More Than Words, Op. 3

From an email:

PLEASE TAKE NOTE - STOP EATING THESE SNACKS

Hong Kong has ordered stores to pull 16 popular Japanese & Chinese snacks off their shelves because they contain an unapproved sweetener which some studies have linked to cancer and other health problems.

The products are:

1. Glico chocolate pretzels,
2. Kiss mints,
3. Pringles potato crisps (mild salt flavor),
4. Kiku Prawn Crackers,
5. Kiku cuttlefish crackers,
6. Koebisen cuttlefish crackers,
7. Ika Mirin shrimp crackers,
8. Kiariri prawn-flavoured pretzels,
9. Nissin cup udon (beef, curry and tempura flavours),
10. Nissin UFO Oomori Yaki Soba Instant Noodles,
11. Nissin Tatsujin Tonkatsu Ramen Instant Noodles,
12. Natchoro sweetener
13. Qiaqia melon seeds from mainland China,
14. Popular chocolate and strawberry flavoured Glico Pocky biscuit sticks,
15. Garlic Chip Rice Crackers,
16. Koikeya Don Tacos Spicy Beef.

They had also been removed from sale in Singapore after labs found they contained STEVIOSIDE, a sugar-substance not approved for consumption in Hong Kong or Singapore.

This particular joke won an award for the best joke in a competition
organized in Britain and this joke was sent by an Indian.

One Chinese person walks into a bar in America late one night and he saw Steven Spielberg. As he was a great fan of his movies, he rushes over to him, and asks for his autograph. Instead, Spielberg gives him a slap and says, "You Chinese people bombed our Pearl Harbor, get outta here."

The astonished Chinese man replied, "It was not the Chinese who bombed your Pearl Harbor, it was the Japanese". "Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, you're all the same," replied Spielberg.

In return, the Chinese gives Spielberg a slap and says, "You sank the Titanic, my forefathers were on that ship. "Shocked, Spielberg replies, "It was the iceberg that sank the ship, not me."

The Chinese replies, "Iceberg, Spielberg, Carlsberg, you're all the same."

From THE NEW PAPER, Thursday, 20 October 2005, Page 18

Have a History teacher explain this - if they can.

Mr Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846; Mr John F Kennedy in 1946. Mr Lincoln was elected President in 1860; Mr Kennedy in 1960.

Both were particularly concerned with civil rights and both were shot in the head on Friday.

Mr Lincoln's secretary was named Kennedy. Mr Kennedy's secretary was named Lincoln. Both presidents were assasinated by Southerners and succeeded by Southerners named Johnson.

Mr Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Mr Lincoln, was born in 1808. Mr Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Mr Kennedy, was born in 1908.

John Wilkes Booth, who assasinated Mr Lincoln, was born in 1839. Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated Mr Kennedy, was born in 1939.

Both assassin' names have 15 letters. Both men were also assassinated before their trials.

And here's the kicker: a week before Mr Lincoln was shot, he was in Monroe, Maryland. A week before Kennedy was shot, he was with Marilyn Monroe.

From THE NEW PAPER, Friday, 18 November 2005, Page 26

Q: How many witches does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Depends on what you want it changed into.

Q: How many yuppies does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Two. One to call the electrician and one to mix the martinis.

Q: How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None, the bulb will change itself when it is ready.

Q: How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None. "Got a hardware problem? Call the maintenance engineer."

Q: How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: There is nothing wrong with that light bulb - and my client demands an apology and damages.

Q: How many actors does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Only one. They don't like to share the spotlight.

Q: How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Two. One to screw it almost all the way in and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.

When you were 1 year old, she fed you and bathed you. You thanked her by crying all night long.

When you were 2 years old, she taught you to walk. You thanked her by running away when she called.

When you were 3 years old, she made all your meals with love. You thanked her by tossing your plate on the floor.

When you were 4 years old, she gave you some crayons. You thanked her by colouring the dining room table.

When you were 5 years old, she dressed you for the holidays. You thanked her by plopping into the nearest pile of mud.

