Friday, July 13, 2007

SINGLE, MARRIED, or PLANNING TO GET MARRIED?Gotta read this... Very Touching & Inspiring...


SINGLE, MARRIED, or PLANNING TO GET MARRIED?Gotta read this... Very Touching & Inspiring... On my wedding day, I carried my wife in my arms. The bridal car stopped in front of our one-room f l at. My buddies insisted that I carry her out of the car in my arms. So I carried her into our home. She was then plump and shy. I was a strong and happy bridegroom. This was the scene ten years ago. The following days were as simple as a cup of pure water: we had a kid; I went into business and tried to make more money. When the assets were steadily increasing, the affection between us seemed to ebb. She was a civil servant. Every morning we l eft home together and got home a l most at the same time. Our kid was studying in a boarding school. Our marriage life seemed to be enviably happy. But the ca l m l ife was more likely to be affected by unpredictable changes. Dew came into my life. It was a sunny day. I stood on a spacious balcony. Dew hugged me from behind. My heart once again was immersed in her stream of love. This was the apartment I bought for her. Dew said, you are the kind of man who best draws gir l s' eyeball s. Her words sudden l y reminded me of my wife. When we were just married, my wife said, Men like you, once successful, will be very attractive to gir l s. Thinking of this, I became somewhat hesitant. I knew I had betrayed my wife. But I couldn't he l p doing so. I moved Dew's hands aside and said you go to select some furniture, O.K.? I've got something to do in the company. Obvious l y she was unhappy, because I had promised to do it together with her. At the moment, the idea of divorce became clearer in my mind a l though it used to be something impossible to me. However, I found it rather difficult to tell my wife about it. No matter how mi l d l y I mentioned it to her, she would be deep l y hurt. Honest l y, she was a good wife. Every evening she was busy preparing dinner. I was sitting in front of the TV. The dinner was ready soon. Then we watched TV together. Or, I was lounging before the computer, visualizing Dew's body. This was the means of my entertainment. One day I said to her in a slightly joking way, suppose we divorce, what will you do? She stared at me for a few seconds without a word. Apparent l y she believed that divorce was something too far away from her. I couldn't imagine how she would react once she got to know I was serious. When my wife went to my office, Dew had just stepped out. A l most a l l the staff looked at my wife with a sympathetic eye and tried to hide something while talking to her. She seemed to have got some hint. She gently smiled at my subordinates. But I read some hurt in her eyes. Once again, Dew said to me, He Ning, divorce her, O.K.? Then we live together. I nodded. I knew I could not hesitate any more. When my wife served the last dish, I he l d her hand. I've got something to tell you, I said. She sat down and ate quiet l y. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes. Sudden l y I didn't know how to open my mouth. But I had to l et her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the serious topic calmly. She didn't seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me soft l y, why? I'm serious. I avoided her question. This so-ca l l ed answer made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn't talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hard l y give her a satisfactory answer, because my heart had gone to Dew. With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. I felt a pain in my heart. The woman who had been living ten years with me would become a stranger one day. But I could not take back what I had said. Fina l l y she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of re l ease. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer. Late that night, I came back home after entertaining my clients. I saw her writing something at the tab l e. I fa l l asleep fast. When I woke up, I found she was still there. I turned over and was asleep again. She brought up her divorce conditions: she didn't want anything from me, but I was supposed to give her one month s time before divorce, and in the month's time we must l ive as norma l a l ife as possible. Her reason was simple: our son would finish his summer vacation a month later and she didn't want him to see our marriage was broken. She passed me the agreement she drafted, and then asked me, He Ning, do you still remember how I entered our bridal room on the wedding day? This question sudden l y brought back a l l those wonderful memories to me. I nodded and said, I remember. You carried me in your arms, she continued, so, I have a requirement, that is, you carry me out in your arms on the day when we divorce. From now to the end of this month, you must carry me out from the bedroom to the door every morning. I accepted with a smile. I knew she missed those sweet days and wished to end her marriage romantically. I to l d Dew about my wife s divorce conditions. She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she does, she has to face the result of divorce, she said scornfully. Her words more or less made me fee l uncomfortable. My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicit l y expressed. We even treated each other as a stranger. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is ho l ding mummy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said soft l y, Let us start from today, don't tell our son. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for a bus, I drove to the office. On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. We were so c lose that I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn't looked at this intimate woman carefully for a long time. I found she was not young any more. There were some fine wrinkles on her face. On the third day, she whispered to me, the outside garden is being demolished. Be careful when you pass there. On the fourth day, when I l ifted her up, I seemed to fee l that we were sti l l an intimate coup l e and I was ho l ding my sweetheart in my arms. The visualization of Dew became vague. On the fifth and sixth day, she kept reminding me something, such as, where she put the ironed shirts, I should be careful while cooking, etc. I nodded. The sense of intimacy was even stronger. I didn't tell Dew about this. I felt it was easier to carry her. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger. I said to her, It seems not difficult to carry you now. She was picking her dresses. I was waiting to carry her out. She tried quite a few but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, a l l my dresses have grown bigger. I smiled. But I sudden l y realized that it was because she was thinner that I could carry her more easily, not because I was stronger. I knew she had buried a l l the bitterness in her heart. Again, I f l t a sense of pain. Subconscious l y I reached out a hand to touch her head. Our son came in at the moment. Dad, it's time to carry mum out. He said. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had been an essential part of his life. She gestured our son to come closer and hugged him tight l y. I turned my face because I was afraid I would change my mind at the last minute. I he l d her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the ha l l way. Her hand surrounded my neck soft l y and naturally. I he l d her body tight l y, as if we came back to our wedding day. But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I he l d her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school . She said, actually I hope you will ho l d me in your arms until we are o l d. I he l d her tight l y and said, both you and I didn't notice that our life lacked intimacy. I jumped out of the car swift l y without l ocking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my decision. I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door. I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I won't divorce. I'm serious. She looked at me, astonished. The she touched my forehead. You got no fever. She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Dew, I said, I can on l y say sorry to you, I won't divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of life, not because we didn't love each other any more. Now I understand that since I carried her into the home, she gave birth to our chi l d, I am supposed to ho l d her until I am o l d. So I have to say sorry to you. Dew seemed to sudden l y wake up. She gave me a l oud s l ap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove to the office. When I passed the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet for my wife which was her favorite. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I' l l carry you out every morning until we are old.

