Amateur photographers
I just came back from taekwondo training at St.Joseph. I was in school (my school, St.Teresa) from 10am until 12am. We had our STS taekwondo club phototaking there. Took Alston so long just to take two pictures! I had to stand at the back and balancing on some brick thingie. And hmm...then I had lunch at SB with my friends and then there was these 3 guys or as we called them 'gays' who were wrestling around in the middle of SB on the ground floor. Sheesh....! And then, we went over to St.Joseph for the training. Hmm...the stadium is kinda stuffy and the floor...man, it's green so it practically leaves green dust on your feet or white taekwondo pants! My sister is coming back from Russia this 7th July. And let's see what else...hmmm....I guess nothing left ler...tonight going to my grandmother's bday dinner and let's c...thats all.
An Angel
It was a cold and bitter winter's night. Last minute Christmas shoppers busied in and out of shops, searching for gifts to be bought while the carolers happily walked down the street merrily singing "We Wish You A Merry Christmas".
Walking down the streets was an elderly and poor man who was carrying a rather beat-up black violin case. He stopped by the ten-foot tall Christmas tree and opened his violin case. He slowly and carefully pulled out a well-polished and well-maintained violin and a bow. Although the violin was very old, the elderly man never considered throwing it away or selling it. His father gave the violin to him when he was twelve and it carried all his childhood memories. He had vowed that he would carry this violin till his death.
He propped the violin on his left shoulder and began to play Christmas carols. He was a very skilled violinist but none of the passerby even bothered to give him money or even told him what a wonderful violinist he was. He stood there in the bitter cold, playing his violin, hoping to earn a few dollars so that he could buy his grandchildren Christmas presents.
After nearly and hour of playing, a woman in her late forties came up to the elderly man. She had a kind smile on her face. Clinging onto one of her hands was a young toddler carrying a paper bag.
"Merry Christmas," the woman said, smiling. "You are a wonderful violinist. I haven't heard one so talented as you are since my husband passed away. It's been a long time since I've heard beautiful music," she told the elderly man.
"Why, thank you, madam," the elderly man smiled, delighted at being praised.
"Here's a little something for you and Merry Christmas to you," the woman said, pressing a Christmas present and a fifty-dollar bill into the elderly man's trembling hands.
"Thank you so much," the elderly man's voice trembled in gratitude. "Now I can buy my grandchildren Christmas presents and I'll be able to see their happy little faces. Merry Christmas to you too," tears of joy spilt down the elderly man's wrinkled cheeks.
"You don't have to thank me. I should thank you, for the beautiful music," the woman smiled and walked away.
"Merry Christmas!" the toddler shouted with a happy beam on his face as his mother lead him down the streets.
"Merry Christmas," the elderly man whispered, waving, his hands still trembling as he did so. He dried his eyes with his torn handkerchief and packed up his violin. On his way down the streets to the nearest gift shop, he saw the Salvation Army standing next to a Christmas tree, where the homeless children wrote down what they wished for Christmas in small, square cards and hung them on the tree.
My grandchildren have me to love and care for them but those poor children have no one. The elderly man thought sadly. Those poor children need the gifts more than my grandchildren do. The elderly man went up to the Christmas tree and randomly selected a card. The card was written by a four-year-old who wanted nothing more but toy soldier. The elderly man took the card along with him into the gift shop. He spent thirty dollars on toys for four of his grandchildren and he spent the remaining on a magnificent handcrafted toy soldier carrying a gun that marched when was the key in the back was wound. He had the gifts wrapped up nicely and then, he left the gift shop.
He stuck the card onto the present containing the toy soldier and handed it over to the Salvation Army with a smile and a sincere Merry Christmas.
"Thank you sir and Merry Christmas," was the reply he got from the Salvation Army.
Deep down inside, the elderly man knew that the right person to thank was the woman that gave him the money. Without her, he wouldn't have the money to buy the toys for his grandchildren and the toy soldier for the four-year-old.
He reached home half an hour later. His wife was preparing the Christmas meal in the kitchen. His son and his family were sitting on the couch by the merrily crackling fire.
"Merry Christmas!" the elderly man smiled merrily, set his violin case down and gave his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren a hug each.
"I have a little something for the four of you," he turned to his grandchildren. There was fourteen-year-old Thomas, ten-year-old Mary, four-year-old Joseph and two-year-old Matthew. He gave them their Christmas presents and in return he got four happy faces, thank you and hugs.
"Dinner is ready!" his wife called from the dining room. They all went into the small but cozy dining room.
They sat down by the table and before they ate their meal, they said a grace before meal. The food was scrumptious and it was a pleasant, merry and happy dinner. The elderly man was so happy that he could be with his family for Christmas dinner.
The elderly man thought, 'I met an angel tonight. She was the kindest person I've ever met. Even though she had a toddler to take care of and she was now the breadwinner of the family, she still had the heart of gold to give me money and a Christmas present. She was an angel, an angel with a heart of gold. Her kindness was my Christmas present and she was an angel sent to me by God...'
Gabrielle Jee
An Angel
Heavens opened up today,
Music so sweet to hear,
Light so pure and golden showed the way,
I couldn't see a single tear.
An angel full of grace,
Appeared in front of me,
With a slow pace,
Made her way towards me.
Sent to me by God,
To rule and to guide me,
Chosen by the Lord,
I was the one.
To have an angel,
By my side,
I will never forget it all,
How I met an angel.
Gabrielle Jee
Walking down the streets was an elderly and poor man who was carrying a rather beat-up black violin case. He stopped by the ten-foot tall Christmas tree and opened his violin case. He slowly and carefully pulled out a well-polished and well-maintained violin and a bow. Although the violin was very old, the elderly man never considered throwing it away or selling it. His father gave the violin to him when he was twelve and it carried all his childhood memories. He had vowed that he would carry this violin till his death.
He propped the violin on his left shoulder and began to play Christmas carols. He was a very skilled violinist but none of the passerby even bothered to give him money or even told him what a wonderful violinist he was. He stood there in the bitter cold, playing his violin, hoping to earn a few dollars so that he could buy his grandchildren Christmas presents.
After nearly and hour of playing, a woman in her late forties came up to the elderly man. She had a kind smile on her face. Clinging onto one of her hands was a young toddler carrying a paper bag.
