vapour.in.the.wind

A Year 2 kid got bullied into cutting his own tongue yesterday. can't even bear to look at his picture people shared. since when do the little ones know how to commit such heinous act?
am extremely touched by this dance and the spoken poetry today. say NO to bullying!

To This Day

by Shane Koyzcan

When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favourite
she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
because I was afraid I’d get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise
and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie
as far as I was concerned
life was pretty good
I told her “whenever I’m sad
my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation
and I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
and I earned my first nickname

pork chop

to this day
I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid
who grew up this way
surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks and stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
and we got called them all
so we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
that we’d be lonely forever
that we’d never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
that there’s no way for it to metastasize

it does

she was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
we both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
outside we’d have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
in grade five they taped a sign to her desk
that read beware of dog

to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn’t quite get the job done
and they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
that she’s only ever always been amazing

he
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
adopted
but not because his parents opted for a different destiny
he was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
and two parts tragedy
started therapy in 8th grade
had a personality made up of tests and pills
lived like the uphills were mountains
and the downhills were cliffs
four fifths suicidal
a tidal wave of anti depressants
and an adolescence of being called popper
one part because of the pills
and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
he tried to kill himself in grade ten
when a kid who still had his mom and dad
had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression
is something that can be remedied
by any of the contents found in a first aid kit

to this day
he is a stick on TNT lit from both ends
could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it’s about to fall
and despite an army of friends
who all call him an inspiration
he remains a conversation piece between people
who can’t understand
sometimes becoming drug free
has less to do with addiction
and more to do with sanity

we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
to this day
kids are still being called names
the classics were
hey stupid
hey spaz
seems like each school has an arsenal of names
getting updated every year
and if a kid breaks in a school
and no one around chooses to hear
do they make a sound?
are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
when people say things like
kids can be cruel?
every school was a big top circus tent
and the pecking order went
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
all of these were miles ahead of who we were
we were freaks
lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
oddities
juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
but at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
it was practice
and yeah
some of us fell

but I want to tell them
that all of this shit
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought
we used to be
and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click
maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
to show and tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
you have to believe that they were wrong

they have to be wrong

why else would we still be here?
we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
because we see ourselves in them
we stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway
and if in some way we are
don’t worry
we only got out to walk and get gas
we are graduating members from the class of
fuck off we made it
not the faded echoes of voices crying out
names will never hurt me

of course
they did

but our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain

Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.— Anonymous (The New Jerusalem Bible (NJB)

Love is always patient- regardless of time, distance, highs and lows, as well as kind of people one's dealing with.
Love is always kind- everlastingly giving and never asking for favour.
Love is never boastful and conceited- it's not proud of and self-satisfied in one's achievement, possession and abilities.
Love is NEVER rude and selfish- It never harms. It's graceful and merciful and forgiving. It prioritises the other person. It prioritises God the most.
Love does not take offense and is not resentful- Love does not seek for revenge, nor does it keep an avenge. Madly, in love, does not mean to be out of control. Love is being in control of our emotions.
Love takes no pleasure in other people's sin- It seeks to build people up, not to bring people down. Love hates sin but is kind to the sinner. After all, Love has redeemed all sinners if only they believe.
Love delights in the truth- Love takes pleasure in digging and living His words. There are of countless amounts of truth but love cares about and is able to distinguish the true Truth from made-up ones. Even if one is being rejected, shamed and persecuted by the world for doing so, one never holds love back.
Love is always ready to excuse- regardless of how ugly situations get, it thrives.
Love is always ready to trust- Love does not dwell in the past nor does it fear the future.
Love is always ready to hope- That the best is yet to come. And everything works for one's good anyway.
Love is always ready to endure whatever comes- Love is always faithful in small things, and also big things. Love treats both the same- with great care. Eyes, mind and heart are always ready to conquer and be victorious.

De liefde (Love) Dutch gospel song

Even though I would speak all the languages,
From Chinese to Sanskrit.
And I could understand everyone,
But hadn't love.
What else would I be?
Than words in the wind.
A dreamer who is lost,
And cannot find his dreams anymore.

