jake was actually born out of accident, or shall I say, divine providence. I didn’t really know Jake that much. But one Saturday noon while I was taking a dip at the creek, something happened. I thought the water was shallow. It was too late when I realized it was deep enough to drown me. The water sucked me down and things happened so quickly. I tried hard to wriggle forcefully my hands and feet to lift myself up the surface and shout for help. But nobody seemed around. As I engulfed more and more water, I resigned myself to death. Suddenly, someone pulled my hair up and dragged me to the edge of the creek. It was Jake. He laid me on my back and pressed my belly hard. As I coughed the water out of me, he laughed in delight as I joined him laugh in all frightfulness.

“So, you don’t know how to swim, huh?” he asked still laughing like nothing serious had happened.

“No. Maybe, I’ll learn later.” I answered sheepishly. “Thank you for saving me.”

“No sweat! If you like, I’ll teach you how to swim.”

“You will? Yes, I like that!” I answered excitedly.

That was the beginning of our close friendship and my fondness to visit the paddy. Jake had saved my life and I owed him later another thing – learning how to swim. I became close to his family too. It was with Jake and his brothers that I experienced real brother stuffs – companionship, friendship, to play games, to talk to, to have amicable fights, fun, even crazy things like real brothers do. For me, theirs was a great and happy family. I mean, except for one thing – their parents reared them with utmost discipline, especially their father who at times become irritable and would punish them even for simple childish mistakes. Every time a crime was committed, expect that a sentence by hanging under a tree branch, or flogging, or a combination of both be served to its full extent.

Jake’s father worked as a seaman of an inter-island ship. I didn’t exactly know what his job was but I remember seeing him in picture with those bulging muscles carrying two men on his shoulders. He was a big, strong man, an expert in Arnis and Martial Arts. Once a year, he would spend his one-month vacation with his family. When that comes, everyone becomes well-behaved and everything should be in proper order. Or else…

I remember a time when Jake’s older brother did not come home immediately on his way from an errand. His father tied his legs after a couple of painful lashings; hang him upside down by the branch of a tree. And as if it was not enough, a smoke was induced to billow up the dangling offender as his father’s voice thundered in anger. His ordeal lasted for two hours and nobody among his brothers dared rescue him lest they could suffer the same fate. It was one awesome punishment. But eventually, I became used to that sight. It was one thing which made me thankful of my parents. With my father, I remember to have received only one but blistering lashing. That was when I slept overnight in a friend’s house without permission. With my mother, a few “blah-blah-blahs” and a promise not to do it again would already do.

Jake and I went to the same school. Though I belong to a different section, we both go together before and after class. I was a small kid at my age, but I was never afraid to be bullied by the bigger classmates because there was Jake to defend me in any trouble. Jake was one of the tough guys in school and everybody respected his stature. Being his best friend, I earned a little of that respect too. In return, I would help him out in class assignments, and tutoring. I can say that there was a symbiosis. He was like a big brother who would come to my rescue anytime. We shared so many things from foodstuffs, playthings, to whatever there was to share. And our favorite hang-out was the paddy. Every afternoon after school we would go there to play, catch fish, have a swimming match at the creek, or just talk about anything. And our favorite topic - plans and dreams.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” He would ask.

“I want to enter the seminary and become a religious person.”

“Why?”

“Because when I die, I want to go to heaven.”

“Ah… a saint! Hahaha!” He would laugh as if there was something unusual with my answer.

“How about you?”

“Me? I want to be a seaman like my father. I like the seas, the ship, and I want to travel around the world!” He would shout his answer as if he were very optimistic about the future. “When that time comes, I’ll give you a free ride on my ship. Of course, I need you to pray for my safe journey… Father!” He would add teasing me with a big grin on his face.

One day, Jake was absent in class. When I visited him after school, I found him hanging upside down under the tree of execution nearby their house. My heart throbbed so fast. I sensed something was wrong.

“I woke up late for school and couldn’t rise up because I felt sick. My father got furious he thought I was making up a story. He forced me to weed out on the paddy. I couldn’t work for long under the scorching sun and I took a rest. He caught me…” Jake narrated in an agonizing voice. His skin was badly bruised as a result of hard caning but he never cried. He had accepted the judgment in total righteousness. I could feel he was very sick. His vigorous expressions were gone and on his pale face reflected the pain and exhaustion of the punishment. An hour later, he was released. I helped him struggle into the house, laid him on the bare wooden floor as I sat beside him. We talked about what had happened in school, the activities, and other things.

“Tomorrow when you’ll be fine, I’d like to have a swimming match with you. Maybe this time, it will be my turn to win.” I challenged to give him a boost.

“Deal! And I’ll prove you’ll never – ever win,” he teased me. “Remember, I’m a seaman,” as he exhaustedly extended his hand to lock his index finger with mine in our unique fraternal handshake. There was a faint smile. I could see the excruciating pain on his face.

“Okay. Let’s see it tomorrow!”

The following day, Jake was again absent. I thought he was still sick so I hurried to his house after class. I was surprised to find people preparing something I couldn’t imagine. As I approached the house, an eerie feeling crept over me.