When you were 6 years old, she walked you to school. You thanked her by screaming, I'M NOT GOING!"

When you were 7 years old, she bought you a baseball. You thanked her by throwing it through the next-door-neighbour's window.

When you were 8 years old, she handed you an ice cream. You thanked her by dripping it all over your lap.

When you were 9 years old, she paid for piano lessons. You thanked her by never even bothering to practice.

When you were 10 years old she drove you all day, from soccer to gymnastic to one birthday party after another. You thanked her by jumping out of the car and never looking back.

When you were 11 years old, she took you and your friends to the movies. You thanked her by asking to sit in a different row.

When you were 12 years old, she warned you not to watch certain TV shows. You thanked her by waiting until she left the house.

When you were 13, she suggested a haircut that was becoming. You thanked her by telling her she had no taste.

When you were 14, she paid for a month away at summer camp. You thanked her by forgetting to write a single letter.

When you were 15, she came home from work, looking for a hug. You thanked her by having your bedroom door locked.

When you were 16, she taught you how to drive her car. You thanked her by taking it every chance you could.

When you were 17, she was expecting an important call. You thanked her by being on the phone all night.

When you were 18, she cried at your high school graduation. You thanked her by staying out partying until dawn.

When you were 19, she paid for your college tuition, drove you to campus carried your bags. You thanked her by saying good-bye outside the dorm so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friends.

When you were 20, she asked whether you were seeing anyone. You thanked her by saying, "It's none of your business."

When you were 21, she suggested certain careers for your future. You thanked her by saying, "I don't want to be like you."

When you were 22, she hugged you at your college graduation. You thanked her by asking whether she could pay for a trip to Europe.

When you were 23, she gave you furniture for your first apartment. You thanked her by telling your friends it was ugly.

When you were 24, she met your fiancé and asked about your plans for the future. You thanked her by glaring and growling, "Muuhh-ther, please!"

When you were 25, she helped to pay for your wedding, and she cried and told you how deeply she loved you. You thanked her by moving halfway across the country.

When you were 30, she called with some advice on the baby. You thanked her by telling her, "Things are different now."

When you were 40, she called to remind you of a relative's birthday. You thanked her by saying you were "really busy right now."

When you were 50, she fell ill and needed you to take care of her. You thanked her by reading about the burden parents become to their children.

And then, one day, she quietly died. And everything you never did came crashing down like thunder on YOUR HEART.

DO repost this if you think your mother's worth cherishing…

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar… and the coffee…

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly, the pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes".

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now" said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.

"The golf balls are the important things – your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions - things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

"The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car. The sand is everything else - the small stuff.

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life", "If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you".

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18, there will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.

"Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

Source: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1519825,00.html

IMPROVE YOUR SINGLISH by Mark Abley

English is the global language that unites us all. Or is it? In reality local slang rules. Take 'Singlish' for a start

"Last time policeman also wear shorts," a man told me in Singapore a few weeks ago. I wondered if this was a commentary on local fashion, or maybe an oblique political statement. In Singapore, freedom of speech is far from absolute. But no, all he meant was "That's nothing new."

The remorseless sprawl of English has given much of the world a lingua franca: ours. In the 21st century, no matter where you are, you can generally find a regional newspaper in English, and watch CNN or BBC World. The impact on some minority languages has been severe. But lately I've come to realise that the spread of English can also have a very different effect: it has helped to create a space where new forms of language can emerge.

Singlish — otherwise known as Singapore Colloquial English — is one of them. It grows out of a raw, rough, vibrant mix of English, Malay, Tamil and the languages of southern China, Hokkien in particular. I spent an evening in the Singapore Cricket Club with a Tamil lawyer who announced, after his third whisky: "Profanities come to me most easily in Hokkien."

He meant phrases like "lan tui", which is, according to the informal and invaluable Coxford Singlish Dictionary, the local equivalent of "Up yours!" The literal meaning is "penis split". You just drop the phrase into a gobbet of conversation, as in "You want me to make dinner for you again? Lan tui!" My favourite Singlish phrase is a long chunk of language, lifted straight from Hokkien, that women might prefer to avoid: "Giah lum pah chut lai tom to'teng." Use this only if you're a man and are feeling seriously upset or embarrassed. It means "to take one's testicles out and bang them on the table".

