Category Archives: Friendship

2nd to the Last Day of ‘Intrams’ is Disappointment Day

What’s on my mind?
— beauty and vanity are two different things but we always tend to interchange them! but i repeat, they are different, really..
— honesty and sincerity are expensive gifts.. so don’t expect it to cheap people. mind you, they can’t afford it..
— pag na-Indian ka ng kausap mo, manlibre ka ng iba!
— revenge is sweeter when the wound is deeper!
— too much expectations brings greater disappointment. so expect less and when disappointment strikes, it is lesser!
YES! These are all my thoughts this whole day!



Often, we look for outside beauty. We fail to realize that beauty is not an artificial physique but the goodness of the heart. We should always remember that what is essential is invisible to the eye. The eye is blind for what is really important and beautiful. Let us not be discriminatory and judgmental of people’s appearances. Let us see and perceive beauty from within.

My High School English Teacher told us a story that I will never forget. I cried when I first heard it and I still cry up to now when I hear or read it.. At the time, I wasn’t interested to have a copy. But once in time, the story flashed back to my mind and I suddenly felt the urge to have a copy for myself. I tried hard to find a printed copy, so I went to ask my teacher to lend me hers. But my teacher said her copy was misplaced. I looked for the story in the internet but in vain. But at last, my long search came to an end. I happen to fall on a website ( where the article has also been posted.

To assure myself that I could share million copies of the story to other people around the globe, I felt free to post the story here too.]=============================================================================================
Wang Yang (Central Daily News July 10/11,1973)
Published in Reader’s Digest April 1976

What I saw behind my bride’s veil repelled me.

How blind I was to the truth!I was awake as Dr. Chou Taoahsiang operated to give me a corneal transplant. They had deadened the nerves around the eye, but I could hear metallic instruments clanking and Dr. Chou speaking.

My right eye had been inflamed and swollen for more than three years. When I checked into Taiwan’s Tri-Service General Hospital in Taipei, I could hardly see out of it, and my left eye was severely hyperopic. Doctors discovered that I was suffering from keratitis (inflammation of the cornea).

“You could have picked it up from towels or from swimming pools,” I was told.

“I’m a swimming instructor at an Army Officers’ School,” I said.
“That’s probably how you caught it,” the doctor said.About a year later, I learned that a corneal transplant could restore sight to my blind right eye. When I told my wife, she brought out her savings deposit book. She had managed to save $500 after years of hard work.

“If this isn’t enough, we’ll try to get more,” she said, adding, “You’re not like me. An illiterate person is blind though he can see. A man who can read needs both eyes.”

I put myself on Dr. Chou’s waiting list. A month later, he phoned me. “A driver was involved in a bad car accident,” he said. “Before he died, he told his wife to sell parts of his body to help support their children. Could you spare $250?”

The operation and hospital expenses would come to a further $200. I agreed, and was told to check into hospital the following day. I was extremely lucky. People waited for years before a cornea becomes available, and I told my wife how grateful I was to her for making the operation possible.

As I was being wheeled out of the operating room, my daughter Yung put her lips close to my ear and said, “Everything went well. Mother wanted to come, but she was afraid.”

“Tell her not to come,” I said. “But tell her I’m all right. She is not to worry.”I was 19 when I married on my parents’ orders. My father and my wife’s father were close friends and had pledged that if their wives gave birth to a boy and a girl, the children should be married.

I had never set eyes on the girl who was to be my wife until the day she was carried to our house in a bridal sedan chair. After bowing to heaven and earth, she was led to my bedroom. When at last I lifted the red brocade of her bridal headdress, I gasped with horror. Her face was cruelly covered with pockmarks, her nose was a deformity, and beneath sparse eyebrows, her scarred eyelids made her eyes swollen. She was 19, and looked 40.

I fled to my mother’s room and cried all night. My mother told me that I must accept my fate. “Homely girls bring good luck; pretty ones court sorrows.” But nothing she said reduced my anguish. I would not share a room with my wife, and I did not speak to her. I lodged at school. When summer vacation came, I refused to come home until my father sent a cousin to fetch me.

My wife was cooking supper when I arrived, and raised her head in a smile when she saw me. I walked right past her. After supper, my mother said to me privately, “Son you are being very cruel. Her face is unattractive, but she does not have an ugly heart.”

“No, it must be beautiful,” I stormed. “Otherwise how could you have made me marry her?”

My mother’s face grew pale. “She is an extremely good girl, understanding and considerate,” she said. “She has been in this house more than six months now, and works from morning to night in the kitchen and at the mill. She has not uttered a word of complaint about the way you have treated her. I have not seen her shed a tear. But she is shedding them inside. Do you want her to live like a widow although she has a husband? Put yourself in her place.”My wife and I began to share the same bedroom, but nothing changed the way I felt. She always kept her face down and spoke softly. If I argued with her, she would raise her head to give me a submissive smile, and then quickly lower it again. She’s like a ball of cotton wool, I thought. No will, no temper.

In the 30 years of marriage that followed, I seldom smiled at my wife and never went out in her company. Indeed, I often wished her dead.

And yet, my wife proved to be endowed with more patience and love than anyone I know. When we first came to Taiwan, I held a low rank in the army, and my income was barely enough to pay for rent and food. The baby was often ill, and we had to cope with medical expenses as well. When my wife was not looking for after the household, she wove straw hats and mats to earn a little money. When we moved to a fishing harbor in the east, she darned fishing nets and when we moved north, she learned to paint designs on pottery. We never lived in army quarters because the truth was we both feared her meeting people I knew. I was often away from home, but I knew that needn’t worry about our two children or the household, with her looking after everything.

After the operation, my daughter Yung brought me a transistor radio to occupy the long hours while the bandages remained on my eyes. But I had plenty of time to think, and my thoughts kept returning to my wife. I was somewhat ashamed for telling her not to come to see me.

After two weeks, I learned that the stitches would soon be removed. I could not contain my happiness. “When I recover,” I told Yung, “I want to pay a visit to the grave of the man who gave me his cornea.”

But I was nervous, for I knew there was a chance that the transplant would not take. When they removed the bandages from my right eye, I scarcely dared open it.“Do you see any light?” Dr. Chou asked.

I blinked. “Yes, from above.”
“Yes, that’s the lamp,” he said, and patted me on the shoulder.
“It’s a success. You can go home a week from today.”During that week, he tested my eye everyday. First I could see shadows, then the number of fingers on his hand. On the day I was going home, I could see the window, the bed, and even the teacups on the table.

“Mother’s making your favorite dishes to welcome you home,” Yung said when she came for me.

“She’s a good wife and a good mother,” I replied, words I could never say before.Yung and I climbed into a taxi. She was strangely silent all the way home. As I walked into the house, my wife was coming from the kitchen with a plate of food. When she saw me, she lowered her head immediately. “You’re back,” she murmured.

“Thank you for letting me see,” I said. It was the first time I remembered ever thanking her for anything.

She walked past me abruptly and put the food on the table. Leaning against the wall with her back toward me, she began to sob. “It is enough to hear you say this. I have not lived in vain.”Yung burst into the room in tears.
“Tell him!” she cried. “Let father know you gave the cornea for his eye!” She shook her mother. “Tell him!”

“I only did what I should,” my wife said.I grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked closely at her face. Her left iris was opaque, as my right one had been.

“Golden Flower!” It was the first time I spoke her name.
“Why…why did you do it?” I demanded shaking her hard.

“Because…you are my husband,” she said, burying her head in my shoulder. I held her tight. Then I got down and knelt at her feet.

Do they not Realize that We are Children of the Same God?

Click this LINK for the video

Jerzy Kluger, a Polish-born Jew who was the last of the remaining childhood friends of the late pontiff John Paul II, died in Rome on Dec. 31, 2011 at the age of 90 with bronchitis following a long-time battle with Alzheimer’s disease.

The boyhood friends met when Kluger was only five years old in their native Poland. Kluger was a year younger than John Paul II, who was born Karol Wojtyla. They grew up in nearby houses in the small town of Wadowice where they spent their childhood.

Kluger was a major influence on Pope John Paul II’s relations with Jews during his papacy.

Taking different paths on their lives which separated them, as Kluger survived the Holocaust after being sent to a gulag in Siberia, and Wojtyla becoming the Pope, the two reunited in 1965 and worked together to revolutionize strained relations between Catholics and Jews.

Upon the death of John Paul II in 2005, Kluger remembered how one day, he waited for Karol Wojtyla while the future pope prayed in church. A woman approached the young boy and scolded him. She told him a Jew shouldn’t be inside a Catholic Church.

“When I told Karol what had happened, he became very serious and said, ‘Do they not realize that we are children of the same God?’ We were 10 years old when he said this to me.”

Thus, in his early age, the call for social justice has always been in the Pope’s mind.

“Do they not realize that we are children of the same God?” Is this not a good point of reflection?

Friends Never Turn As Enemies

They say that “Best friends are the worst enemies..” But I don’t agree with this… Come to think of it.. What is our weltanschauung (world-view) of a friend? Isn’t it that they are our alter egos? Are they not the very people who know almost everything about us?

Therefore if these people whom we call friends UNDERSTAND our inner most being; if they know who we truly are; if they really learned how to love both our positive and negative sides, they will not grow as our enemies. They will not turn to as someone who dislikes us…

If they really are friends, they will not cease liking and loving us ’till the end for the sole reason that they accept and love our totality; our very self..

“It is when they prove otherwise that we will come to realize that they never became our friends ever.”

This is the reason why I could bravely say,
“Friends stay forever.”
But if they prove otherwise, if they cease, if they turn as our enemies, therefore we could arrive at the conclusion that
“They WERE never our friend at all.”

Friendship (and some bLoopers!)

Scenario this afternoon with my friend:

(Computing how much should be remitted to the College Governor for the Acquaintance Party)

Kyle: 47-9?
Hark: 38?
Kyle: Plus 9?
Hark: Huh? Isn’t it just the same???

We rolled on the floor laughing!!

This is just one of the many shared mem’ries to treasure in this friendship!
I also remember when he mistakenly read MEMORIZE to MNEMONICS… (dunno why he misread it out of the blue) haha

Thanks for the company!
La vita e Bella!

Life is truly beautiful when you have someone to share it with… In good times even in bad… (that’s what friends are for)

I just always remind myself: shared joy, double joy; shared sorrow, half sorrow!