while i was taking a break from my thesis, i came across this interesting take on our relationship with our mother. ever since i was born, my mother has always been there by my side. i guess i'm really lucky that my mom has dedicated herself to me and my brother -- making sure that we get whatever we need and want in life. however, there were also many instances in the past where i hated her for not understanding me. but amidst this imperfect relationship i have with her, she would always be one of the people i'd wish to be by my side forever.
at 3 yrs old: "Ma, I love you"
at 10 yrs old: "Mom whatever!"
at 16 yrs old: "OMG! My Mom is so annoying!"
at 18 yrs old: "I wanna leave this house."
at 25 yrs old: "Mom, you were right."
.........at 30 yrs old: "I want to go back to my Mom's house."
at 50 yrs old: "I don't wanna lose my Mom."
at 70 yrs old: "I would give up anything for my Mom to be here."
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
i am alone
when loneliness suddenly creeped in, i couldn't help but remember william wordsworth's "the solitary reaper."
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
i guess i am afaird to be alone after all.
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
i guess i am afaird to be alone after all.
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