"Merry Christmas," the woman said, smiling. "You are a wonderful violinist. I haven't heard one so talented as you are since my husband passed away. It's been a long time since I've heard beautiful music," she told the elderly man.
"Why, thank you, madam," the elderly man smiled, delighted at being praised.
"Here's a little something for you and Merry Christmas to you," the woman said, pressing a Christmas present and a fifty-dollar bill into the elderly man's trembling hands.
"Thank you so much," the elderly man's voice trembled in gratitude. "Now I can buy my grandchildren Christmas presents and I'll be able to see their happy little faces. Merry Christmas to you too," tears of joy spilt down the elderly man's wrinkled cheeks.
"You don't have to thank me. I should thank you, for the beautiful music," the woman smiled and walked away.
"Merry Christmas!" the toddler shouted with a happy beam on his face as his mother lead him down the streets.
"Merry Christmas," the elderly man whispered, waving, his hands still trembling as he did so. He dried his eyes with his torn handkerchief and packed up his violin. On his way down the streets to the nearest gift shop, he saw the Salvation Army standing next to a Christmas tree, where the homeless children wrote down what they wished for Christmas in small, square cards and hung them on the tree.
My grandchildren have me to love and care for them but those poor children have no one. The elderly man thought sadly. Those poor children need the gifts more than my grandchildren do. The elderly man went up to the Christmas tree and randomly selected a card. The card was written by a four-year-old who wanted nothing more but toy soldier. The elderly man took the card along with him into the gift shop. He spent thirty dollars on toys for four of his grandchildren and he spent the remaining on a magnificent handcrafted toy soldier carrying a gun that marched when was the key in the back was wound. He had the gifts wrapped up nicely and then, he left the gift shop.
He stuck the card onto the present containing the toy soldier and handed it over to the Salvation Army with a smile and a sincere Merry Christmas.
"Thank you sir and Merry Christmas," was the reply he got from the Salvation Army.
Deep down inside, the elderly man knew that the right person to thank was the woman that gave him the money. Without her, he wouldn't have the money to buy the toys for his grandchildren and the toy soldier for the four-year-old.
He reached home half an hour later. His wife was preparing the Christmas meal in the kitchen. His son and his family were sitting on the couch by the merrily crackling fire.
"Merry Christmas!" the elderly man smiled merrily, set his violin case down and gave his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren a hug each.
"I have a little something for the four of you," he turned to his grandchildren. There was fourteen-year-old Thomas, ten-year-old Mary, four-year-old Joseph and two-year-old Matthew. He gave them their Christmas presents and in return he got four happy faces, thank you and hugs.
"Dinner is ready!" his wife called from the dining room. They all went into the small but cozy dining room.
They sat down by the table and before they ate their meal, they said a grace before meal. The food was scrumptious and it was a pleasant, merry and happy dinner. The elderly man was so happy that he could be with his family for Christmas dinner.
The elderly man thought, 'I met an angel tonight. She was the kindest person I've ever met. Even though she had a toddler to take care of and she was now the breadwinner of the family, she still had the heart of gold to give me money and a Christmas present. She was an angel, an angel with a heart of gold. Her kindness was my Christmas present and she was an angel sent to me by God...'
Gabrielle Jee
An Angel
Heavens opened up today,
Music so sweet to hear,
Light so pure and golden showed the way,
I couldn't see a single tear.
An angel full of grace,
Appeared in front of me,
With a slow pace,
Made her way towards me.
Sent to me by God,
To rule and to guide me,
Chosen by the Lord,
I was the one.
To have an angel,
By my side,
I will never forget it all,
How I met an angel.
Gabrielle Jee
"Dead people don't talk so shut up and act like one."
Rain poured heavily from the darken heavens. Lightning flashed above the many black umbrellas., casting a ghostly ray of light on everyone. Thunder shook the muddy and wet grounds that they were standing on. The atmosphere was grave and so tense. Diminished sounds of crying and mourning could be heard over the sound of the raindrops falling onto the ground. Even though, the heavy rain took away nearly fifty percent of the visibility, nevertheless, the faces of those crying over their loved ones could be seen distinctively.
I looked around sadly. Death was a part of everyday life. Death must happen in order to keep the world balanced. Life and death must be equal. I saw a black hearse parked by the side of the cemetery and I saw that whoever the poor soul who died was, he or she must have had a big family or either, a famous person. I could hear and see the Roman Catholic priest praying together with those who attended the funeral.
Queerly though, I couldn't locate where the coffin was. Unless they had lowered it down into the six-foot deep grave that was already dug, I thought. But that was literally impossible because a coffin was only lowered at the end of the funeral, after the priest was done with the praying and readings. There must be some logical explanation why the coffin wasn't present. The sight of a coffin-less funeral was almost...macabre...I shivered, not because of the cold but because of the sight of the coffin-less funeral. No matter how macabre it was, I still had to pay respect at a funeral and not have all these improper thoughts. How offensive this would have been if the dead could actually read my thoughts. I laughed inwardly and continued to wonder where could the coffin be.
I began to let my mind wonder. What would it be like to be dead? To be able to leave this world and travel to another? Would it be like...starting a whole new life? Was there really life after death? Was there really eternal life? I slapped myself mentally at my doubt against eternal life. Who was I trying to kid? Hello! I'm a Roman Catholic, I believe in eternal life and life after death! How could I actually doubt my faith in eternal life and life after death with God in his kingdom! I slapped myself mentally again and made a reminder not to doubt my faith ever again.
Out of the blues, I realized something and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn't standing up, neither was I sitting down but I was lying down. I was puzzled and almost interested why was I lying down on muddy grounds. That was when I realized that I was lying in something soft and it had a silky texture. I nearly screamed out loud. I was lying in a twenty thousand-dollar coffin lined with the finest silks. I could still see the sky because the lid wasn't closed yet. They are burying me alive! The thought crossed my head. I tried to scream but I couldn't and I couldn't even move any part of my body. Then, I felt a sharp and burning white-hot pain in my side and I winced in pain. I was frustrated and angry, who dares to drug me and try to bury me alive! Of all the nerve this psycho had! I tried to scream again but all I could manage was a barely audible whisper. I bet the ants couldn't even hear me let alone those fools who actually fell for the thought that I was dead can hear me. Then my sister's favorite sentence came into my head, "Dead people don't talk so shut up and act like one." When I remembered her words, I don't know whether to laugh or to cry or to scream.
