Faults

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

1 They came to tell your faults to me,
2 They named them over one by one;
3 I laughed aloud when they were done,
4 I knew them all so well before, --
5 Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
6 Your faults had made me love you more.

i love it. i really do.

the love that lives in the letters, in the songs. the memories that only swim in our heads and stay in our hearts. and like how she says it, they always draw new inspiration. but sometimes they don't, and its not because the feeling has died, but because it has become part of you and me. we think about the once-in-a-while long phonecalls and the senseless bickering in our smses, we laugh and we cry. its the kind of friendship you know that refuses to die (not that you want it to) and even after months of not seeing each other or talking that much, you know that she'll still take your crap. and for that, and for many other things, you'd take hers too. sometimes you feel like you haven't done enough and you wanna do so much more for all that she's put in to do for you. i guess it will always be like this, it goes on.

you are thankful, you are glad that she's always around, in the heart and in the mind. always.

i am. i really am.

and i love it. i really do.

(from a very good friend.)

I think one of the most universal human experiences is feeling alone. You'd never know it, but there's most likely tons of people feeling the exact same way. Maybe because you're feeling abandoned. Maybe because you realise that you aren't as self-sufficient as you thought you were. Either was, when you hit that low point, you have a choice. You can either wallow in self-pity...Or you can suck it up. It's your call.

To most people, it might have seemed that nothing had changed. But it had a little.

It's about the day I realised that admitting we're not heroic is when we're most heroic of all.

JD,
Scrubs

a boy broke my heart last thurday. a little boy.

it was at the airport. there were so many people there. especially japanese. there was a bunch of college boys. i think they were flying home to tokyo and they'd just ended an exchange programme here. i was overwelmed by their presence because there were so many of them there. they seemed to exude some kind of superstar aura. i wanted to walk up to one of them to ask to have a picture taken. Alas, i was too shy.

i had just had a cup of hot milo with my mom and dad and my sis and my grandma, after seeing my brother off. it was about 10 plus. there were still alot of people at the departure hall. people of different sorts. i like watching people.

then i saw him.

he was two feet tall. he came around the pillar and hid behind it, on my side, so you couldn't see him from the departure hall.

he was crying. he placed his forehead to the face of the pillar and whimpered. i couldn't hear what he was saying. . his face was in his hands and he was crying. his grandma came over and said something to him. i watched him as he went on crying...

then after a few moments, he ran in front of the pillar and towards the glass panels of the departure hall. as he ran, he cried, "Papa!" his mom picked him up. she was there already and perched him on her knees. it ached my heart to see him cry like that.

"Papa!..." his hands to the class and in that childish longing for his dad. that was my last image of him.

he broke my heart, i wanted to cry.

i want a hug.

i saw a man and his dad, sitting at the front of their house that day. i like these father and son moments. i wonder what they were talking about...


i haven't had a talk like this with my dad for over a year. the day i got married to my wife, my life took a different turn. not to mean anything bad, i love my wife very much. the responsibilities of married life came to me quicker than i expected. i got a promotion too, which was good and bad. i was alot busier and i didn't have the time to have proper dinners at night. i missed my wife alot during the week and we'd decide to take some time on our own during the weekends. it was only after awhile that i realised i haven't gone over to my parent's house for quite some time. my mom calls me a few times a week to check up on me and chat with my wife. i hardly talked to dad. my dad was not exactly the chatty person and it was not his habit to make phonecalls. but i sure miss sitting down with him after dinners, talking to him about everything under the setting sun. i used to do that when i was still living with my parents. my dad was quiet, but he was wise in his own way. he talked to me about life, about his childhood, about my mom and my brothers and sisters. the chances of having after dinner conversations with dad became less frequent when i started working. but i knew my dad understood.

once i moved out of the house with Dina, who was my fiance then, lots of things changed. i made an effort to go over once a week, but my dad and i hardly talked. my mom fussed alot about me and Dina. she did most of the talking through the night. my dad just sat and listen, smiling at me once in a while.

today is my dad's birthday. the whole family came. my mom cleaned the house and cooked his favourite dishes. my brothers and sisters came, some with kids, some without. each of us bringing him a present. he was beaming. its been a year since we've had a huge gathering like this.

after dinner and opening of the presents, dad took his mug and headed for the garden. the rest of the family talked and watched tv. mom was fussing around again. i walked behind dad, i wonder if he heard me coming. he sat down on the ledge at the drive way. coming from behind i planted myself next to him.

"Happy Birthday, Dad."

He smiled, "look at the sunset ahead, always makes my day."

"But the day is ending already..."

"Exactly."


Maybe...(: