Think of You

I think of you,

On a grooming day.

You bring down my tears and knees;

I think of you,

On a sunny day.

You bring warmth to my body and soul;

I think of you,

On a raining day.

You bring drizzle to my heart;

I think of you,

On a snowy day.

You bring peace to my restless mind;

I think of you,

Every passing season,

Until death do us apart.

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I am a creep

The stage lights dimmed. Everyone got quiet. He closed his eyes as the music started.  A sadness unfolded when he sang:

 “When you were here before

Could not look you in the eye

You just look like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like feather

In a beautiful world

You so very special

 I wish I was special

But, I am a creep

I am a weirdo

What the hell I am doing

I do not belong here”

Then, he opened up and blasted his voice to the audience.

“He is running, now

He is running

Run, run run.”

What a powerful voice and beautiful remake of the song!  I was captivated by the intensity and vulnerability.  Then, I looked at myself.  An old wound opened up and I saw myself, the day when I lost my child, three years ago.

“When you were here in my arms

Could not look you in the eye

You were an angel

Soft skin made me cry

You weigh like feather

On a blistering summer day

You so very special

I wish I deserve you

But, I am a creep

Can not keep any of my babies

I am a weirdo

Wearing ugly scares and butt naked

 What the hell I am doing

I do not belong here

I do not belong


 I am running

Running, running, running

To go back

Back to the beginning  

When I can still have you

Safe inside of me”


Here is the link to this song from Brian Justin Crum

Brian Justin Crum, sang his version of Radiohead’s Creep

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Father’s Grief

“Our baby boy passed away today, three years ago.  Shall we do something?” she asked expectantly.

“I do not like these sorts of things.”

Then, he walked away.

What kind of father would refuse to mourn his son?

She stormed into her room, shut the door, and exploded.

A week later, at a friend’s gathering….

“Do you have kids?” new people came by and asked.

“No.” He said unexpectedly, “We did try.  Jasmine devoted five years of her life for that.  But, in the end, our son died.”

No one said another word.

Next to him, Jasmine looked at Joe, full of emotions.

He did care.

He was/is the father!

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Mother’s Day Tribute

Two women sat down to their seats on an airplane, one by the window, another by the aisle.  The plane started to fill up and they politely nodded to each other.

The one by the window was a woman at her late 50’s, a bit out of shape, but she had eyes sparkled with warmth.  The one in the aisle seat was an Asian, in her late 30s.  From the dark circles under her eyes, one can tell she had a long journey.

“Sorry, can I…” a woman just came into the cabin and asked.

“Sure, sure.” The Asian woman stood up to let her in.

“Thank you, very much.”

The woman sat down in the middle and took off her coat.

“Hello,” she nodded to the woman on her right by the window.

“Hello!” Her neighbor replied and was eager to carry a conversation. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Oh, it was a bit, stressful.” The woman fiddled her ring and replied hesitantly. She was in her 60s and well dressed.  The pearls on her neck shimmered under the dim light.

“Yeah.  Sometimes taking a trip can be rather rough.”

“Not that,” the woman in the middle replied.  “It was a difficult trip.  I was there for my granddaughter.  She… She died, in a car accident.” Her voice quivered. Then she stopped to composed herself, “I am sorry.  I did not mean to make the conversation so gloomy. “

“Do not apologize,” the woman by the window put her hand on her neighbor’s and said. “There is no need to apologize.  I understand.  I am sorry to hear that. Only if you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you.  It is just I cannot imagine how my daughter is going to go through this.  I am the grandma.  But, she is the mother.  It hurts me so much but I know it hurts her even more, losing her only child….”

Meanwhile, the Asian woman in the aisle seat was nervously searching her purse.  Found few facial tissues and offered to the tear-up grandma.  Then, she started to whip her eyes.  When she turned back and wanted to say something, she choked back with more tears.

“Are you all right?” the grieving grandma asked.

“Yes, yes. No.” She muttered. “My child. My son…”

“This is your caption speaking.  We are experiencing some turbulence…”

Then, her voice was lost in the intensified thin air.

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Meet You Half Way

Meet you half way. My child. Tell me if I am getting closer to you as I fly the sky. I know you are up there. Show me the direction. Am I getting closer facing east or west?  
As the holiday gets well underway, it adds bitter sweet to my thoughts thinking of you.  You would have been two and an half , a handsome and smart toddler. You shall have mommy’ s kindness and daddy’s wisdom. I hope i can take a peak of you, even from the distance. 

Please come meet me half way.  

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Just believe

#1: Scene from the movie Finding Neverland

Scene from Finding Neverland

Boy Peter just lost her mother.  He was grieving.

“I thought she would always be here.” He asked.

“So did I.” A good friend of her mother explained. “In fact, she is.  She is on every page of your imagination.  You will always have her there, always.”

“But, why did she have to die?” He asked.

“I do not know,” the friend said. “… She went to Neverland. And you can visit her anytime you like, if you just go there yourself.”


“By believing, Peter,” The friend said. “Just believe.”

The boy looked away, tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a long pause, he labored each word, “I see her.”

#2: Scene from my life

Fall is my favorite season, beautiful color of leafs and cool sunny days.  As I walk down the path on campus, I ask, “my child, do you see what I see.  Do you like what you see?”

A voice responds back, “Yes, mommy.  I am right here, under the big maple tree, playing with the squirrels and falling leaves.  Do you not see me?”

Without looking, I say, “Yes, my child, I see you many times a day, through eyes of my heart.”

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a drop of LIFE

What is living like?  Living is like cooking a big pot of soup, for decades. Each time, life, the ultimate iron chef, would mix different flavors to the soup, to give kinks and zest.  Overtime, the flavor changes and becomes more balanced and complex.  And you, as one of the ingredients in the soup, through years of simmering and soaking have condensed to a drop of life, balanced and complex.

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