"—may Evelyn rest in peace forever," those were the last words from the priest, indicating that it was time for me to be buried. They closed the lid of my coffin and that was the last time I ever saw the world anymore.
I groaned inwardly, I'm going to be buried alive??? I can't believe this. Then I felt a jolt of sadness, at least I know the feeling to be 'so-call' dead. I'll never see my parents again, my sister again or my friends anymore. This was starting to get plain ridiculous again. I tried screaming while they began to lower my coffin into the six-foot deep grave. At least this coffin is pretty comfortable, I found myself thinking then I slapped myself mentally again. Fool! What do you mean by at least this coffin is pretty comfortable! I thought sarcastically as my coffin hit the muddy bottom of the grave with a thud and a bump.
They began to shovel mounts of dirt onto my coffin. I could hear every single thud when the dirt hit the lid of my coffin. It's going to be a long wait down here, I thought irritably, counting every single thud. Perhaps the thud worked like the so-call theory of counting sheep make you sleepy. I started to feel my eyelids go heavy and I started to feel drowsy, before I last knew it, I was literally asleep.
When I woke up. I started to feel panic rising into my chest again. Then I blinked, it was bright and everything was this bright white light. I was confused, why is it bright now? Shouldn't it be dark like it was six feet under? Then, I slowly registered something in my mind, maybe the whole being-buried-alive-thing was just another absurd dream. While I was busy pondering, a voice called out to me.
"Welcome home Evelyn," the voice echoed.
I whirled around and saw nothing but bright, white light everywhere. I squinted at tried to search for the direction of the voice. I can move...I realized and then felt faint, what's going on now!
"I'm just being inquisitive," I voiced up uncertainly then I continued what I wanted to say, "am I dead? Or is this some sort of, uh...dream?"
"It's no dream. You are dead," the voice confirmed the worst on my mind.
"How did that happen to me?" I questioned curiously. "I thought I was drugged and buried alive," I muttered under my breath and then regretted saying that almost immediately.
"You were not drugged neither were you buried alive," the voice said and gave something that I was pretty certain, it was a laugh. "You were killed in a plane crash from during your flight back from Moscow."
I nodded, my mouth hanging open. I was standing here, listening to my own death story, I was very, very interested. "So that explains the burning white-hot pain in my side, was I impaled by anything?" I subconsciously rubbed my side, trying to feel for a hole or a scar or any wound.
"By a three-foot long piece of metal," the voice replied.
"Ouch, must have hurt lots," I winced and gingerly massaged my side.
"And you lost a great amount of blood and to the result of that, you died."
"Ah, ooh," came my reply.
"Any further questions?"
"No."
"Very, well, you should take a rest. And before that, that was very nice of you to do all those charity work in Moscow."
"Why, thank you!"
Then, everything became dark again but this time I wasn't afraid. I felt calm and at peace. It was all so tranquil and I fell back to sleep, eternal rest...
Gabrielle Jee
PS: This was my very first essay in Form 1. Although, this is the modified version but it's pretty similar. Too bad Mr. Tan never gave back my essay. The original one was entitled 'A Dream', so the original one ended with an 'it's-just-a-dream-and-nothing-more-than-that' sort of ending. I kind of prefer this version rather than the original one.
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one."
My sister used to tell me all the time,
Whenever I would get her mad,
It was her very favorite line that I would mime,
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one."
That is what she would tell me,
I used to laugh when I heard it,
Now I'm dead and I remember her telling me,
I just don't know whether to laugh or cry.
So much for being dead,
I have to shut up and act like one,
I never even had to chance to see her wed,
Not even an invitation though I was her number one.
I miss everyone down there,
But don't you ever cry for me,
I want to see you happy there,
Even though there'll never ever be another 'we'.
But I still want you to remember us,
Don't you ever worry,
You'll never ever have to say these words,
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one!"
I looked around sadly. Death was a part of everyday life. Death must happen in order to keep the world balanced. Life and death must be equal. I saw a black hearse parked by the side of the cemetery and I saw that whoever the poor soul who died was, he or she must have had a big family or either, a famous person. I could hear and see the Roman Catholic priest praying together with those who attended the funeral.
Queerly though, I couldn't locate where the coffin was. Unless they had lowered it down into the six-foot deep grave that was already dug, I thought. But that was literally impossible because a coffin was only lowered at the end of the funeral, after the priest was done with the praying and readings. There must be some logical explanation why the coffin wasn't present. The sight of a coffin-less funeral was almost...macabre...I shivered, not because of the cold but because of the sight of the coffin-less funeral. No matter how macabre it was, I still had to pay respect at a funeral and not have all these improper thoughts. How offensive this would have been if the dead could actually read my thoughts. I laughed inwardly and continued to wonder where could the coffin be.
I began to let my mind wonder. What would it be like to be dead? To be able to leave this world and travel to another? Would it be like...starting a whole new life? Was there really life after death? Was there really eternal life? I slapped myself mentally at my doubt against eternal life. Who was I trying to kid? Hello! I'm a Roman Catholic, I believe in eternal life and life after death! How could I actually doubt my faith in eternal life and life after death with God in his kingdom! I slapped myself mentally again and made a reminder not to doubt my faith ever again.
Out of the blues, I realized something and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn't standing up, neither was I sitting down but I was lying down. I was puzzled and almost interested why was I lying down on muddy grounds. That was when I realized that I was lying in something soft and it had a silky texture. I nearly screamed out loud. I was lying in a twenty thousand-dollar coffin lined with the finest silks. I could still see the sky because the lid wasn't closed yet. They are burying me alive! The thought crossed my head. I tried to scream but I couldn't and I couldn't even move any part of my body. Then, I felt a sharp and burning white-hot pain in my side and I winced in pain. I was frustrated and angry, who dares to drug me and try to bury me alive! Of all the nerve this psycho had! I tried to scream again but all I could manage was a barely audible whisper. I bet the ants couldn't even hear me let alone those fools who actually fell for the thought that I was dead can hear me. Then my sister's favorite sentence came into my head, "Dead people don't talk so shut up and act like one." When I remembered her words, I don't know whether to laugh or to cry or to scream.
"—may Evelyn rest in peace forever," those were the last words from the priest, indicating that it was time for me to be buried. They closed the lid of my coffin and that was the last time I ever saw the world anymore.