Even though I knew,
All the rules and laws.
And I had the faith,
To move mountains.
But I did not live my life with love,
Why would I still exist?
If the most beautiful theories,
In a matter of time will fall apart.

Love, love,
This word is too big.
But love, that is life,
Even life through death.
Love, love,
Tell me the secret,
Of a God who is always love.

I want to force,
But love is patient.
And when I want to punish,
Love forgives the debt.
Even when I am egoistic,
Love will share everything.
Sometimes I kick a lot,
But love kneels down on the floor.

And soon, when everything is finished,
People had expected the least.
God will teach us the glory of the light.
In love I recognize His Face.

Break my heart for what break Yours, Lord. Teach me the way You love me. <3

Shalom.

Growing up my siblings and i didn't really have toys. I remember Dad bought us dolls one each and that was it. In the 90's my family depended on Dad's mere RM800 pay and we lived just by having the basics. So the doll, mine was one of the Seven Dwarves. It was the size of an adult's head. It was maybe the emotionless one. bisi ka??? haha whatev. I loved to comb it's beard and sometimes trimmed it in case it got messy or too long. sillyhead, i am. It was my favorite toy because it was the only one i had.

Even though it was the only toy i had, back then we didn't really need toys to play with. With my friends, we could collect leaves, sticks, old can and kulat mata babi by Dayu Ingit river, played masak-masak with them and still had the time of our lives. Sometimes we'd just climb trees and / or went into bamboo plant (cos they grow in bunch) to play police and thieves. We took a handful of sands and mixed it with clay, buried it under the ground a few days and then we made them wrestle. Owning the sand ball that managed to win these matches was our greatest pride. Sometimes we would uproot a grass (yes you ipad gen, we could play with just grass), tied it by the ends and connected them with other's tied grass. We would pull and pull it until one of the grass was torn. We'd shave rampu betu's flesh (large cucumber, the orange ones) and let them float in the river to mimic sampans. We'd go to the river and play all kinds of games that involved swimming, jumping from cliffs and making castles / dam / little fish, crab and baby shrimp pond at the riverbed. Oh, oh we caught them with our little hands and shirt you know.

These are my treasured memories. What a life... To have fun, we don't have to spend thousands of ringgit notes. If we care enough to look around; and look closely, we could discover happiness- everywhere and in every form. It's free. It's always there for us to find, and claim.

For me, Happiness is to be always grateful of what we have, even with what we don't have.

Suppose phones, gadgets, laptops, pcs and the net never have existed, could you cope?

Love,
yne.

Shalom.

It's friggin' hot. I'm burning here. sobsss. +.+

So, what was the topic again? A book i love? i love BOOKSSS! Contrary to the popular belief, i believe a good reader / bookworm / book addict / reading nerd can't read a book in an hour. or a box of them in just a week. or like read 365 / 356 books a year. no. no it's not like that.

A good reader reads so profoundly that s/he leaves no page / word / image, heck even any symbol unturned. As for me, since i have difficulties understanding deep words and complicated sentences, i would have to reread and rereread and rerereread. i take forever reading a book. sometimes what we missed at first, matters the most. wow did i just gave birth to a philosophical idea? mehh.

Anyways, i had a hard time choosing which one to talk about. cause you know, there are a lottt of beautiful books out there. But without any shadow of a doubt, here it is (cue drumroll):

By The River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

Not gonna write a review of this book cause others write it better than me. if you wanna know how the story goes, just type the title in your browser and jjang you can read all night. I'm just gonna tell you how i feel about this book and why i la-huvvv it soo much.

The premise of BTRPISDAW (be-terp-iz-dou) is classic. Love that stretches through childhood and adulthood. of choices. of how deep love could be.

i think Coelho did really well in telling the tale. It's like he could paint words that we feel but never could really say.

How did i find this book? well i'm a fan of Coelho. My first Coelho's book was The Witch of Portobello. personally, i think BTRPISDAW is the best among his masterpieces. He is someone who is really good at what he do.