Lots of Singapore expressions, of course, are not obscene, and have nothing to do with Hokkien or any other Chinese idiom. The local equivalent of "je ne sais quoi" is "very what one" — thus the delightful sentence "She very what one, you know?" Try saying that in the pub; maybe the phrase will take off in the UK.

Just like a Texan drawl or a self-conscious use of Estuary English, Singlish is a signifier of identity. Not only does it make a statement; it is a statement. It's also a work in progress. There are no grammatical rules that a Singlish speaker is obliged to follow. The language is created afresh on the blistering streets every day.

But language creation can happen anywhere. The fragmentation of society means that all of us belong to groups, subgroups, even sub-subgroups of one kind or another. As a result, all of us make use of a specialised vocabulary that can bemuse other people.

Last time policeman also wear shorts, you say? Maybe so. Blacksmiths and shepherds had a big working vocabulary which is largely forgotten now. I own a copy of the Dictionary of Newfoundland English, a 770-page tome full of arcane fishing terms like corfish, trouncer, yarking and slob hauler. Now that the industry is all but gone (factory ships destroyed the resource), such words are unlikely to endure.

In the past, though, the words of a Newfoundland fisherman or a Cumberland shepherd remained private. Few people outside their region ever heard them speak. Today, thanks in part to the internet, we are lit up by words. Even the Coxford Singlish Dictionary can be found online, at www.talkingcock.com.

The specialised languages of music are a potent source of new terms, ones that often baffle. "Brooks is a maximalist to the core," a music critic wrote last year, "suggesting an alternate path bleep could have taken, incorporating Hyper-On Experiences' spastic bricolage and deep house's sensurround production". Say what?

Song lyrics can be equally puzzling — except to those in the loop. On Dutty Rock, the 2002 CD by the Jamaican dancehall singer Sean Paul, a single verse contains a mixture of apparent nonsense ("chippy lippy lippy loo"), fairly standard English ("let's go together correspond woman"), and something that may look like nonsense but isn't ("dutty cup we deh a haffi sing").

Paul's hit song Get Busy includes the line "Me want fi see you get live 'pon the riddim weh me ride." And how will this happen? As the next line explains, "Me lyrics a provide electricity."

You might respond that Paul is guilty of degrading the English language. But what's more important is that he has the confidence to deploy and adapt Jamaican dialect for an international audience — and get rich in the process.

Our lingua franca, then, may turn out to be less of a standardising force than many of us fear. English speeds off the lips of millions of people every day. But what kind of English? The language is as elastic as a rubber band.

The phrase "behind the eight ball", for instance, comes from the game of pool. It's a position you want to avoid. Among US street gangs, though, "eight ball" is now said to mean an eighth of an ounce of cocaine. Just like hats, clothing and graffiti tags, words show other people who you are — or who you want to be. On the mean streets "going on line" has nothing to do with computers; it means entering a gang.

Computers, of course, are a rich lode of new idioms. Look at the burgeoning technology section of an American website, www.wordspy.com, that's devoted to "lexpionage" — the ferreting out of new words and phrases. A recent entry is "crackberry": a person who can't stop using his or her BlackBerry.
True, nobody's required to keep up with technology. But if we don't, we may well suffer an acute sense of cognitive displacement. There's a phrase on the windows of London Tube trains that would have been incomprehensible ten years ago: "TEXT LONDON TO 82012." Now it's assumed that everyone grasps the meaning.

In short, language is evolving at unprecedented speed — evolving? Dude, it's morphing. The policeman has no shorts.