I groaned inwardly, I'm going to be buried alive??? I can't believe this. Then I felt a jolt of sadness, at least I know the feeling to be 'so-call' dead. I'll never see my parents again, my sister again or my friends anymore. This was starting to get plain ridiculous again. I tried screaming while they began to lower my coffin into the six-foot deep grave. At least this coffin is pretty comfortable, I found myself thinking then I slapped myself mentally again. Fool! What do you mean by at least this coffin is pretty comfortable! I thought sarcastically as my coffin hit the muddy bottom of the grave with a thud and a bump.
They began to shovel mounts of dirt onto my coffin. I could hear every single thud when the dirt hit the lid of my coffin. It's going to be a long wait down here, I thought irritably, counting every single thud. Perhaps the thud worked like the so-call theory of counting sheep make you sleepy. I started to feel my eyelids go heavy and I started to feel drowsy, before I last knew it, I was literally asleep.
When I woke up. I started to feel panic rising into my chest again. Then I blinked, it was bright and everything was this bright white light. I was confused, why is it bright now? Shouldn't it be dark like it was six feet under? Then, I slowly registered something in my mind, maybe the whole being-buried-alive-thing was just another absurd dream. While I was busy pondering, a voice called out to me.
"Welcome home Evelyn," the voice echoed.
I whirled around and saw nothing but bright, white light everywhere. I squinted at tried to search for the direction of the voice. I can move...I realized and then felt faint, what's going on now!
"I'm just being inquisitive," I voiced up uncertainly then I continued what I wanted to say, "am I dead? Or is this some sort of, uh...dream?"
"It's no dream. You are dead," the voice confirmed the worst on my mind.
"How did that happen to me?" I questioned curiously. "I thought I was drugged and buried alive," I muttered under my breath and then regretted saying that almost immediately.
"You were not drugged neither were you buried alive," the voice said and gave something that I was pretty certain, it was a laugh. "You were killed in a plane crash from during your flight back from Moscow."
I nodded, my mouth hanging open. I was standing here, listening to my own death story, I was very, very interested. "So that explains the burning white-hot pain in my side, was I impaled by anything?" I subconsciously rubbed my side, trying to feel for a hole or a scar or any wound.
"By a three-foot long piece of metal," the voice replied.
"Ouch, must have hurt lots," I winced and gingerly massaged my side.
"And you lost a great amount of blood and to the result of that, you died."
"Ah, ooh," came my reply.
"Any further questions?"
"No."
"Very, well, you should take a rest. And before that, that was very nice of you to do all those charity work in Moscow."
"Why, thank you!"
Then, everything became dark again but this time I wasn't afraid. I felt calm and at peace. It was all so tranquil and I fell back to sleep, eternal rest...
Gabrielle Jee
PS: This was my very first essay in Form 1. Although, this is the modified version but it's pretty similar. Too bad Mr. Tan never gave back my essay. The original one was entitled 'A Dream', so the original one ended with an 'it's-just-a-dream-and-nothing-more-than-that' sort of ending. I kind of prefer this version rather than the original one.
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one."
My sister used to tell me all the time,
Whenever I would get her mad,
It was her very favorite line that I would mime,
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one."
That is what she would tell me,
I used to laugh when I heard it,
Now I'm dead and I remember her telling me,
I just don't know whether to laugh or cry.
So much for being dead,
I have to shut up and act like one,
I never even had to chance to see her wed,
Not even an invitation though I was her number one.
I miss everyone down there,
But don't you ever cry for me,
I want to see you happy there,
Even though there'll never ever be another 'we'.
But I still want you to remember us,
Don't you ever worry,
You'll never ever have to say these words,
"Dead people don't talk, so shut up and act like one!"
I Believe
As a doctor, I had seen death pass in front of my face. Young and old lives taken in front of my very own eyes. Some willingly gave up their souls while some fought for their souls to keep. It was sad to watch someone go but I knew that the longer they stayed, they would only feel more pain and sufferings. I was happy that they were at peace now but sad that they had to leave all their loved ones behind. I knew I couldn't do anything to fight against it if it was their time to leave but sometimes, deep down inside, I feel as if I had let them down.
I was doing my rounds around the cancer when I heard laughter coming from the children's cancer wad. I decided to check on the children's cancer wad. I opened the door and I was instantly greeted by a young little girl. She had a happy smile on and it lit up her whole face. I felt sorry for her, she was so young and she had cancer but she was still so happy.
"Hello there," I smiled at her and reached out to pat her head.
"Hello doctor! Isn't it a beautiful day!" she beamed at me and pointed out of the window.
I nodded and felt sad that it was such a beautiful day and she couldn't be like the other kids, running around and playing with their friends on a day like this.
"What's your name?" I asked her while flipping at the clipboard by her bed. I saw that it was written there that she had acute lymphoblastic leukemia and was currently undergoing chemotherapy.
"My name is Cathy Reed and I am nine-years-old," she sat down on her bed and leaned towards me. "You are Doctor Lorraine Rivera?" she read off the plastic tag hanging on one of the pockets on my coat. "I like that name," she added, blinking her large brown eyes at me.
"Thank you, Cathy. That's very sweet of you," I sat down on the bed beside her to keep her company since it was 3p.m. now and my shift was over.
Cathy told me that she was in remission for two months already then when out of the blues, the doctors told her that she was out of remission. Cancer cells had been found in her blood stream. This was her third week in hospital. She also told me that her father had been involved in an accident that left him in a coma for three months before he passed away. Her mother was now a single-mother raising three children and worked as a clerk for a lawyer and was having a hard time paying for her medical bills.
"But, my mommy doesn't have to worry anymore about the bills!" Cathy said brightly, placing her hands on mine. "Because I'll be out soon! I know it! I pray day and night to God and I know that He will answer my prayers. I believe that He answers everyone's prayers, rich, poor, healthy or sick, I believe in God," she smiled.
Touched by her child-like grin, I tightened my grip on her hands and smiled at her. "Of course He'll answer your prayers. You've been a good girl," I told her kindly.
"Doctor, you know what?" she pulled her legs up on the bed and sat cross-legged. "I never cried or screamed when Doctor Matthew sticks those big scary needles into me or when he does the radiation thing!" she bragged and then giggled.
I knew that she was talking about the lumbar punctures and the gamma radiation. "I'm proud of you," I patted her on the head.
