Time...

It's amazing how we human come to realize the significance of time. Like, who is the first person who decides to quantify something so vague, something you cannot even see.. who decides how many mili-seconds are equal to one second, why 60 seconds make 1 minute, 60 minutes to an hour, 24 hours to a day and so on. It strikes me to why is there such a person bearing to live so painfully, taking the effort of counting these precious moments of his or her life and make it calculable. Why?

But on another perspective, if THAT person decided to be lazy, and not to quantify the time, we won't be able to estimate the time of the day, won't be able to estimate when the day will dawn, and when will the sun set. Perhaps it will be a guessing game where we need to guess when will winter come about, when will summer break in...

And thanks to him (or her), we know how to look forward to certain moments in life, like a well anticipated holiday, or a day to actually meet up with the one you love, the one you longed to see. With each day passing by, you know as the grains of sand falls through the tiny outlet in an hourglass, you know you are inching closer to that day, to that moment, which, is the exact feeling that I have in me now.

It may take just a brief moment to meet and be with someone you love and then the wait begins again, which may be long and difficult. But you know, as the seconds tick by on the clock, the day for you and your loved one to meet again is getting closer.

Can I Story You (2): The Hospital Window

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Weather today in Miri changed quite rapidly, from a sunny morning became a rainy evening. Well, at least tonight will be a nice cooling night to sleep. Anyways, here is the second story from the new 'inspiration' slot which I would like to share some stories from the 'Can I Story You' book, so enjoy.

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Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the men in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and colour of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every colour and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

Unrelated pic: just to fill up the cold texts with a warm pic.

As the man by the window described all this exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.

Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside his bed.

It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside the window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."


Moral of the story:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite their own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but shared happiness is double the joy. If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it's called rge present." The wonderful things of life are within us. If you could see it in your mind, you can see it in your life.

Can I Story You: The Red Marbles

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After the previous post, I just cannot no post this story. Hope you enjoy it; forget about your ego and let it move your heart. *Ahem..

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Jim Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello Barry, how are you today?”

“Hello Mr. Miller. Fine, thank you. I’m just admiring these peas. Sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”

“Fine. Getting stronger all time.”

“Good. Anything I can help you with?”

“No sir, I’m just admiring these peas.”
“Would you like to take some home?”

“No sir. I have nothing to pay you.”

“Well, what do you have to trade for some of these peas?”

“All I have is my prize marble here.”

“Is that right? Let me see it.”

“Here it is. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?”

“Not really but almost.”

“Tell you what, take this sack of pea back home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble.”

“Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, “There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.”

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts, all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

“Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about colour or size, they came to pay their debt.”

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,” she confided.

“But right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in the world.” With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral of the story:
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Can I STORY you?

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During the conference in KL, there was a booth which sells some books; and this book, in particular, caught my attention. Without hesitating, I splashed out a few ringgits to get hold of it. I have to say, my 'few ringgits' are not wasted.

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Everyone loves a good story. The world thrives on intriguing plots, moving lines and many of its heroic characters. ‘Once upon a time’ and ‘happily ever after’ are the lines where all the readers or listeners anticipate, and the truth is; even Hollywood is built upon these foundations.

Story-telling has been around as soon as mankind learnt how to communicate. Stories are not just for mere entertainment. Many times, story is use to teach the next generation about values of life. It is the mould for a child’s dreams, inspiration for the ones tested, advice for the ones who seeks and motivation for the worn-out souls.

"Ahem, can I story YOU?"

The book ‘Can I Story You’ breathes in fresh air for the minds, enriching souls with words of wisdom from wise people who’ve lived a meaningful life. Some of the stories are parables to describe the meanings of life itself, some are real life experiences.

"Life is like a tree.. think about it.."

Basically, the book is divided into 5 sections:
1) Seed – Symbolises vision and goal,
2) Roots – Symbolises character and attitude,
3) Nourishments – Symbolises desire and motivation,
4) Tree – Symbolises growth, perseverance and persistence,
5) Fruits – Symbolises success and results

"Vision and goal, sprouts from the seeds in your heart."

This book contains several short stories, all with the purpose to let the readers think twice about their lives.

It is wonderful how people can come out with metaphors to describe life. I wonder; when was the last time I read a storybook?