* * *

New Verbiage in Meatspace:

Blunts, Buddha, the chronic, indo, sess: In hip-hop culture, some of the many names for marijuana

Meatspace: The real, flesh-and-blood world, as seen by internet futurists

Monetize eyeballs: To turn browsers into spenders, a phrase common among managers at Amazon.com

Mugger toad: In the colloquial Singlish of Singapore, a hard-working student who can regurgitate information

NGB: Short for "nice guy but". At US universities, a potential friend but not a potential lover

Pastorpreneur: The minister of a "gigachurch" in the US

Verbiage: The words that editors produce at Amazon.com; verbiage should be "leverized" for maximum profit

Ya ya papaya: Singlish for an arrogant person

You can't fly on one wing: Canadian slang for "Have another drink"

Let me tell you, this is scary . . .

The story takes place during the Seventh Month of the Chinese Lunar Calendar, where the gates of the underworld are thought to be opened and the spirits free to roam the earth for one month. It revolves around a young lad named Sam. At that time, Sam was working as a general worker for a small company located at Tuas.

During one particular working day, the whole of Sam's company was requested to work overtime in order to meet a deadline due the next day. By the time everything was done, it was already past 1am and Sam was the last person left in the office. He was wondering whether there would still be any bus services at this hour. He decided to try his luck, quickly locked up the office and rushed towards the bus stop.

The bus stop was situated by a small narrow road with dense forest surrounding it. Sam waited for about 20 minutes and was about to make his way to the main road to catch a cab when a double-deck bus appeared from nowhere. He hesitantly waved it down and boarded the bus. The only person he saw on the same bus was a frail, ghastly-looking old woman.

The old woman was dressed in a white samfoo and black pants attire favoured by maids in those early days, or "Ma Jie" as they were commonly known then. Sam felt uneasy upon seeing her and was about to go up to the upper deck when a voice rang out in Cantonese, "Young man, don't go upstairs. Upstairs dangerous." It was the old woman.

Her comments sent a chill through Sam's bones, and he figured that the upper deck might be "dirty". He decided to heed the old woman's advice and grab a seat at the lower deck despite her discomforting presence. It was an agonizing journey of twenty minutes before Sam arrived at his bus stop. He quickly alighted and turned to steal a quick glance at the old woman, who stared right back at him by the window. Without further ado, Sam hastened his pace and was fortunate to reach home safely.

The next day, Sam was requested to work overtime and ended up being the last person left in the office again. It was already past midnight, and Sam was contemplating whether to take a cab home, but decided against it in the end as money was tight. So he made his way to the bus stop again, and after twenty minutes or so, the same double deck bus appeared. Sam boarded the bus and saw the same old woman again. He decided to go to the upper deck again when the old woman called out to him, "Young man, don't go upstairs. Upstairs dangerous." Even though he had heard it before, he still felt a certain fear inside him since it was the Seventh Month. To be on the safe side, he reluctantly took a seat on the lower deck again and reached home without much incident.

The third day, Sam was asked to do overtime again. By now he felt a sense of dread and worried about meeting the same scenario as he had over the past two nights. Nevertheless, he obliged, since it was his livelihood. He was, you guessed it, the last person left in the office again. He made the same journey to the bus stop, occasionally checking his back as he walked. The double-deck bus arrived. He boarded it and saw the same old woman again. As he proceeded to go upstairs, the old woman warned him again, "Young man, don't go upstairs. Upstairs dangerous."

Same was fed up with the old woman by now and decided to go upstairs even though he was feeling a bit scared. He saw no one else when he reached the upper deck. Slowly, he made his way to the back to the bus and sat down. Sam's heart began pounding away as he waited anxiously for something to happen. After 30 minutes, nothing happened. Sam went downstairs to confront the old woman and asked her why she kept saying that it was dangerous upstairs.

The old woman turned, stared at him and replied, "Young man, don't go upstairs. Upstairs dangerous. Upstairs got no bus driver."

Q: How many RJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: 4 whole faculties. One faculty to design the new bulb, one faculty to test it out, one faculty to market it and one guy to write a stupid Email about light bulbs.

Q: How many HCJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: The whole school . . . to compete with RJC . . .

Q: How many VJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: The whole school . . . one to screw it in and the rest to cheer and wave flags and banners to give him or her support.

