lost in translation...
Who do u turn 2 when d only person who can stop u from crying is d one who is making u cry?
LOVE...grabe ang lalim!
Message: When you think of your past love,
you may view it as a failure.
But when you find a new love,
you view the past as a teacher.
In the game of love,
it doesn't really matter who won or who lost.
What is important is you know when to hold
on and when to let go!
You know you really love someone when you
want him or her to be happy,
even if his or her happiness means that
you're not part of it.
Everything happens for the best.
If the person you love doesn't love you back,
don't be afraid to love someone else again,
for you'll never know unless you give it a try.
You'll never love a person you love unless you
risk for love.
Love strives in hurting.
If you don't get hurt, you don't learn how to
love.
Love doesn't hurt all the time, though the
hurting is still there to test you and to help you
grow.
Don't find love, let love find you.
That's why it's called falling in love because
you don't force yourself to fall. You just fall.
You cannot finish a book without closing its
chapters.
If you want to go on, then you have to leave the
past as you turn the pages.
Love is not destroyed by a single failure or
won by a single caress.
It is a lifetime venture in which we are always
learning, discovering and growing.
The greatest irony of love is letting go when
you need to hold on and holding on when you
need to let go.
We lose someone we love only when we are
destined to find someone else who can love
us even more than we can love ourselves.
On falling out of love, take some time to heal
and then get back on the horse.
But don't ever make the same mistake of
riding
the same one that threw you the first time.
To love is to risk rejections; to live is to risk
dying, to hope is to risk failure.
But risk must be taken because the greatest
hazard in life is risking nothing!
To reach for another is to risk involvement,
to expose your feelings is to expose true self;
to love is to risk not to be loved in return.
How to define love: fall but do not stumble, be
constant but not too persistent,
share and never be unfair, understand and try
not to demand, hurt but never keep the pain.
Love is like a knife.
It can stab the heart or it can carve wonderful
images into the soul that always last for a
lifetime.
Love is supposed to be the most wonderful
feeling.
It should inspire you and give you joy and
strength.
But sometimes the things that give you joy
can
also hurt you in the end.
Loving people means giving them the
freedom
that they choose to be and where they choose
to be.
For all the heartaches and the tears, for
gloomy days and fruitless years,
you should give thanks, for you know, that
these were the things which helped you grow.
Loving someone means giving him the
freedom to find his way, whether it leads
towards you or away from you.
Love is a painful risk to take but the risk must
be taken no matter how scary or painful,
for only then you'll experience the fullness of
humanity and that is love.
Only love can hurt the heart, fill you with desire
and tear you apart.
Only love can make you cry and only love
knows why.
If you're not ready to cry, if you're not ready to
take the risk,
if you're not ready to feel the pain, then you're
not ready to fall in love.
There was a time in our lives when we
became
afraid to fall in love because every time we do,
we get hurt,then I figured that's why it;s called
falling in love.
When you decide to love, allow it to grow.
When you promise to love, refuse to let it die!
A Sweet Love Story
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II
During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 pm at Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me, " she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young women was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A women well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the women whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the women, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The women's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in it's response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
A Sad Love Story
It had been raining for more than a week, so much rain it made everyday seemed so restless and gloomy. She called and said she was coming up. It was the third time she came up to see me that week. I carried her excuse of why she came all the way here and went to meet her at the nearby seven-eleven. She was standing there alone, carrying her red umbrella. Her friend had dropped her off. It was raining and she was shivering. She looked weak and fragile in the harsh rain, wearing not enough to keep her warm.
I walked up to her and said, "You shouldn't come see me anymore," and stuff like how we shouldn't be together.
She said, "I miss you."
I told her coldly, "Lets go, I'll take you home."
She did not open up her umbrella, I knew she wanted to share mine.
I said, "Open up your umbrella, let's go."
Unwillingly, She opened up her umbrella and walked with me to the car. She said she hadn't eat lunch or dinner and asked if we could stop at some place to eat.
Right away I answered with a stoned heart, "No!"
Disappointed, she asked me to take her to the train station, she said she would take the train back home.
Maybe it was the rain, all the trains were full of people with umbrellas and suit cases who were eager to get home, not caring about who just passed by. We waited and waited, she looked at me innocently. Being together for so long, of course I knew what she meant. I understand how she must feel when she came all this way here in this kind of weather and I treat her like this. With her soft eyes staring at me, I felt guilt and wanted to let her stay for the night.
But reality struck again, I said to her coldly, "Let's go try the other train station."