"Doctor Lorraine, do you think I'll leave here soon? I want to be with my mommy, my sister and my brother," she looked up at me with puppy dog eyes.
I felt my heart sink when I looked at her. Even though I knew that she would most likely be here for quite a while, I lied and told her that she will be leaving here soon, much sooner than she thought she will. I stayed with her until it was four, I told her to get some sleep before the nurse brings her lunch at six. I gave her a goodbye hug and went out of the wad. I was so touched by how much faith Cathy had. Once I left the wad, a nurse came up to me and told me that I was in need at the Intensive Care Unit wad, I hurriedly made my way towards the ICU, I didn't want to be late and cause a life to be lost forever.
*
For three months continuously, I visited Cathy during my off-shifts. Today, I decided to visit after I took my lunch. When I set a foot in the children's cancer wad, I realized that something was wrong. I wasn't greeted with Cathy's usual hug around my waist. I quickly made my way towards her bed and saw that she was lying down, staring out of the window.
She managed a weak hello for me. I said hello back in return and saw that her eyes were tired and looked shadowed. I took her wrist and checked for a pulse, there was a weak pulse. I patted her on the shoulder and told her to rest and that she'll feel better in a while. Then, I left the wad. Then I was at the door, I turned back to look at her. She looked very pale and tired and was motionless. I quietly shut the door and walked down the long corridor, breathing in the smell of antiseptic.
That night, I happened to be on night shift after treating a couple that had been in a horrifying accident. The husband had survived with a broken tibia, broken pelvis, several broken ribs and a slight concussion. Unfortunately, his wife passed exactly fifteen minutes after being brought to the hospital. She had suffered from severe loss of blood and her spinal chord was broken at four places.
I went into the children's cancer wad and quietly made my way towards Cathy. She was asleep. Suddenly, she sat upright like a jack knife. I was so startled by her sudden movement that my stethoscope clattered onto the floor. I was about to bend down to pick it up when her hand closed over my wrist.
"Goodbye Doctor Lorraine. Thank you for everything," she smiled, her eyes no longer shadowed but it was full of happiness. "God is here, do you see Him? He is waiting for me, it is time for me to go. He has answered my prayers, doctor, just like you promised He would. He's taking me home now with Him forever. Now my mommy won't have to pay for the bills. God is so wonderful, you know Him, don't you?" Cathy gave me one last smile and her grip on my wrist loosened. She had stopped breathing and her heart had stopped working. These were her last words to me and I will always remember them and she had a special place in my heart forever. Do I know Him? My answer is that I do. I believe.
Gabrielle Jee
I Believe
Have you watched death flown by?
Have you watched your loved ones go?
Ever so dearly without a goodbye?
Were you there to watch them go?
Have you seen God standing there,
With His arms wide open,
To welcome them home today?
Were you there to watch that happen?
Have you shed a single tear,
When He took them away,
Or did you fear?
That they were on their way?
I have seen it happen,
I saw God standing there,
With His arms wide open,
They will all go and heaven is where.
I'd start from this minute,
I believe that death is just nothing,
I'd start from this minute,
I believe in heaven.
I believe that my loved ones,
Are all safe and happy in God's kingdom,
I believe that my loved ones,
Are here for me though I can't see them.
by Gabrielle Jee
I was doing my rounds around the cancer when I heard laughter coming from the children's cancer wad. I decided to check on the children's cancer wad. I opened the door and I was instantly greeted by a young little girl. She had a happy smile on and it lit up her whole face. I felt sorry for her, she was so young and she had cancer but she was still so happy.
"Hello there," I smiled at her and reached out to pat her head.
"Hello doctor! Isn't it a beautiful day!" she beamed at me and pointed out of the window.
I nodded and felt sad that it was such a beautiful day and she couldn't be like the other kids, running around and playing with their friends on a day like this.
"What's your name?" I asked her while flipping at the clipboard by her bed. I saw that it was written there that she had acute lymphoblastic leukemia and was currently undergoing chemotherapy.
"My name is Cathy Reed and I am nine-years-old," she sat down on her bed and leaned towards me. "You are Doctor Lorraine Rivera?" she read off the plastic tag hanging on one of the pockets on my coat. "I like that name," she added, blinking her large brown eyes at me.
"Thank you, Cathy. That's very sweet of you," I sat down on the bed beside her to keep her company since it was 3p.m. now and my shift was over.
Cathy told me that she was in remission for two months already then when out of the blues, the doctors told her that she was out of remission. Cancer cells had been found in her blood stream. This was her third week in hospital. She also told me that her father had been involved in an accident that left him in a coma for three months before he passed away. Her mother was now a single-mother raising three children and worked as a clerk for a lawyer and was having a hard time paying for her medical bills.
"But, my mommy doesn't have to worry anymore about the bills!" Cathy said brightly, placing her hands on mine. "Because I'll be out soon! I know it! I pray day and night to God and I know that He will answer my prayers. I believe that He answers everyone's prayers, rich, poor, healthy or sick, I believe in God," she smiled.
Touched by her child-like grin, I tightened my grip on her hands and smiled at her. "Of course He'll answer your prayers. You've been a good girl," I told her kindly.
"Doctor, you know what?" she pulled her legs up on the bed and sat cross-legged. "I never cried or screamed when Doctor Matthew sticks those big scary needles into me or when he does the radiation thing!" she bragged and then giggled.
I knew that she was talking about the lumbar punctures and the gamma radiation. "I'm proud of you," I patted her on the head.
"Doctor Lorraine, do you think I'll leave here soon? I want to be with my mommy, my sister and my brother," she looked up at me with puppy dog eyes.
I felt my heart sink when I looked at her. Even though I knew that she would most likely be here for quite a while, I lied and told her that she will be leaving here soon, much sooner than she thought she will. I stayed with her until it was four, I told her to get some sleep before the nurse brings her lunch at six. I gave her a goodbye hug and went out of the wad. I was so touched by how much faith Cathy had. Once I left the wad, a nurse came up to me and told me that I was in need at the Intensive Care Unit wad, I hurriedly made my way towards the ICU, I didn't want to be late and cause a life to be lost forever.
*
For three months continuously, I visited Cathy during my off-shifts. Today, I decided to visit after I took my lunch. When I set a foot in the children's cancer wad, I realized that something was wrong. I wasn't greeted with Cathy's usual hug around my waist. I quickly made my way towards her bed and saw that she was lying down, staring out of the window.