Q: How many NJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: NO LIGHT, STILL CAN STUDY!

Q: How many AJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: They're too busy trying to be one of the Top Five JCs . . .

Q: How many ACJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None . . . they use all their money to employ YJC to do it for them.

Q: How many YJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None . . . only one teacher to tell them what a light bulb is in the first place and to demonstrate (how do you think they're able to change it for ACJC?)

Q: How many CJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: They'd prefer it darker . . . (hmm . . . *raise eyebrows*)

Q: How many JJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None . . . their physics is so bad that they make their male teacher cry . . .

Q: How many TPJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Would they bother?

Q: How many MJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. They're too busy studying, trying not to get expelled.

Q: How many SAJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None . . . they believe in praying for it. (Oh, come on, we've got our halos! We won't need any light bulb . . .)

Q: How many NYJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None . . . they are still using oil lamps.

Q: How many SRJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Huh . . . wat litebarb . . .?

Q: How many TJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. No one bothers. They don't even renovate their facilities.

Q: How many IJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. All their students are still drawing the electrical lines.

Q: How many PJC students does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. No one knows how to change a light bulb even though they "thought" they invented it.

This is a true story of something that happened just a few years ago at USC.

There was a professor of philosophy there who was a deeply-committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend the entire semester attempting to prove that God couldn't exist. His students were always afraid to argue with him because of his impeccable logic. For twenty years, he had taught this class and no one ever had the courage to go against him. Sure, some had argued in class at times, but no one had ever really gone against him because of his reputation. At the end of every semester on the last day, he would say to his class of 300 students: "If there is anyone here who still believes in Jesus, stand up!" In twenty years, no one had ever stood up.

They knew what he was going to do next. He would say, "Because anyone who believes in God is a fool. If God existed, he could stop this piece of chalk from hitting the ground and breaking. Such a simple task to prove that He is God, and yet He can't do it." And every year, he would dropt he chalk onto the tile floor of the classroom and it would shatter into a hundred pieces. All the students would do nothing but stop and stare. Most of the students thought that God couldn't exist. Certainly, a number of Christians had slipped through, but for twenty years, they had been too afraid to stand up.

Well, a few years ago, there was a freshman who happened to enrol into the class. He was a Christian, and had heard stories about his professor. He was required to take the class for his major, and he was afraid. But for three months that semester, he prayed every morning that he would have the courage to stand up no matter what the professor said, or what the class thought. Nothing they said could ever shatter his faith, he hoped.

Finally, the day came.

The professor said, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!"

The professor and the class of 300 people looked at him, shocked, as he stood up at the back of the classroom. The professor shouted, "You FOOL! If God existed, he would prevent this piece of chalk from breaking when it hits the ground!" He proceeded to drop the chalk, but as he did, it slipped out of his fingers, off his shirt cuff, onto the pleat of his pants, down his leg, and off his shoe. As it hit the ground, it simply rolled away, unbroken. The professor's jaw dropped as he stared at the chalk. He looked up at the young man, and then ran out of the lecture hall.

The young man who had stood proceeded to walk to the front of the room, and shared his faith in Jesus for the next half hour. 300 students stayed and listened as he gold of God's love for them and His power through Jesus.

FROM AN EMAIL:

A bit of useful information, just in case you lose your mobile phone or it gets flogged.

To check your mobile phone's serial number, key in the following digits on your phone:

*#06#

A 15-digit code will appear on your screen.

This number is unique to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe. Should your mobile phone get stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them the code. They will then be able to block your handset so that even if the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless.

You probably won't get your phone back, but at least you know that whoever has stolen it will not be able to use or sell it.

If everybody does this, there will be no point in stealing mobile phones anymore.

Send this to as many people as possible. Please do this now and keep the 15-digit code somewhere safe just in case. This memo will be too late if you only remember to do so after your phone has been stolen.

DREAMS

"A dream is in the mind of the believer, and in the hands of the doer"

"You are not given a dream, without being given the power to make it come true."

