I’ll get by

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“And the valedictorian of this class is…”silence stretched across the audience.  The parents were quiet. They were nervous, almost scared to disenchant this precious atmosphere. Chandeliers adorned the ceilings of the large conference hall, and festooned it with a yellow light that was dancing on people’s wine glasses just a moment earlier. The light seems to soften as the announcement was made. It too, was eager to know.

On the stage, the girls and boys, dressed in their formal outfits, stood in rows that faced the audience- those who were supposedly important enough to attend the children’s middle years’ graduation ceremony. There was a lot of fidgeting with the children’s hands. Some crossed their fingers. Others entangled their hands in a tight clasp with their neighbor. Tiny actions. But they were meant to wondrously change the odds in their favor.

“The valedictorian of this class is Christina Lee.” Almost instantly, the house burst into a loud din which consisted of applause, blow horn, compliments, extol, and discussions. The girl with long wavy hair amidst the rows of students stepped forward.  She shook the headmaster’s hands, held her certificate, and looked up, almost timidly, at the boisterous audience. The girl searched the hall for row thirteen, and saw her eleven-year-old sister, who was clapping her hands dutifully. The two seats to her sister’s left were empty, and when her sister saw that she was looking at them, nodded her head, and mouthed, “I’m sorry”. Christina shrugged, and went back to her position.

“It’s not a surprise,” she muttered.

“Unbelievable,” a girl who stood in front of the choir commented scornfully.

The rest of the ceremony carried on like any other graduation ceremony. When it ended, students hugged goodbye, and went apart their own ways. When Sarah, the girl who stood in the front row of the choir earlier, climbed into her Lexus, her mother turned around from the front seat, “Hey,”

“Hey, mom,”

“You didn’t come first in class this year,”

“Not everyone is smart all the time, ma”

“Still, you would have gotten it if it wasn’t for her…”

“Mom, she got the award because she was better than me. Period.”

There was a long pause in their conversation, and Sarah wondered if she could ever get out of this hell.

“When expectations are part of the air you breathe in like carbon dioxide, you’ll choke to find little happiness, to search for that oxygen that’ll help you get by,” Sarah delivered the quote to herself. Her monologue became something lightly camouflaged as reminiscence. She stared blankly at the window of her car. It was not long before the hotels, shopping malls, and sky scrapers that were characteristics of the city, stayed behind as part of the trip’s past. “Even when I stole your book, even when I tore it, the honor, the real victory was always and has always been yours.”

“Sarah?” Sarah’s mom had been on the verge of telling her something all this week. Her face would darken, and she would lean forward, pressed her lips, then she would change her mind, “I think…” she’d changed it again.

Sarah elbowed the window of her car; her hand formed a fist and bench-pressed the weight of her head. She looked out, at the world on the other side of the car’s window, her mind treaded through the unfamiliar water of nothingness. Her eyes, oh her beautifully lined and mascaraed eyes, were so empty in emotion that it looked like it had been tortured with disconsolateness. From her hand bag, she took out her diary, and turned the pages in an attempt to relive a part of her past.

 

“August 15th, 2012,

Dear diary,

Today’s the first day back to school, and well, I survived it. Linda’s old friend, Christina, has recently enrolled in, and she’s been hanging around with us all day. She’s almost too cheerful, to be honest, almost to the point that I wonder if all her smiling were an act. But I suppose, I don’t really have a problem with her.

 

Anyways, I’m in Mr. Price’s homeroom, 8P, same with that tall guy who plays tennis really well, John. He waved when I came in, so I nodded at him in recognition. We talked all throughout the first two periods while Mr. Price yammered on about our “responsibilities” as eighth graders. Mr. Price could be really boring when he tries! :O”

 

Sarah turned a few pages over.

