To the Fullest!

On Pieces of Advice

I first heard the song below when I was in HS. I found it interesting back then and, later in life, I realized it has some of the best pieces of advice you will ever have in this lifetime... Read on, if you know how the song goes, sing! Moreover, if you have the mp3, why don't you share it with me?

Everybody's Free to Wear "Sunscreen"(Baz Luhrman)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of 99'Wear Sunscreen

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proven by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they fail you. But trust me in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagined.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never cross your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Sing!

'Don't be reckless w/ other people's hearts & don't put up w/ people who are reckless w/ yours.'

Floss!

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes your behind. The race is long. And at the end, it's only w/ yourself. Remember compliments, forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch!

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do w/ your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do w/ their lives. Some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody elses.

Enjoy your body, Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance!

Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions even if you don't follow them. Don't read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're the only link to your past and the people most likely to stick w/ you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but w/ a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle. Because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel!

Accept certain inalienable truths. Prices will rise, Politicians will philander, You too will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much w/ your hair. Or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient w/ those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than what it's worth.

But trust me on the "Sunscreen"!

Finally..

Let's rock the house down this weekend! ( i still dunno which house though, haha!) still hufta help me brotha with his school problem b4 i head 4 home this morning. (i have a nyt job u know -- pok pok!) his freakin philo1 prof failed half of his blockmates, my poor kid bro included!! i was at his school (where i also graduated) yesterday ryt after work and the line of parents waiting for the level coordinator was sooo long it made me feel sick. finally when we were about 3 persons away from her in the line, she declared that she's closing for the day and we need to come back tomorrow, awww! i wanted to rip her lungs out of her chest!!!
I don't want this post to be painful so I won't make it long, bottom line: IF YOU'RE A PROF AND MORE THAN HALF OF YOUR STUDENTS FAILED YOUR CLASS, IT'S NOT THEM, IT'S YOU WHO FAILED. So don't feel proud you failed them, check out your trunk, there's a dead person inside sucker!!!

**sigh** it always feels good to know that it's a saturday...

Take care fellas...
Happy Weekend!!!

First Episode

The Room

Read and have a nice day...

"The Room"
by Joshua Harris

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I Have Liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I Have Betrayed.”

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I Have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed At.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger,” “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked “Songs I Have Listened To,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: “No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.

I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Where?

This is insane...

Weekend Blast

Wanna join me next time?
You gotta make a decision, 'we leave tonight or live and die this way?'
(I'll post soon..)

Live Life

We live today... and die tomorrow.
Make the most out of life.

Pa cute!

Hi, it's me...

Postcards

I was on my way home yesterday when I heard the song "Postcard from Heaven" by Lighthouse Family playing on the radio inside the jitney I rode going home. It was already along the chorus line when I realized that I was singing it really loud when I accidentally (read: not purposely haha!) looked at the rearview mirror and saw this young woman looking at me. I bowed my head and laughed in shame. But then again, I loved the song and I went on singing it again.. I didn't care, it brought a lot of memories...

'..so it's best that you don't try holding back the tide...'

I've lost a lot of friends in this lifetime, the reasons are quite diverse: went overseas, changed address, simply lost contact and some... died. For some of those who went overseas or just changed addresses, we still keep contact via phone call. The most interesting way is through postcards. Through those, I can see places where I haven't been and wonder when I'll be seeing those places. For those who died an untimely death ( and I pray that their sould rest in peace) I couldn't stop wishing that they, too, will send me postcards. I want to see how heaven looks like and how they're doing out there. Or if they are somewhere where I wouldn't want to be, I wanna see what it looks like too... perhaps if people would see both worlds, they would make the right choices in life.