The day Mom picked me up when I stumbled and fell,
When Dad cheered me up with his silly spells.
Learning to read with Big Sisters,
And creating paper dolls and pigtails better.
The thrills of receiving the first love notes,
Walking with a best friend under a shared coat.
Tears that fell and laughters too,
Down that aisle to say 'I Do'
Extra beats and flutter kicks in my tummy,
As anticipation grew towards becoming a mommy.
An infant's first cry and smile,
That made each day worthwhile.
I want to remember today,
And not keep new memories at bay.
Poetry is a gift. Just like every moment of each day is. Even without you knowing, you're creating a memory for yourself and for someone. Someday you'll hear 'Mom, Dad or My Friend, I remembered when...' and they'll thank you for it.
My special memory today - dedicating our little one to being a Christian. I would love to hear yours.
Growing up in a sunny region, I was used to having gorgeous weather almost throughout the year. Yet my favorite season of all times are spring showers. My love affair with the whole precipitation cycle must have started when I was five, I love watching the raindrops trickle in our window panes.
The tiny drops resemble little gems, it was one of my first discoveries. I was so enticed by it that I picked up a pencil and paper and started drawing it. Trying to capture the misty scene wasn't that simple, I realized. There must be some way I could portray it. Coloring it with my stash of crayons didn't seem to help much. That afternoon, as I watched the rain pour, I grew weary at my attempts.
Just like any kid, I finally gave up and set it aside. In my young mind, I thought I failed. Then I heard both of them exclaimed 'Oh my, what a beautiful drawing, great job! ' It was the first time I've seen those kind of amazement in my parents' eyes. They both scooped me up and raised my artwork proudly.
That's why I love rainy days. In my young mind then, I learned it was alright to fail, to be disappointed at myself at times and allow sadness in life. That everything doesn't have to be perfect or right. Cheers of triumphs taste sweeter afterwards.
The rain brought me two things that day - an important lesson in life and my love to create.
Just moments ago, I was in my desk, writing to my heart's content. When all of a sudden, I felt a little shaking. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Having gone the whole morning without sleep from previous night, I was dizzy from exhaustion.
I knew I had to rest. But I made up my mind to finish my paper for tomorrow's deadline. Besides, it's the big break I've been waiting for. My first article as an official contributor to the biggest newspaper would have been out that weekend.
Then the shaking began again. That time, it became more intense every second. I tried not to move, still figuring out what was happening. My heartbeats pounded my chest as fear crept into my mind. Instinctively, I ducked underneath the table in front of me.
I thought of my family, hoping and praying hard they'll be safe. I thought of my younger siblings in their school. I didn't notice I was crying, I couldn't tell anymore if it was from fear or concern for my loved ones. All I know is that I wanted the earthquake to stop.
It all happened too quick, yet it seemed too long to endure. My office was a mess, almost everything was broken and debris were piled on top of the other. I didn't care. I was safe, that's what matters.
As I stepped outside, I realized the terror has just began. The events that follow suit will be marked in our history as one of the worst natural disasters in Asia.
Moments ago, I was writing. Now, I'm praying, really really hard. And running to save some.
Tonight, our prayers go to all the people who have been devastated by the recent earthquake in China. This post is a tribute to the brave men and women who are unselfishly extending their help.
Is there any part of your body you would want to change?
I cringe whenever I hear that question. Assuming you have the power to do just that, will you opt to differ that one spot or part you are least proud of?
I would. My toes. Mine are not the prettiest, they have callouses and little bumps on top, a result of one of my childhood explorations. Poor little toes, I decided to vent my creativity on them one day when I was seven, playing 'I can fix it'. I'll leave it at that.
Two decades forward, I walked down the aisle with my imperfect toes to say 'I do' to my husband of three years. Few years after, I was trotting with a huge bump on my belly for forty one weeks with our firstborn. And last night, we heard the sweetest sound on earth - our little guy's first spontaneous belly laugh.
With raised feet up on the air, I wiggled my toes (yes, those plain toes that need pedicure). He found that so hilarious, for reasons only a baby knows. Once again, I thank God, not just for my toes but for our little bundle of joy.
My parents did a fantastic job raising us to always appreciate our God-given features, always noting that we are wonderfully made, no matter what. Pretty toes or not.