 

“August 22nd, 2012,

Dear diary,

We’re getting a load full of assignments lately, and I keep procrastinating till the last minute. Technically, it’s not ENTIRELY my fault. If only AXN had fewer and shorter intervals for advertisement, it wouldn’t take so long to watch one episode of NCIS. Okay, okay, I know I am not supposed to watch TV on school days, but I’ll have you know that the show is VERY interesting!”

 

A smile began to form on Sarah’s lips, she skimmed down the page.

 

“I have to admit though, Christina is quite a smart student. She grasps scientific concepts well, and is able to compute these long sentences in class. What I can’t wrap my head around though, is how she really tries to be close to Linda, MY best friend. Yes, they’ve known each other before, but that doesn’t give her the right to cut in. Maybe that’s just the thing with being new. You like to “belong in the crowd”.  Again, I don’t mind her- she’s an okay friend, so moving on!

 

I think…I like John. It must be nothing, really. But I always look forward to the next time we’d talk, and knowing that I feel that way makes me feel downright pathetic. I hate that I’m letting a boy, not even one, JOHN, rummage through my head. Mom and dad would disapprove of it. He and I are close friends, so falling for him would be just weird… K

 

But he’s nice, and he’s quite good looking and I…he he :”)”

 

Sarah turned a chunk of pages over, almost embarrassed. She shook her head as she read on.

 

December 23rd, 2012

Dear diary,

Mom and dad fought today. They quarreled before, a few times, but not like this. Not at all like today.

 

I came home from school, and I’d heard the argument from the kitchen. I didn’t really understand what they were shouting at each other though. The few words that I managed to make out were, “another woman… irresponsible…father…you’ve changed… what about Sarah…her low grades…because of you”. Then I heard a loud noise of broken glasses, and I ran upstairs to see what happened. The scene was dreadful. Mom’s flower vase collection was on the floor, shattered, sharp, but powerless. I saw her crying, but I stood outside the door, and did nothing.

 

In my hiding spot, I watched the fight, and miserable to the realization that they really hated each other. Dad saw me. He turned away, and asked me to leave.”

 

 “December 30th, 2012

A lot has been on my mind lately. The fights occur more often now. I’m used to it. I guess.  Occasionally, I wonder what it means to be a father, what are his responsibilities, I mean. So I’m making a list:

  1. 1.       He should be funny, and joyful.
  2. 2.       He should be handsome
  3. 3.       He should love my mother.
  4. 4.       He should be kind to everyone. (I would insert a happy face right here, but it seems almost childish now.)”

More pages were turned.

“I’ve got a few more things to add to my list:

20. He should teach me like Atticus Finch teaches Scout.

21. He should care about his family

 

The list reminded Sarah of someone she knew, Christina’s father. Nostalgia for her childhood rushed back to her. She remembered waiting to get picked up after school with her friends.  Christina always got picked up first. Her dad would be waiting for her just outside the school gate, in his blue electrician uniform. When she’d seen him, Christina would briefly say goodbye to her and Linda, and climbed on his old motorbike. Sarah looked out the window, “I would give anything to get picked up on that old vehicle by my parents, than being in a car alone with my driver”.

 

Sarah bit her lips, and resumed reading.

 

“February 10th, 2012,

  1. 22.   He should love me for me, not some ideal me.

At dinner today, dad had discovered about my C in science. It is my first time to not report back low grades to him, so you can imagine that he was quite furious. Well, he told me I was a disgrace. That’s not the end of it. He told me I should be more like Christina. “

 

Sarah paused reading the page there. For her parents, plans for her future were very simple. She was to get good grades, go to good colleges, and become a good scientist, mathematician, or engineer. It had to do with being Asian. But Sarah rejected that future, or she rejected the security of that world. She liked her, what they called, her “wild” treks into unfamiliar areas. And the moment she came home with a grade lower than her average in Science and Honors in Drama, her dad took it as a sign of rebellion.

“Sometimes I wish I could live Christina’s life. She has a father who actually cared about her. She has the grades, and the personality. She has it all and she doesn’t even realize it. John likes her, you know? My dad likes her…

 

What am I saying?”