A Piece of Tear


A Piece of Tear

TODAY, I will attend an execution: my own. I will
watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken. I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, ''Totoy Cardo'' was a piece of cake. Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood. The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school. When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do). Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door. I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me. Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then. When we were in high school and I found out that theschool's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorian and I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission). When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me--not when Oliver had a black belt.I didn't know how to define our relationship. I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one. We did all the things that couple did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other we never said ''I love you'' or whatever serious couple told each other. As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements. I didn't mind. After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Message: Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl. But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears. What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didn't know anybody. No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me. I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before. We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living. Hate and I became good friends. "God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one cliches that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves. Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third--so hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding. Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair. Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown. I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.

A Forever Kind of Love


A Forever Kind of Love
By: Christy M Martin

One of our favorite patients had been in and out of
our small, rural hospital several times, and all of us on
med-surg had grown quite attached to her and her husband.
In spite of terminal cancer and resulting pain, she never
failed to give us a smile or a hug. Whenever her husband
came to visit, she glowed. He was a nice man, very polite
and as friendly as his wife. I had grown quite attached to
them and was always glad to care for her.

I admired their expression of love. Daily, he brought
her fresh flowers and a smile, then sat by her bed as they
held hands and talked quietly. When the pain was too much
and she cried or became confused, he hugged her gently in
his arms and whispered until she rested. He spent every
available moment at her bedside, giving her small sips of
water and stroking her brow. Every night, before he left
for home, he closed the door so they could spend time alone
together. When he was gone, we'd find her sleeping
peacefully with a smile on her lips.

On this night, however, things were different. As
soon as I entered report, the day nurses informed us she
had steadily taken a turn for the worse and wouldn't make
it through the night. Although I was sad, I knew that this
was for the best. At least my friend wouldn't be in pain
any longer.

I left report and checked on her first. When I
entered the room, she aroused and smiled weakly, but her
breathing was labored and I could tell it wouldn't be long.
Her husband sat beside her, smiling, too, and said, "My
Love is finally going to get her reward."

Tears came to my eyes, so I asked if they needed
anything and left quickly. I offered care and comfort
throughout the evening, and at about midnight she passed
away with her husband still holding her hand. I consoled
him and with tears running down his cheeks he said, "May I
please be alone with her for awhile?" I hugged him and
closed the door behind me.

I stood outside the room, blotting my tears and
missing my friend and her smile. And I could feel the pain
of her husband in my own heart. Suddenly from the room
came the most beautiful male voice I have ever heard
singing. It was almost haunting the way it floated through
the halls. All of the other nurses stepped out into the
hallways to listen as he sang "Beautiful Brown Eyes" at the
top of his lungs.

When the tune faded, the door opened and he called to
me. He looked me in the eyes then hugged me saying, "I
sang that song to her every night from the first day we
met. Normally I close the door and keep my voice down so
as not to disturb the other patients. But I had to make
sure she heard me tonight as she was on her way to heaven.
She had to know that she will always be my forever love.
Please apologize to anyone I bothered. I just don't know
how I will make it without her, but I will continue to sing
to her every night. Do you think she will hear me?"

I nodded my head "yes," unable to stop my tears. He
hugged me again, kissed my cheek, and thanked me for being
their nurse and friend. He thanked the other nurses, then
turned and walked down the hall, his back hunched,
whistling the song softly as he went.

As I watched him leave I prayed that I, too, would
someday know that kind of forever love.