She managed a weak hello for me. I said hello back in return and saw that her eyes were tired and looked shadowed. I took her wrist and checked for a pulse, there was a weak pulse. I patted her on the shoulder and told her to rest and that she'll feel better in a while. Then, I left the wad. Then I was at the door, I turned back to look at her. She looked very pale and tired and was motionless. I quietly shut the door and walked down the long corridor, breathing in the smell of antiseptic.
That night, I happened to be on night shift after treating a couple that had been in a horrifying accident. The husband had survived with a broken tibia, broken pelvis, several broken ribs and a slight concussion. Unfortunately, his wife passed exactly fifteen minutes after being brought to the hospital. She had suffered from severe loss of blood and her spinal chord was broken at four places.
I went into the children's cancer wad and quietly made my way towards Cathy. She was asleep. Suddenly, she sat upright like a jack knife. I was so startled by her sudden movement that my stethoscope clattered onto the floor. I was about to bend down to pick it up when her hand closed over my wrist.
"Goodbye Doctor Lorraine. Thank you for everything," she smiled, her eyes no longer shadowed but it was full of happiness. "God is here, do you see Him? He is waiting for me, it is time for me to go. He has answered my prayers, doctor, just like you promised He would. He's taking me home now with Him forever. Now my mommy won't have to pay for the bills. God is so wonderful, you know Him, don't you?" Cathy gave me one last smile and her grip on my wrist loosened. She had stopped breathing and her heart had stopped working. These were her last words to me and I will always remember them and she had a special place in my heart forever. Do I know Him? My answer is that I do. I believe.
Gabrielle Jee
I Believe
Have you watched death flown by?
Have you watched your loved ones go?
Ever so dearly without a goodbye?
Were you there to watch them go?
Have you seen God standing there,
With His arms wide open,
To welcome them home today?
Were you there to watch that happen?
Have you shed a single tear,
When He took them away,
Or did you fear?
That they were on their way?
I have seen it happen,
I saw God standing there,
With His arms wide open,
They will all go and heaven is where.
I'd start from this minute,
I believe that death is just nothing,
I'd start from this minute,
I believe in heaven.
I believe that my loved ones,
Are all safe and happy in God's kingdom,
I believe that my loved ones,
Are here for me though I can't see them.
by Gabrielle Jee
The Rose with No Thorns
Kindness if a language the dumb can speak and the deaf can hear and understand—Christian Nestell Bovee
A young man carrying a guitar case boarded the afternoon school bus at Maple Street. Obviously ill at ease, he found a seat, placed the guitar on end beside him in the aisle , and held it upright with his arm. He looked around anxiously, then hung his head and began shuffling his feet back and forth on the floor of the bus.
Melanie watched him. She didn't know who he was, but from his looks she decided he must be a real loser.
Melanie's friend, Kathy looked up from her book. "Wouldn't you know it? Crazy Carl again."
"Who's Crazy Carl?" Melanie asked, tossing her sunny hair.
"Don't you know your next-door neighbor?"
"Next-door neighbor? The Bells moved into that house. We met them the day we left on spring vacation."
"Well, that's his name, Carl Bell."
The bus rolled on under the big trees along Elm Street. Kathy and Melanie stared at the newcomer and his big guitar case.
When the driver called out "Sycamore," the new boy awkwardly picked up his case and got off. It was Melanie's stop, too, but she didn't budge. When the bus started again, she rang for the next corner. "See you, Kathy."
Melanie ran home, up the steps and through the front door. She called out, "Mom, does that weirdo live next door?"
Her mother came into the hall from the kitchen. "Melanie, you must not refer to anyone as a weirdo. Yes, the Bells have a handicapped son. This morning I called Mrs. bell, and she told me about Carl. He has never been able to speak. He has a congenital heart defect and a nervous disorder. They have found a private tutor for him, and he is taking guitar lessons to help improve his coordination."
"Just the pits! Right next door!" Melanie exclaimed.
"He's a shy boy. You must be neighborly. Just say hello when you see him."
"But he rides the school bus, and the other kids laugh at him."
"See that you don't," her mother advised.
It was week before Carl boarded the bus again. Melanie thought he recognized her. Grudgingly, she said hello. Some of the other kids started whispering and making jokes. Pretty soon spit wads where flying. "Settle down!" the driver yelled. Carl shuffled his feet. Each time a spit wad hit him he twitched. When his guitar clattered to the floor, the driver again admonished them to settle down—this time with a warning tone in his voice. The bus grew quiet but the fun didn't stop. The boys seated behind Carl started blowing on the back of his head, making his hair stand up. They thought it was funny.
When Sycamore Street came to into view Carl jumped up, rang the bell, put the guitar strap over his shoulder and headed for the door. The guitar case swung wide, hitting Chuck Wilson on the neck. Carl rushed toward the door with his case still crosswise in the aisle. When Chuck caught up and took a swing at him, the shoulder strap tore loose and the case slid down the steps into the gutter. Carl stumbled off the bus and ran down the street, leaving his guitar behind.
Melanie sat glued to her seat. "I'm never getting off there again," she said to Kathy. Once again she waited until the next corner before getting off, then retraced the block back to Sycamore. The open case still lay in the gutter. She walked past it and headed toward home. What a character! she thought. What did I ever do to deserve him for a neighbor?
But by the time Melanie had gone half a block, her conscience bothered her for leaving Carl's guitar where anyone could pick it up. She turned back to get it./ Both the handle and the strap on the case were broken, so she had to carry it in her arms with her books. Why am I doing this? she wondered. Then she remembered how terrible it had been when everybody laughed at him.
Mrs. Bell opened the door before Melanie could knock. "Melanie, I am so glad to see you! What happened? Carl was so upset he went straight to his room," she said, laying the case on a chair.
"It was just a little accident." Melanie didn't want to alarm her with the whole story. "Carl left his guitar. I thought I should bring it."
Carl didn't ride the bus after that. His parents drove him to and from guitar lessons. Melanie saw him only when he worked in his rose garden.
Life should have gone more smoothly, but the kids still pestered him. They hung around his yard, threw acorns at him and chanted, "Crazy Carl, the banjo king, takes music lessons and can't play a thing."
One hot day as Carl relaxed on the grass with a soft drink, the kids came and started their chant. Melanie glanced out her window just in time to see the soda bottle shatter on the sidewalk at their feet.