 

“March 28th, 2012

 

I tore Christina’s science notebook.

 

I was just angry.

 

After dad told me how he thought of me a month ago, I shut down.

 

I, I was just mad, mad that…that that things goes so easy in Christina’s life and she’s not even satisfied with it. Mad that while I am going to flunk the science test, she’s probably revising my English literature notes. Mad that mom and dad will quarrel some more because I’ve failed to be her. She didn’t even think about helping me with science when she always asks for my help with English. Mad that I’m being taken advantage of. I hate her. I hate that my own parents wants me to be someone I’m not, and I hate it even more that I also want to be her.”

 

Sarah closed her last diary entry.

 

“Sarah? I think it’s best for you to know that your dad and I, we’re going to get a divorce,” her mom finally said what was on her mind.

“Okay.”

 

Back at the conference hall, Christina wiggled out her high heels, and was putting on her trainers.

“You okay?” her sister asked, “Wanna run?”

“Lilly, you think running will solve everything,”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but it helps you to stop thinking about it.”

Christina shrugged her shoulders, and went on tying her other shoe.

“You know, I didn’t say this before but, congrats. You’re valedictorian for middle school,” her sister said maturely.

“Hah, thanks,” she replied sarcastically.

“Really! How did you manage to pull that off? After,” Lilly hesitated, “you know what.”

“A lot of revising for science before the test, I guess,” Christina answered,” Well, I’ve got one award down, one more to go. Lucky me.”

“Speak for yourself. Mom and dad will kill me if I don’t get the valedictorian next year,” Lilly laughed nervously.

Christina cut in, “Are we going to run home, or not, buddy?”

“Race you there!” Lilly shouted, and she speeded ahead.

 

Christina looked up at the top of the electric posts on the street. It has become a habit for her to do so. Many times, she’d explain to her full-of-questions sister that it reminds her of how much dad had sacrificed his comfort for her. And even if he shouts at her, even if he doesn’t attend her Awards nights, that habit helps her stand firmly, and believe again that her dad cares, and is doing what’s best for her.  Christina lifted her heels, and started running.

 

The motorbikes and the shops became part of the trip’s past. What were still there, in her heart, were the memories. Memories of a distant past that haunt her when she thinks of making new close friends in the future.  “I never really understood why you’d tear my science notebook, and then anonymously rewrite it for me. What happened, Sarah?” she thought of the questions she never had the chance to ask.

 

“When expectations are part of the air you breathe in like carbon dioxide, you’ll choke to find little happiness, to search for that oxygen that’ll help you get by,” she recited the old quote. She sucked in her breath, and let out a long sigh, “I’ll get by”.

 

In the city, that night, her other best friend whispered, “I’ll get by”.

 

Where do we find the meaning of the text

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What is a text? In what manner does a text exist as an object of knowledge, as something that can be read, known, and commented on? How can a text be considered containing a meaning, and where does this meaning come from? What meaning is derived from the text, and what meaning are we adding as readers? These questions are essential to the understanding of literature, of where the literary text ends, and where the reading begins.  While there is no definite answer to such abstract inquiries, the meaning of a text is often neither predetermined by the text, nor completely subjected to the audience, but is posed to certain constraints. The meaning of a text evolves from the reader’s experiences and attitudes, it depends on the kind of text involved and how the text is used.

The world produced by the literary text is an incomplete world, and the text requires the readers to complete it with their past experiences.  When reading a text, the readers often create envisionments which are constantly evolving, painting rich pictures of understanding of the literary world, to which they compare with their experiences. An example of this process is in the readers’ various interpretations of the society in “Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley.  Throughout the novel, “Brave New World” was a world where uniqueness is uselessness, and uniformity is the status quo. In such society, where the people, for the most part, were described as truly happy and contented with their “soma”, some readers interpret this world as a utopia. Terrence, a member of goodreads.com, commented, “It’s funny to think but I would say the society is a Utopia. Sometimes I wish I could just forget all the hate, all the war and all the other bad things in life. Ignorance as they say is bliss”. [1] However, is a world where individuals are deprived of individuality and freedom at all welcoming? Our experiences in the contemporary world make it hard for us to accept this. No reader of the modern-day wants to become an ignorant robot. When the protagonist of the novel exclaimed, “I want God, I want poetry, I want danger, I want freedom, I want sin.” The society is to be judged by its merits and in light of the readers own personal positions.  The readers accept, modify, ignore or reject interpretations of the meaning of the text according to their experiences, and attitudes.