And it's like we (BTRPISDAW and i) were match made in heaven. I was buried under the lowest point of my life and i read this. if you want to know what i always feel, read this book. i couldn't really write good stuff but yeah. if there's anything that could describe me, find my voice in this book. not that you care though. hahaha.

What else?

How about you? Do you read? Would you tell me yours? Cause i really have ran out of good books now. expectation kills good judgement. haha.

Please read this book. No matter who you are. Or what you like. Or if you don't like books or anything at all. Read this and you will be blown out for its honesty and courage.

Anddd, here are some of my favorite lines in the book:

we broke up a couple of times. it was like i was being drowned and pushed upwards for oxygen and repeat. a lot. to be always wondering of the future; it's confusing and at the same time, aching. like ulcers that come and go. wow so many metaphors. k enough. next.

maybes. to go back and forth; swung by emotions. it's sad. sometimes i was strong enough to look up and go through the days without him. sometimes it was just plain sadness.

how big. and how small. how it was trivial and at the same time, very profound.

first, second, third, 30th, and last, it is love. but none is love enough like Him. <3

tales are just another definition of realities.

either way, we're doomed. or saved.

then and now.

you and me. and everything else.

“Yes, my mind was wandering. I wished I were there with someone who could bring peace to my heart someone with whom I could spend a little time without being afraid that i would lose him the next day. With that reassurance, the time would pass more slowly. We could be silent for a while because we'd know we had the rest of our lives together for conversation. I wouldn't have to worry about serious matters, about difficult decisions and hard words.”

“It's risky, falling in love."
"I know that," I answered. "I've been in love before. It's like a narcotic. At first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The next day, you want more. You're not addicted yet, but you like the sensation, and you think you can still control things. You think about the person you love for two minutes, and forget them for three hours.
"But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent on them. Now you think about him for three hours and forget him for two minutes. If he's not there, you feel like an addict who can't get a fix. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you're willing to do anything for love."
"What a horrible way to put it," he said.”

“Wait. This was the first lesson I had learned about love. The day drags along, you make thousands of plans, you imagine every possible conversation, you promise to change your behavior in certain ways -- and you feel more and more anxious until your loved one arrives. But by then, you don't know what to say. The hours of waiting have been transformed into tension, the tension has become fear, and the fear makes you embarrassed about showing affection.”

“That is why I write - to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.”

“By the River Piedra I sat down and wept. There is a legend that everything that falls into the waters of this river -- leaves, insects, the feathers of birds -- is transformed into the rocks that make the riverbed. If only I could tear out my heart and hurl it into the current, then my pain and longing would be over, and I could finally forget.”

Sometimes an uncontrollable feeling of sadness grips us, he said. We recognize that the magic moment of the day has passed and that we’ve done nothing about it. Life begins to conceal its magic and its art.

We have to listen to the child we once were, the child who still exists inside us. That child understands magic moments. We can stifle its cries, but we cannot silence its voice. The child we once were is still there. Blessed are the children, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.If we are not reborn – if we cannot learn to look at life with the innocence and the enthusiasm of childhood – it makes no sense to go on living.There are many ways to commit suicide. hose who try to kill the body violate God's law. Those who try to kill the soul also violate God's law, even though their crime is less visible to others.We have to pay attention to what the child in our heart tells us. We should not be embarrassed by this child. We must not allow this child to be scared because the child is alone and almost never heard.We must allow the child to take the reins of our lives. The child knows that each day is different from every other day.We have to allow it to feel loved again. We must please this child – even if this means that we act in ways we are not used to, in ways that may seem foolish to others.Remember that human wisdom is madness in the eyes of God. But if we listen to the child who lives in our soul, our eyes will grow bright. If we do not lose contact with that child, we will not lose contact with life.”

“All love stories are the same.”

And finally, favoritest:

“And I began to feel sorry for myself; for so many years, my drawer full of memories had held the same old stories.”

Why? Geunyang. No worries. now i'm alright.

Love,

yne.

De liefde (Love) Dutch gospel song

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