The next day at school Kathy said, "Did you hear about Crazy Carl cutting those kids with a broken bottle?"
"No wonder," Melanie said, "the way they keep after him."
"Whose side are you on?" Kathy fired back.
"I'm not choosing sides, but I heard them bugging him."
"Bet you two hold hands over the fence," Kathy said sarcastically.
At noon in the cafeteria line a classmate teased Melanie, "If you are asking Crazy Carl to go with you to the banquet, I'll be glad to take Jim off your hands."
Before the day was over, somebody wrote on the blackboard, "Melanie loves Crazy Carl."
Melanie managed to keep her poise just long enough to get home. She ran in the door and burst into tears. "Mom, I told you it was the pits having a weirdo next door. I hate him." She told her mother what happened at school.
"It hurts when your friends turn on you," Melanie said, "and for nothing!" Then she thought of something she hadn't considered before. "Carl must have cried lots of times."
"I'm sure," her mother agreed.
Why do I feel so mean about Carl? she wondered. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I just think I'm supposed to because everybody else does.
"Sometimes, Mom, I don't bother to do my own thinking." Melanie wiped her eyes. "Jim's coming over. I have to wash my hair." She ran upstairs.
On the last day of school, Melanie came home early. Carl was in his rose garden. When he saw her, he clipped a rose and went to the gate to wait. Melanie greeted him with her usual hello. He held out the rose. As she reached for it, he put up his other hand to delay her, and started breaking off the thorns. He pricked his finger, frowned a moment, wiped the blood on his shirtsleeve, and continued breaking off the thorns.
Tonight was the banquet, and Melanie wanted to get home and be sure her clothes were ready. But she stood and waited.
Carl handed her the rose with no thorns. "Thank you, Carl. Now I won't stick my fingers," she said, in an effort to interpret his thoughts. Toughed by his childlike grin, she patted his cheek, thanked him again and walked on home. At the door she looked back, Carl was still standing there, holding his hand against the cheek she had touched.
One week later Carl died of a congestive heart failure. After the funeral, the Bells went away for a while.
One day a latter came from Mrs. Bell. There was a special note for Melanie.
Dear Melanie,
I think Carl would like you to have this last page from his diary. We encouraged him to write at least one sentence a day. Most days there was little good to write.
Mr. Bell and I want to thank you for being his friend—the only youthful friend he ever had.
Our love,
Carla Bell
Carl's last words :Mlanee is a rose wit no torns.
Addapted from a 5th Portion of Chicken Soup, The Rose With No Thorns by Eva Harding
A young man carrying a guitar case boarded the afternoon school bus at Maple Street. Obviously ill at ease, he found a seat, placed the guitar on end beside him in the aisle , and held it upright with his arm. He looked around anxiously, then hung his head and began shuffling his feet back and forth on the floor of the bus.
Melanie watched him. She didn't know who he was, but from his looks she decided he must be a real loser.
Melanie's friend, Kathy looked up from her book. "Wouldn't you know it? Crazy Carl again."
"Who's Crazy Carl?" Melanie asked, tossing her sunny hair.
"Don't you know your next-door neighbor?"
"Next-door neighbor? The Bells moved into that house. We met them the day we left on spring vacation."
"Well, that's his name, Carl Bell."
The bus rolled on under the big trees along Elm Street. Kathy and Melanie stared at the newcomer and his big guitar case.
When the driver called out "Sycamore," the new boy awkwardly picked up his case and got off. It was Melanie's stop, too, but she didn't budge. When the bus started again, she rang for the next corner. "See you, Kathy."
Melanie ran home, up the steps and through the front door. She called out, "Mom, does that weirdo live next door?"
Her mother came into the hall from the kitchen. "Melanie, you must not refer to anyone as a weirdo. Yes, the Bells have a handicapped son. This morning I called Mrs. bell, and she told me about Carl. He has never been able to speak. He has a congenital heart defect and a nervous disorder. They have found a private tutor for him, and he is taking guitar lessons to help improve his coordination."
"Just the pits! Right next door!" Melanie exclaimed.
"He's a shy boy. You must be neighborly. Just say hello when you see him."
"But he rides the school bus, and the other kids laugh at him."
"See that you don't," her mother advised.
It was week before Carl boarded the bus again. Melanie thought he recognized her. Grudgingly, she said hello. Some of the other kids started whispering and making jokes. Pretty soon spit wads where flying. "Settle down!" the driver yelled. Carl shuffled his feet. Each time a spit wad hit him he twitched. When his guitar clattered to the floor, the driver again admonished them to settle down—this time with a warning tone in his voice. The bus grew quiet but the fun didn't stop. The boys seated behind Carl started blowing on the back of his head, making his hair stand up. They thought it was funny.
When Sycamore Street came to into view Carl jumped up, rang the bell, put the guitar strap over his shoulder and headed for the door. The guitar case swung wide, hitting Chuck Wilson on the neck. Carl rushed toward the door with his case still crosswise in the aisle. When Chuck caught up and took a swing at him, the shoulder strap tore loose and the case slid down the steps into the gutter. Carl stumbled off the bus and ran down the street, leaving his guitar behind.
Melanie sat glued to her seat. "I'm never getting off there again," she said to Kathy. Once again she waited until the next corner before getting off, then retraced the block back to Sycamore. The open case still lay in the gutter. She walked past it and headed toward home. What a character! she thought. What did I ever do to deserve him for a neighbor?
But by the time Melanie had gone half a block, her conscience bothered her for leaving Carl's guitar where anyone could pick it up. She turned back to get it./ Both the handle and the strap on the case were broken, so she had to carry it in her arms with her books. Why am I doing this? she wondered. Then she remembered how terrible it had been when everybody laughed at him.
Mrs. Bell opened the door before Melanie could knock. "Melanie, I am so glad to see you! What happened? Carl was so upset he went straight to his room," she said, laying the case on a chair.
"It was just a little accident." Melanie didn't want to alarm her with the whole story. "Carl left his guitar. I thought I should bring it."
Carl didn't ride the bus after that. His parents drove him to and from guitar lessons. Melanie saw him only when he worked in his rose garden.
Life should have gone more smoothly, but the kids still pestered him. They hung around his yard, threw acorns at him and chanted, "Crazy Carl, the banjo king, takes music lessons and can't play a thing."