FRIENDSHIP

"A friend is someone who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

"True friends are like diamonds, precious but rare."

"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend."

GOD

"God sometimes puts us in the dark for us to see the light."

"God is able to do immeasurable deeds."

"Where God guides, He always provides."

"God's help is only a prayer away."

"God without man is still God. Man without God is nothing."

"Prayer changes things."

LOVE

"Love is never having to say you are sorry."

"When you love a person, you are giving him, the power to hurt you."

"Love is having to see more than what meets the eyes."

"You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back."

"True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen."

THE FUTURE

"Heal the past; live the present; dream the future."

"Do not start today, with the broken pieces of Yesterday."

"Destiny is not a matter of chance.

It is a matter of choice: it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved."

LIFE

"Life will only come once, so make the most out of it."

"God didn't give us all things to enjoy life, but life to enjoy all things."

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

"Mistakes are not intended to down us rather they make us stronger."

TREASURE THE PEOPLE YOU KNOW

Once there was a guy who was very much in love with his girl. He folded 1,000 pieces of paper cranes as a gift to his girl. Although at that time he was just a small fry in his company, and his future didn't seem too bright, they were very happy together. That was, until one day, when his girl told him that she was going to Paris and would never come back again. She also told him that she could not visualize any future for the both of them. They had to go their own ways.

Heartbroken, the guy agreed. But when he regained his confidence, he worked hard day and night, slogging his body and mind just to make something out of himself. Finally, with all his hard work and with the help of his friends, he set up his own company . . .

You never fail until you stop trying.

One rainy day, while this guy was driving, he saw an elderly couple sharing an umbrella, walking in the rain. Even with the umbrella, they were still drenched. It didn't take him long to realize that they were his girl's parents. With a heart in getting back at them, he drove slowly beside the couple, wanting them to spot him in his luxurious sedan.

He wanted them to know that he wasn't the same anymore. He had his own company, car, condo, et cetera. He had made it! What he saw next confused him. The couple was walking towards a cemetery. He got out of his car and followed them . . . and he saw his girl, a photograph of her smiling as sweetly as ever at him from her tombstone, and he saw his paper cranes right beside her . . .

Her parents saw him. He asked them why such a thing had happened. They explained that she had not left for France at all. She had been ill with cancer. She had believed that he would make it someday, but she had not wanted to become a burden to him, therefore made the choice to leave him.

Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want to them to, that doesn't mean that they do not love you with all that they have.

She had wanted her parents to put his paper cranes beside her, as, if the day where fate would bring him back to her came, he could take some of the cranes back with him.

Once you have loved, you will always love. For what is in your mind may escape, but what is in your heart will remain forever.

The guy just wept. The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside the person, knowing that one cannot have him/her, see him/her, or be with him/her ever again.

Find time to realize that there is one person who means so much to you; for you may wake up one morning losing that person whom you thought meant nothing to you.

KINDNESS PAYS

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school found that he had only one dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal, he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry, so she brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked, "How much do I owe you?" "You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept payment for kindness."

He said, "Then I thank you from my heart."

As Howard Kelly left that house, not only did he feel physically stronger, but his faith in God and Man increased too. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Years later, that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he hard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes.

Immediately, he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown, he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room, determined to do his best to save her life. From that day, he gave special attention to her case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, wrote something on the edge; and then the bill was sent to her room.

She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally, she looked, and something caught her attention on the side:

"Paid in full with one glass of milk. Signed, Dr Howard Kelly."

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed, "Thank you, GOD, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands."

It takes strength to be certain,
It takes courage to have doubts.

It takes strength to fit in,
It takes courage to stand out.

It takes strength to share a friend's pain,
It takes courage to feel your own pain.

It takes strength to hide your own pain,
It takes courage to show it and deal with it.

It takes strength to stand guard,
It takes courage to let down your guard.

It takes strength to conquer,
It takes courage to surrender.

It takes strength to endure abuses,
It takes courage to stop them.