“Junior! Junior! Your best friend…!” Jake’s eldest sister Selena approached me sobbing, almost choking for the next words to say.

“Why? What happened?” I demanded.

“He didn’t wake up early this morning so my father forced him to open his eyes. But he wasn’t breathing anymore!”

It seemed like a thunderbolt had hit me and everything blacked out. The next thing I remember was in front of Jake, carefully laid on the bed. He seemed like he was only sleeping. I couldn’t believe that only the day before, he was talking to me about the many things he wanted to do. But at that time, he was in total silence.

“I thought we will go swimming today and I will defeat you!” I shouted on top of my lungs as I hugged and shook his cold body like a helpless wailing child. “I thought you would be a seaman and you will give me a free ride on your ship!” But Jake never heard me anymore.

Nobody in our village really questioned the reason behind Jake’s death. All we knew was that he died of sickness. Of course, there were many who believed it was more; only, no one was brave enough to intrude into the affairs of Jake’s family. But for me, whatever the reason was, I had lost a brother, a best friend, and a hero.

Now, twenty years later, I never made it to be a religious person as Jake had known I dreamed to be. He didn’t live to see how my life had changed when I left the seminary. When I visited the paddy again, there was no more trace of the old place where Jake and I used to play, or share our childishness. The place which used to teem with green surge of rice and lush vegetation of wild fruits and groves had now become a pavement of a housing subdivision, a testament to the changing faces of time. I searched for the creek where Jake had saved me and where our friendship had started, but it too had lost its life. Like Jake, they all had vanished in sight. I know I will never come to see the paddy again. But as long as I live, Jake and his memories will continue to live on…

End.

Educational Technology

Honey and its Therapeutic Uses

From: Natural Remedies for Healthy Living

URL: http://agbospiritual.blogspot.com

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Honey is a thick, sweet supersaturated sugar solution manufactured by bees. it is dark golden in colour. It is produced in the honey sacs of various bees, from nectar of flowers. Honey is stored in honeycomb and used as food for the larvae and the other members of the bee colony in winter.

Honey is purest and richest source of natural sugar, which contains glucose, fructose, water, enzymes and oils.

Honey has antibacterial activity, having antiseptic properties, no germ, fungi or bacterial can thrive in it.

The composition of honey is very complex containing a variety of biochemical compounds including vitamins, amino acids enzymes, and hormones.

Components of honey

Minerals: - Honey contains copper, manganese, zinc, chromium, nickel, iodine, 

Phosphorous, silver, sulphur, magnesium, iron, calcium, potassium and sodium.

Vitamins:-A, B1, B2, B6, B12, C and K 

Carbohydrates: - Fructose, Amylase, prostate, Glucose, Maltose

Acids: - Lactic Acids, folic acids citric acid, nicotine acid.

Fat, oil and protein. 

Honey and its many uses for cures

Honey for its sweetness is often used as a term of endearment by some couples just as Honey sweet heart etc

Honeys have been found to be useful in other spheres.

Honey has been found useful in dressing of wound in burns and ulcers on the skin.

It has been found to bring relief in cases of hoarseness or loss of voice, cold, sore throat and irritant cough.

When mixed with hot milk it will promote sleep.

Honey is used to preserve fruits, to make cakes, candle, cereals and barked foods.

In Egypt it is employed as an embalming material.

Endocrinologist says that Glucose level in blood of healthy person increases among the Diabetic patients but decreases after consumption of honey. 

Honey has got properties to prevent all sorts of heart related diseases. By toning up the heart and improves the circulation. One tablespoon daily after food is sufficient to prevent all sorts of heart troubles.

If your child is bedwetting, give the child 3 spoonful of honey, three times a day, it gives energy to the bladder to hold urine for a long period of time.

To make your rashes dry up, continues to take honey and rub the affected parts, it will cure measles, smallpox and chickenpox because of its osmotic properties.

However, ensure you purchase the original bee honey. Any mistake made in this regard will endanger health. Rather than cure, it can mar the system and expose to danger of diabetes.

When It Rains

By: Mikejuha
email: getmybox@hotmail.com
fb: getmybox@yahoo.com

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When I was a little kid, I used to run naked and barefooted under the rain and enjoy every drop of it into my skin. As I ran through the tiny currents it created, I felt I had the whole world beneath my feet. It was always for me the best part of life, the joy of innocence, and of being unattached... Nothing made me feel happier than when it rained. And nothing was more important to me than to indulge myself in it. For me, life was just about it.

But, things changed. As I became older, things grew more complicated. I was sucked in to the currents of vicious circle of competition and of wants. And I didn’t know how to free myself from it. The rain didn’t make me feel happy anymore and I didn’t even know what else could make me. I wanted something and when I get it, I wanted more. My daily preoccupation had been on the pressing issues of survival and the standards set by people around. It became a routine to manage my time and resources to the limit, and to walk on tightropes in order to secure my place in the societal structure. I learned to be someone I was not.