One hot day as Carl relaxed on the grass with a soft drink, the kids came and started their chant. Melanie glanced out her window just in time to see the soda bottle shatter on the sidewalk at their feet.
The next day at school Kathy said, "Did you hear about Crazy Carl cutting those kids with a broken bottle?"
"No wonder," Melanie said, "the way they keep after him."
"Whose side are you on?" Kathy fired back.
"I'm not choosing sides, but I heard them bugging him."
"Bet you two hold hands over the fence," Kathy said sarcastically.
At noon in the cafeteria line a classmate teased Melanie, "If you are asking Crazy Carl to go with you to the banquet, I'll be glad to take Jim off your hands."
Before the day was over, somebody wrote on the blackboard, "Melanie loves Crazy Carl."
Melanie managed to keep her poise just long enough to get home. She ran in the door and burst into tears. "Mom, I told you it was the pits having a weirdo next door. I hate him." She told her mother what happened at school.
"It hurts when your friends turn on you," Melanie said, "and for nothing!" Then she thought of something she hadn't considered before. "Carl must have cried lots of times."
"I'm sure," her mother agreed.
Why do I feel so mean about Carl? she wondered. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I just think I'm supposed to because everybody else does.
"Sometimes, Mom, I don't bother to do my own thinking." Melanie wiped her eyes. "Jim's coming over. I have to wash my hair." She ran upstairs.
On the last day of school, Melanie came home early. Carl was in his rose garden. When he saw her, he clipped a rose and went to the gate to wait. Melanie greeted him with her usual hello. He held out the rose. As she reached for it, he put up his other hand to delay her, and started breaking off the thorns. He pricked his finger, frowned a moment, wiped the blood on his shirtsleeve, and continued breaking off the thorns.
Tonight was the banquet, and Melanie wanted to get home and be sure her clothes were ready. But she stood and waited.
Carl handed her the rose with no thorns. "Thank you, Carl. Now I won't stick my fingers," she said, in an effort to interpret his thoughts. Toughed by his childlike grin, she patted his cheek, thanked him again and walked on home. At the door she looked back, Carl was still standing there, holding his hand against the cheek she had touched.
One week later Carl died of a congestive heart failure. After the funeral, the Bells went away for a while.
One day a latter came from Mrs. Bell. There was a special note for Melanie.
Dear Melanie,
I think Carl would like you to have this last page from his diary. We encouraged him to write at least one sentence a day. Most days there was little good to write.
Mr. Bell and I want to thank you for being his friend—the only youthful friend he ever had.
Our love,
Carla Bell
Carl's last words :Mlanee is a rose wit no torns.
Addapted from a 5th Portion of Chicken Soup, The Rose With No Thorns by Eva Harding
To Those I Love
To Those I Love
When I am gone, release me, let me go
I have so many things to see and do
You mustn't tie yourself to me with tears
Be happy that we had so many years.
I gave you my love. You can only guess
How much you gave to me in happiness
I thank you for the love you have shown
But now it's time I traveled on alone.
So grieve awhile for me if grieve you must
Then let your grief be comforted by trust
It's only for a while that we must part
So bless the memories with your heart.
I won't be far away, life goes on
So if you need me, call and I will come
Though you can't see or touch me, I'll be near
And if you listen with you heart, you'll hear
All of my love around you soft and clear.
And then, when you must come this way alone
I'll greet you with a smile, and welcome you home.
(Some poem from Chicken Soup)
When I am gone, release me, let me go
I have so many things to see and do
You mustn't tie yourself to me with tears
Be happy that we had so many years.
I gave you my love. You can only guess
How much you gave to me in happiness
I thank you for the love you have shown
But now it's time I traveled on alone.
So grieve awhile for me if grieve you must
Then let your grief be comforted by trust
It's only for a while that we must part
So bless the memories with your heart.
I won't be far away, life goes on
So if you need me, call and I will come
Though you can't see or touch me, I'll be near
And if you listen with you heart, you'll hear
All of my love around you soft and clear.
And then, when you must come this way alone
I'll greet you with a smile, and welcome you home.
(Some poem from Chicken Soup)
Tic-tac-toe
Heeeyyyzzz! Whatsup? The weather is like sooooooo hot arr...I wanna go swimming or at least go to the beach or maybe some where cooler lar. Tonight going to celebrate my grandpa's birthday. Happy Birthday Grandpa! Let's c...errrr...I so totally wanna go watch movie again with my friends. So bored at home, plus my cousins go back to Miri liaooo...or was it Sibu? Hahhaaaa....I've got short term memory lost until I don't even remember where my cousins live in...chih! Yesterday I played tic-tac-toe with Ian, and lol, in the end he gave up cos he kept loosing! This is like the greatest ever movie (Phantom of the Opera) in the whole wide universe. Nah, I take that back. No! I don't! You just gotta watch it! I wanna watch One Miss Call2, Ghost Train, Premonition, Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Monster-In-Law! Who wanna go with me? Hehee, no lar, I don't go out with strangers. I'm going with my frens, wonder what's it all about anyway. Neways, anyone took my quiz on www.bebo.com? Hehehee, Sern Khuan got the highest so far, 80%! Can't believe my own best friends got less than that arrrr...chih! Hmmmmss...came back from dinner with my grandparents..as you know..it was my grandpa's b'day. Ooo...let's c...mmm.. when Demie coming back arrr? Demie arrrr...having fun in Bangkok hor... I'm only having fun in M'sia arrr... with frens and cousins and other people nia...chih! Mich lar....din chat much online. Eeee...both my best frens all away. Sighz....leave me and my other frens nia, those still stuck in M'Sia. Eee..Demie coming back this Sunday hor! Cool! Hehehee!
Bangkok
Heeeyz...Jaguar...my company. Sheesh, can you believe that the last match, Alonso from Renault came in first? Sheesh, Raikkonen from McLauren Mercedes din come in first because he had some car trouble and he drove through the sand! Whatever, I'm making a Jaguar screensaver for my notebook now, check it out...it has music and everything...like a real original screensaver...watever. Demie's in Bangkok now....sobsobs...my best friend so far away. Lol! Hey, anyway, holidays were pretty fun. I spent my day playing PS2 with my cousins, we played final fantasy x. Then, the rest of the day, it's online time and other photo editing stuff. Anyway...gotta go. Ciao.
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