It takes strength to stand alone,
It takes courage to lean on a friend.

It takes strength to love,
It takes courage to be loved.

It takes strength to survive,
It takes courage to live.

May you find strength and courage
In everything you do,
And may your life be filled with
Friendship and Love!

Anon.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list.

Before long, the entire class was smiling.

"Really?" she heard whispered. "I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and, "I didn't know others liked me so much." were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again.

She never knew if they discussed them after class with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose.

The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on. Several years later, one of the students was killed in Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student.

She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature. The church was packed with his friends.

One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin.

The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her.

"Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. She nodded: "Yes."

Then he said: "Mark talked about you a lot."

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

"We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.

The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."

Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."

"I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary."

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her purse and showed her frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important.

Tell them, before it is too late.

A hug is a wonderful gift to share,
A way to show each other that we care;
There is so much a hug is able to do,
When you feel those arms holding you.

A hug is a place to feel safe and warm,
A comfort for a sad heart that is torn;
An expression of the love in our heart,
For ones who we wish, never to be apart.

A hug is a greeting when we meet to say hello,
Or to say goodbye when we have to go;
It can hold us up when life gets us down,
And makes us smile, instead of frown.

A hug can be given for no reason at all,
And given to those, both big and small;
We're never too old to feel the joy it brings,
As it is one of life's most pleasing things.

And for all of this beauty, a hug is free!
It costs nothing, yet means so much to me;
We should all hug another to show we care,
For to feel a warm hug, nothing can compare.

I cried for my brother six times.

I was born in a secluded village on a mountain. Day by day my parents ploughed the dry, yellow soil with their backs facing the sky.

I have a younger brother who is three years younger than me.

Once, to buy a handkerchief which all the girls around me seemed to have, I stole 50 cents from my father's drawer. Soon, Father discovered the crime. He made my younger brother and I kneel against the wall. In his hand was a bamboo stick.

"Who stole the money?" he demanded.

I was stunned, too afraid to talk. Father didn't hear any of us admit, so he yelled angrily, "Fine, if nobody wants to admit, you two should be beaten!" He raised the bamboo stick, preparing to strike me first.

Suddenly, my younger brother gripped Father's hand and pleaded, "Pa, I was the one who did it!"

The long stick rained blows repeatedly onto my brother's back. Father was so angry that he kept on whipping my brother until he lost his breath. After that, he sat down on our stone bed and reprimanded my brother: "You have learnt to steal things from your own house now. What other embarrassing things will you do in the future? You ought to be beaten to death, you shameless thief!"

That night, mother and I hugged my brother. His body was full of injuries, but he didn't shed a single tear.

In the middle of the night, I suddenly burst out crying out loudly.

My brother covered my mouth with his little hand and said, "Sis, don't cry anymore. Everything has happened."

I still hate myself for not having the courage to admit what I had done. Years have gone by, but the incident still looks like it happened yesterday. I will never forget my brother's expression when he protected me.

That year, my brother was eight and I, eleven.

* * *

When my brother was in the last year of his lower secondary education, he was accepted in an upper secondary school located at the village central. I was accepted into a provincial university.

That night, Father squatted in the yard, smoking packet by packet.

I overheard him, "Both our children have good results? Very good results?"

Mother wiped her tears and sighed, "What is the use? How can we possibly finance both of them?"

At that juncture, my brother walked out. He stood before my father and said firmly and determinedly, "Pa, I don't want to continue my studies anymore. I have read enough books."

Father swung his hand and slapped my brother in the face.

"Why do you have a spirit so damn weak? Even if it means I have to beg for money on the streets, I will send you two to school until the both of you finish your studies!"

And then he started to knock on the door of every house in the village to borrow money.

I stuck out a hand as soft I as could to my brother's swollen face, and said, "A boy has to continue his studies, if not, he will never be able to leave these depths of poverty.

I, on the other hand, had decided not to further my studies in the university.

Who knew, the next day, before dawn, my brother left the house with a few pieces of well-worn clothes and a few dry beans. He sneaked to the side of my bed and left a note on my pillow.