The extent to which the reader is involved in constructing the meaning of the text depends on the author’s intentions, and the kind of text involved. For instance, one would expect the reader to be more involved with a poem than with a phone directory.  Scientific textbooks in school’s curriculum present its readers with no more freedom than to accept or reject the text. On the other hand, a literary work, such as a novel, poem, or speech, invite active participation of the reader, and their full attention to literary devices and linguistic mediations.  For example, in “Lord of the Flies”, the writer described the fire, “One patch touched a tree trunk and scrambled up like a bright squirrel. The smoke increased, sifted, rolled outwards. The squirrel leapt on the wings of the wind and clung to another standing tree, eating downwards. Beneath the dark canopy of leaves and smoke the fire laid hold on the forest and began to gnaw”. His strong use of literary devices presents the reader with a vivid image of an alive and large and powerful fire that is “gnawing”, and eating the forest.  The readers then use these imagery terms, and paints a picture that corresponds with the author’s description. While the text does not have one unchanging meaning, the author’s intentions, and the type of the text provides a framework to its readers’ interpretations.

How a certain text is considered containing a meaning is predicated by its purpose. Take the famous “Gulliver’s Travels” by Jonathan Swift, for example. Whilst the original work was written as a satire, it did not stop children from reading it for pure entertainment. Unlike the rich themes of individuality, utopia, power and humanity’s limits of knowledge that were included in the novel, in the form of a picture book, the anecdote is merely a bed-time story about an adventurous big boy, who finds a new world.  Another example is how archaeologist also used poems, and texts inscribed in stones as a reference to the prehistoric society. The meaning in which these text are concerned of is more on the period of time in which its author lived, and its author’s perspective of the world, than on the plot of the story that the text reveals. The purpose and use of the text influence its meaning, and connotations.

So what is a text? Where does the meaning of the text derive from? The argument becomes all the more complicated of the idea of the implied reader, being an informed one. Would this mean that the connotation of a text would discourse for other audiences? Perhaps, there is no distinguishable line between a text, and its readers. Perhaps, the meaning of a text evolves from the reader’s experiences and attitudes, the kind of text and the author’s intentions. Perhaps, it is determined by the usage of the text. Perhaps, there is no definite answer.


[1] Brave New World Discussion.” Brave New World. N.p., 27 Feb. 2008. Web. 02 Sept. 2012. <http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/18173-utopia-or-dystopia?auto_login_attempted=true&gt;.

Compound Interest Formula

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Welcome, fellow mathematicians, to my very first post about mathematics. Here’s where I’ll delve into my quest of understanding math mysteries, and.. formulas.  I don’t claim to know much about math, in fact, I know very little of it, but I’m always interested in the why of things. In each of the posts on this page, I’ll be trying to understand mathematics concepts. And if I’m in an impasse, I’ll be relying on you for help!

P = principal amount (the initial amount you borrow or deposit)

r  = annual rate of interest (as a decimal)

t  = number of years the amount is deposited or borrowed for.