I had to think fast and make wise decisions. I had to mingle with the right persons in order to keep afloat. I had to act intelligent in order to have my ideas recognized. I had to look nice in order to gain acceptance. I was totally lost, drifted from, and stripped of the simple things of my childhood.

A lot of people surrounded me, but I feel all alone. My horizons widened but the world is choking me. There are countless of opportunities but I am lost for values. Luxury abounded but I still feel unhappy with my peace and wisdom eroded. I struggled to surmount the challenges but I can’t seem to find the meaning. 

This morning, I woke up to the sweet sound of rain landing onto my rooftop. As I heard it dropping heavier and heavier, it reminded me of home and of the simple things I used to enjoy: my family and childhood friends, the cool and refreshing countryside air, the sights of farm and lush vegetation, the fresh and uncontaminated waters of the creek and mountain spring, the taste of native foods, and the smell of the harvests.  

I wish I were a little kid again; naive, unsullied, oblivious, innocent, and carefree. I wish I could run naked and barefooted under the rain and enjoy every drop of it into my skin.  

I wish that life was just all about it...

So Close Yet So Far

by Mike Juha

Our paths crossed one day.  After a few getting-to-knows, we became so close as if we had known each other for so long. 

My heart had been captured by your spell.  And all that my mind could imagine was you.

Since that time, my little world revolved around you. I think about you every time – in my works, in the midst of a crowd, when I get up from bed, or before I go to sleep.  The thought of you haunts me even in my dreams.  I see your smile in every face. I hear your giggles in every laughter, and I feel your touch as the wind blows through my skin.

I picture you in every new friend I meet, in every place I go, and in everything I do. And whenever I’m happy or sad, it’s your face I see...

But between us lie great barriers and horizons to cross. My heart beats your rhythm but you don’t feel it.  And even if I shout this feeling to the highest peak of my voice, you never hear it. You are so close but yet so far away from me.

So I close my eyes and there I see you come alive to my senses. The world is only between you and me. The heavens are within my reach and the oceans are just a step apart. And you are there – just a heartbeat away.There, you smile back at me. We touch each other. We stare straight into each other’s eyes, and our thoughts meet. We kiss and our hearts beat together as one. I shout loud to the highest peak of my voice this feeling as you answer it back with a whisper in my ears.  

There, every tick of a second spells like endlessness. We go to the beach. We cuddle in each other’s arms. We talk of nonsense. We watch at the vast nothingness. We pretend to reach the horizons as we meander barefooted and hand in hand by the sandy shore. 

There, we don’t care about the world. We play lovers’ games. We do crazy things. We explore and fill up each other’s longings. We fathom the depths and the heights of our personhood, until our emotions consume us and we reach the summit of our burning passions.

But as the sun finally sets and the crimson sky turns darker and darker and envelopes our little world, we come to realize that happiness is transient that not even the deepest love nor the strongest feelings on earth have the power to hold on or turn back the hands of time.

Then I wake up from my deep slumber and find myself alone. My grieving heart bleeds to search for you. And you weren’t there. 

I give up and close my eyes. And there, in the corners of my mind, I see your face again – so close but yet so far away…

I love this doctor!

Q: Doctor, I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life.  Is this true?
A: Your heart only good for so many beats, and that it... Don't waste on exercise.  Everything wear out eventually.  Speeding up heart not make you live longer; it like saying you extend life of car by driving faster.  Want to live longer?  Take nap.


Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A:  No, not at all.  Wine made from fruit.  Brandy is distilled wine, that mean they take water out of fruity bit so you get even more of goodness that way.  Beer also made of grain.  Bottom up!

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have body and you have fat, your ratio one to one.  If you have two bodies, your ratio two to one, etc.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of single one, sorry.  My philosophy is: No pain...good!

Q:  Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A:  YOU NOT LISTENING!  Food are fried these day in vegetable oil.  In fact, they permeated by it.  How could getting more vegetable be bad for you?!?

Q:  Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not!  When you exercise muscle, it get bigger.  You should only be doing sit-up if you want bigger stomach.

Q:  Is chocolate bad for me?
A:  Are you crazy?!?  HEL-LO-O!!  Cocoa bean!  Another vegetable!  It best feel-good food around!

Q:  Is swimming good for your figure?
A:  If swimming good for your figure, explain whale to me..

Q:  Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?
A:  Hey!  'Round' is shape!
Well... I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.

And  remember:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO-HOO, what a ride!!"

AND.....

For  those of you who watch what you eat, here's the final word on nutrition and health.  It's a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies.

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION:Eat and drink what you like.Speaking English is apparently what kills you

What comes around, goes around!

Note: I do not know the writer of this article. I just got this in my mail and I decided to share it to you guys. Enjoy!

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He almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road,but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her. Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.

He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He said, "I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson."

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to heraid. Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. 

Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, "And think of me." He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan . 

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: "You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you." Under the napkin were four more $100 bills. Well, there were tables to clear , sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard.

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's gonna be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson."

There is an old saying "What goes around, comes around." Today, I sent you this story, and I'm asking you to pass it on. Let this light shine.