"Sis, getting into a university is not easy. I will go and find a job and send money to you."

I held the note while sitting on my bed, and cried until I lost my voice.

That year, my brother was seventeen; I was twenty.

* * *

With the money Father borrowed from the whole village and with the money my brother earned carrying cement on his back at a construction site, I was able to get into the third year of my university education.

One day, I was studying in my room. My roommate came in and told me, "There's a villager waiting for you outside!"

Why is there a villager looking for me, I wondered. I walked out, and saw my brother from afar. His whole body was dirty, covered with dust, cement and sand. I asked him, "Why didn't you tell my roommate that you are my brother?"

He grinned, "Look at my appearance. What will they think if they know that I am your brother? Won't they laugh at you?"

I felt so touched that tears filled my eyes. I swept away dust from my brother's body, and said, with a lump in my throat, "I don't care what people say. You are my brother, no matter what your appearance is!"

From his pocket, he took out a butterfly hair clip. He wore it on me, and said, "I saw all the girls in town wearing it. So I think you should also have one.

I could not hold back myself anymore. I pulled my brother into my arms and cried and cried.

That year, my brother was twenty years old; I was twenty-three.

* * *

The first time I brought my boyfriend home, the broken window had been repaired. And it looked so clean inside the house.

After my boyfriend went home, I danced like a small girl in front of my mother. "Mother, you didn't have to spend so much time cleaning the house!"

She replied with a smile, "It was your brother who came home early to clean the house. Didn't you see the wound on his hand? He was injured while replacing the window."

I went into my brother's small bedroom. Looking at his thin face, I felt like a hundred needles had pricked my heart.

I put some ointment on his wound and bandaged it. "Does it hurt?" I asked him tenderly.

"No, it doesn't. You know, when I was working at the construction site, stones kept falling on my feet all the time. Even that could not stop me from working and-"

In the middle of his sentence, he stopped. I had turned my back on him and tears were rolling down my face.

That year, my brother was twenty-three years old; I was twenty-six.

* * *

After I got married, I lived in the city. Many times, my husband invited my parents to come and live with us, but they didn't want. They said that, once they left the village, they didn't know what to do.

My brother had also disagreed. He said, "Sis, you just take of your parents-in-law. I will take care of Ma and Pa here."

My husband became the director of his factory. We wanted my brother to get the job as the manager in the maintenance department. But my brother rejected the offer. He insisted on starting work as a reparation worker.

One day, while on the top of a ladder repairing a cable, he got electrocuted, and was sent to hospital.

My husband and I visited him. Looking at the white gypsum on his leg, I grumbled. "Why did you reject being a manager? You will not have to do something dangerous like this. Look at you now: such a serious injury. Why didn't you want to listen to us?"

With a serious expression on his face, he defended his decision. "Think of brother-in-law . . . he just became the director, and I am almost uneducated. If I had become the manager, what kind of rumours will fly around?"

My husband's eyes brimmed with tears. I said, "But you lack education because of me!"

My brother held my hand. "Why are you talking about the past?"

That year, he was twenty-six; I was twenty-nine.

My brother was thirty-years-old when he married a farmer girl from the village.

At his wedding reception, the master of ceremonies asked him, "Who is the one you respect and love the most?"

Without thinking, he answered, "My sister."

He continued by telling a story I could not even remember.

"When I was in primary school, the school was in a different village. Every day, my sister and I walked two hours to go to school and back. One day, I lost one of gloves. My sister gave me one of hers. She wore only one glove and walked for so far. When we got home, her hand trembled so much as the weather was very, very cold, that she couldn't even hold her chopsticks. From that day on, I swore that, as long as I lived, I would take care of my sister and be good to her."

Applause filled the room. All the guests turned their attention upon me.

Words were so hard to find. "In my whole life, the one I would like to thank most if my brother."

And on this happy occasion, tears rolled down my face again before the crowd.

* * *

Love and care for the one you love every single day of your life. You may think that what you have done is just a small deed, but to that someone, it may mean a lot!