A = amount of money accumulated after n years, including interest.

n  =  number of times the interest is compounded per year 

I’m trying to proof that this formula works. (I know it does) But how do I do that? Tap tap, click click…

An Inspired Passion

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What is the purpose of living a life? Do you live to avoid death? Or are you planning to do something special with it?
I want you to keep these questions in mind, as you read this post. Because these questions will keep popping up, through out the story of an operatic soprano, that of which I am about to tell you.
Two years ago, Charity Tillemann-Dick woke up from a month long coma, following a double lung transplant. Six years before that, she started her career as an opera singer in Europe. She was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary hypertension, also known as PH. This disease is caused by the thickening of the pulmonary vein, which in turn cause the right side of the heart to work over time. Charity’s heart was 3.5 the size of an average healthy heart. Needless to say, physical activity is difficult for people with this condition, and according to research within 2 to 5 years, you die. Charity went to see this specialist who was supposedly top-of-the-field, and this doctor told her to stop singing. Though there were no medical evidence to back up her claim, the doctor emphasized that there was a relationship between operatic arias with PH. She said that Charity was singing her own obituary if she doesn’t quit.
The doctor said, Charity has to quit her dream to survive.
It’s easy to say, but harder to do. Charity loved singing, and she wasn’t going to let someone’s hunch make her give it up.
So as the altitude of Colorado (which is where she was living at the time) exacerbated her symptoms, she moved to Baltimore. There she worked with doctor Reda Girgis and his team at John Hopkins to fight for her survival.
After six months, her conditions were worse. She couldn’t walk. She couldn’t climb a flight of stairs, she couldn’t stand up without feeling like she’s about to faint. When they measured her internal arterial pulmonary pressure, hers was 146. A number far too large in comparison to the expected norm 15-20. Charity went on a treatment called Flolan- A catheter was inserted into her chest, and is attached to a pump that weights about four and a half pounds (That’s 2.04kg). Everyday, 24 hours, that pump is at her side, administering medicine directly to her heart, and it’s not a particularly preferable medicine in many sense. Let me give you some… precautions: if there is a bubble in your medicine-because you have to mix it every morning- and it stays there, you’ll probably die. If you go through a metal detector, you’ll probably die. If you run out of medicine, you’ll definitely die.
No one wants to go on Flolan, but the medicine was exactly what she needed. Within a few days, she made incredible recovery, and within a few months, she was performing again. And even though the pump complicated things, she was happy.
Then in Febuary 2008, her grand father passed away. Seven weeks later, she got another call from her family. Her father was in a car accident, and he died. “At 24, my death was entirely expected. But his, well the only way I could articulate how it felt was that it precipitated my medical decline,” Charity said in retrospect.
Her doctor wanted her to enlist for a lung transplant. But it took her a while to second his advice. She spent her whole life training her lungs, and it was understandably hard for her to be enthusiastic about giving them up. When they’d found a match for her lungs, she flew to Cleveland, and undertook a thirteen-and-a-half-hour surgery, in which she flat lined twice. And though her mom couldn’t say goodbye to her before the surgery, she didn’t leave her side in the months of recovery that followed. Two years ago, she woke up, and there were a dozen tubes coming in and out of her body. And when the first thing she saw was her mother, she couldn’t help but smile.
“Whether by a Mack truck or by heart failure or faulty lungs, death happens. But life isn’t really just about avoiding death, is it? It’s about living. Medical conditions don’t negate the human condition. And when people are allowed to pursue their passions, doctors will find they have better, happier and healthier patients. My parents were totally stressed out about me going and auditioning and traveling and performing all over the place, but they knew that it was much better for me to do that than be preoccupied with my own mortality all of the time. And I’m so grateful they did.
When I  think about that doctor who told me that I couldn’t sing.  I want to tell her, and I want to tell you, we need to stop letting disease divorce us from our dreams. When we do, we will find that patients don’t just survive; we thrive. And some of us might even sing.” Charity  Tillemann Dick concluded her TED conference with those words.
And I, I walk away, with an unwavering will to keep trying, to never stop believing in my passion.

A flock of birds

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A photographer once said, “The early dawn and the late dusk are the prime time. It’s when things look at its best”. When ever I look to the sky during these special hours, I nod my head in agreement.  If you’ve never seen a flock of bird, soaring above your head, you’ve never come close to comprehending mother nature. So for those of you who don’t know, a flock is a group of birds feeding, resting, or traveling together.

A flock of birds is a glorious example for synchrony in nature. In fact, many romantic poets and writers have used it as a symbol for cooperation, and for team-building. They are not particularly intelligent creatures, these birds, and yet, they assemble beautiful dances. Have you ever questioned why? The scientific explanation would be that this is a type of synchrony that have to do with defense. When you’re small and vulnerable, like these birds, it helps to swarm to avoid predators, to confused predators. Other than that the synchrony also improve foraging efficiency.
The other explanation is your imagination. I’ll tell you mine. For me, a flock live together, because each of them are gregarious. Because they’ve mastered the skill of cooperation. When spring comes and I look to the sky to find a migrating flock of bird in the familiar V-shape formation. I think of a pilot, directing a plane to its destination. Sometimes, I even see passengers on the back seat, shouting compliments, encouragements to the pilot. And when he tires, another volunteers to take his place. To me, love is presented in that string between one bird to the next.
And it’s beautiful.
 

A fresh spring salad

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Ever wanted a colorful cool salad for the summer? Here’s a quick one for YOU to make :) :

What you need:

A can of kernel corn (roughly 250g)

 

Japanese Surimi (250g)

Mayonnaise

An egg (optional)

And now, let’s get started!

1. Thaw the surimi by putting it into cool water, then remove the plastic covering of the sticks.

2. Boil hot water and add the surimi into it. You know when it’s cooked when all the surimi begins to float on the surface.

3. Cut the surimi into cubes

4. Using the same boiled water, boil the egg for 10 minutes, then cut the egg into small cubes

5. Add the corn, egg, and surimi into a bowl

6. Add mayonnaise to the mixture (add as much as mayonnaise as you like)

"Don't go easy on the mayonnaise!"

7. Using a spoon (or a pair of chopsticks) stir the mixture together. And there’s your salad!

Tada! Delicious no?

Hope you enjoy this quick and easy recipe. See you next time!

Experience is truly what makes life, life.

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2 weeks and NO posts? I know, I know. I’m sorry. Forgive me? (she said, her puppy dog eyes blinked pleadingly). Yes? Okay. Moving on!

I attended a MUN (Model United Nations) conference during the last weekend, and the experience was eye-opening. It seems like I’d seen the world in a new perspective (this could be understood quite literally as we spoke in third person, and debated policies and resolution to global issues- see how professional that sounded? That’s what I meant). In retrospect, there were many things, many things to which I would do differently. But I feel blessed to have the opportunity to experience those mistakes, because I now know what’s right.

One of the things I learned was the value of a friend. Nowadays, it’s hard to find the stereotypical type of BFF, you know the will-stand-by-you-no-matter-what type of friend. It’s not that everyone will stab you behind the back. It’s also because “forever” is a long time. And by that time, things would be different..As an international student, most of my friends move to different schools every 2-3 years, and even though we live in an era of technology, it’s hard to stay connected when you never see each other face to face. Before, I live abide a philosophy: Never pick one out of a crowd to be your bestfriend. Instead, pick the whole crowd to be your friends.

That theory of mine seemed okay for a moment.One,  I was rarely involved in any of the drama that haunted the high school years. Two, I was never “obliged” to gossip. Three, I would never have to make someone my “enemy” just because my bestfriend hated his/her guts…And on goes my list.

To an extent, I’d thought that my plan was perfect. Of course, I won’t get as many invitations to parties and hangouts, and I didn’t mind. But truth to be told, my “philosophy” was far from perfect. And you know what? A TRUE bestfriend will never make you do the things you don’t like. I realized it now, after I attended the conference.So you see experience is truly what makes life, life.

So what makes a good life?

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Everybody wants the thing that’s called “a good life”. Here’s my question, what makes a good life?   Go ask a million persons and you’ll receive a million different answers. What is that that moves “an average life” to a good one? Your definition may be different from mine but I’ll just go ahead and read your mind for yours. No? Okay, I’ll write down what I observe.

1. Having money to spend

Yes,  the cha-ching! Money matters everywhere in society. A rich person can purchase a finer house, a nicer car, better food, better schools,better health care, more courteous services. In many cases, it can also purchase respect, love (you  may say that’s it’s not be true love, but it’s still LOVE), acceptance. With money comes power, with power comes more money, and the cycle repeats. It’s as simple as this in the poverty cycle where having no money means having no power, no education. And without education, there’s even less money.The cycle of poverty circles the poor’s life like a hurricane, the closer to the circle, the deadlier the situation is. My point is, you’re lucky than most people. You might hear others say this all the time, and it’s because it’s the TRUTH.

Some people are convinced that money is the big difference between an average life and the good life. Others feel that it’s not the money, but the things money can buy that define a good life. Jonathan Wells pointed out that, “Advertisers work very hard to convince you that your life just won’t be complete without their product. Like you’re living in deprivation if you don’t own the latest, greatest, soon to be obsolete version of everything”. I agree, in this world that we’re living in, it’s a lot harder to define what you REALLY wants. If you’re a teenager like I am, you know exactly what I’m talking about: we need that phone that everybody else is using (or a better one), we need that shirt that’s “in-trend” lately, etc. But wait, do we REALLY need them? Sure, they make us look better, but will they make us happy?  We need money for practically everything, and maybe because of this, we’re never satisfied with the amount we’re having.

But money is just a tool. You’re the user, don’t let it use you.

2. Having friends/ Having good relationships

It’s probably safe to say that friends are crucial in our lives.They’re the ones that bring that smile on your face, laugh with you over the things only you can understand, ….(fill in all the things your friends do). Problem is, sometimes friends are fickle. Sometimes they’re fake, sometimes they find other friendships, and totally forget yours. And that may make you feel like you live in a horrible life. Well you’re not. The orphans who are abandoned by their own parents could still smile. Artie from Glee is handicap, and he’s still enjoying life. If they can put a smile on their faces every day, so can you.

My mother once told me, “You don’t need the whole school to know you. You only need one, and they’ll never let you down.”Get one to truly know you, and be ready to truly know them too. Remember it doesn’t have to be someone you’re age, it can be you’re family!

3. Success in everything you do

And wouldn’t that make life so much easier? To be successful in everything you do, hmmmmmmm… but wouldn’t that make life really boring?

 

You are the one whose definition of a good life really matters. The reason for this is simple, it is your life we are talking about here. Why not define yours as good?

A beginning of a new love

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“We can do no great thing, only small things, with great love”- Anonymous.

Before writing this post, before creating this blog, I’d asked myself a million times-why. Why would I take in another commitment? Why would I expose myself on the internet? Why would I… a thousand times over. The answer I came up with was because I loved writing. So why not take this chance to explore “my” love?

I’m luckier than most others, I realize. I’m living in the time of innovation, change, growth, and technology. I’m living in a world where information and entertainment comes with just a click. Sometimes, I wonder how I can make a difference, how I can contribute something to this world. I guess it must start with a kind gesture.

Go out there tomorrow’s morning, and compliment someone. You’ll make a difference to their day. Be there when your friends need a shoulder to lean on. You’ll make a difference to their sorrows. Drop a penny to a peasants on the streets of Vietnam. You’ll make a difference to their lives. I’d learned that what you do, need not to be great . If it comes from the sincerity of the heart, it’s great enough. And if you should think that you can’t make a difference, BE the difference. That’s what I’m going to do.

To be honest? I’d been procrastinating in writing this post in weeks. I’d thought about what my blog would be about, love or life, or books… And  I figured it would be about me. My experiences. My learnings.  My “loves”. Entrusting that to someone out there, my voice is heard and shared, I took this leap of faith.

Because hey, experience is what makes life, life.

And this new love? It’s different. It’s inescapable.Image

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