We were living in the same apartment building, on the same floor. Back then there were four of us, and we got along well. We would always eat dinner together, watch movies, and sometimes go camping. We were more like a family, but I didn't know I would end up falling in love with the only girl of the four. Maybe it was during the last year of college, having living together for two years, we developed deep feelings for each other. After she graduated she went back home, and I stayed for one more year to finish school. During that year I was only able to take the train down to see her on holidays, but never for long. That was how we kept the treasured relationship.
We were walking along the side of the road. She was in front of me and I was right behind her. Her umbrella had a broken spoke. She looked liked a wounded soldier, carrying her rusted rifle walking weakly. Many times, she was too into thinking or whatever she was doing, drifting off the road, she almost got hit by the cars passing by. I wanted to just take her in my arms, but with the love I had for her and the constant pain in my stomach, I did nothing. On the way, we passed by the park where we use to always go.
She begged and said, "Lets go in the park just for a little while please, I promise I'll go home right after this."
With her begging, my cold heart softened, but I still put up an annoyed face and walked in the park. I was just sitting on the benches looking like I wanted to leave. She went to the big oak tree and she was looking for something. I knew she was looking for what we wrote on that tree with a silver ink pen half a year ago. If I remember it right, it said, "Chris and Susan was here, Chris had tea and Susan was drinking hot chocolate. Hope Chris and Susan would always remember this day, always loving each other, forever." She was looking around for quite a while, then she came back slowly with tears on her face.
She said, "Chris, I can't find it, it's not there anymore."
I felt so sour inside, there was a stream of pain, flowing into my heart, the kind of pain I've never felt before. But all I could do was pretend I didn't care, and said, "Can we go now?"
I opened up my big black umbrella, she was just standing there, didn't want to leave yet, hoping there was still a chance. She said, "You made up the story of you and that other girl didn't you? I know I frustrate you sometimes, but I'll change, can't we start over?"
I didn't say a word, just looked down and shook my head. After that we just kept on walking towards the train station, didn't say a word to each other.
Four years ago, the doctor said I had cancer, but it was found early, so it was still curable. Thinking that it was okay, I started living my normal life again, and even forgot about the cancer. I didn't think about the cancer again and did not go back to the doctor. Until a month ago, my stomach was hurting for two weeks straight, and the nightmare awakened me again. First I thought the pain wouldl go away, but it grew stronger until to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. I went back to the doctor and took an X-ray. The picture came out and there was a big black spot, which proved the truth that I did not want to believe. I was at the most glittering part of my life, but it was coming to an end. I wanted myself and the people around me to go through the least pain possible, so I decided to commit suicide. But I couldn't let people find out about my intentions, especially Susan, the person I love the most in this whole world, who still doesn't know about the truth. Susan was still young, she shouldn't have to go through this. So I made up some stories and lied to her. It was a cruel thing to do, and it broke her heart, but it was the fastest way to wipe out three years's feelings. I didn't have much time, because I would soon start to loose hair and she would find out eventually. But now I'm close to succeeding, this drama would soon be over. Thirty minutes more this would all come to an end, that was what I had in mind.
The train had stopped running so I called a taxi for her. We were just standing there, waiting, loosing our last moments in silence.
I saw the taxi from far away, I held my tears and said to her, "Take care of yourself, take good care of yourself."
She didn't talk, just nodded lightly, and then opened up her misshaped umbrella and stepped out on the street. Out in the rain, we became two single life forms, one red, one black, so far away from each other. I opened the door for her and she got in, then I close the gate that would separate me from her forever. I stood by the car, staring in the dark window, at the first love in my life, also the last one, walking out of my life. The car started, driving into the street. Finally I couldn't hold my sorrow and the twist in my heart any longer, waving my arms rapidly chasing after the taxi, because I knew, this would be the last time I see her. I wanted to tell her I still love her, I wanted to tell her to stay, I wanted to tell her so much, but the taxi had already turned in the corner. Warm tears kept falling down my face, blended with the cold rain drops. I was cold, not because of the rain. I was cold inside.
She left, and I didn't get anymore of her phone calls even until today. I know she didn't see my tears, because they were washed away by the rain. I left without regrets. But I'm not Chris, I'm that girl Susan, using my memory, and his diary I found after one year since he left, writing down these last words
LOVE...grabe ang lalim!
Message: When you think of your past love,
you may view it as a failure.
But when you find a new love,
you view the past as a teacher.
In the game of love,
it doesn't really matter who won or who lost.
What is important is you know when to hold
on and when to let go!
You know you really love someone when you
want him or her to be happy,
even if his or her happiness means that
you're not part of it.
Everything happens for the best.
If the person you love doesn't love you back,
don't be afraid to love someone else again,
for you'll never know unless you give it a try.
You'll never love a person you love unless you
risk for love.
Love strives in hurting.
If you don't get hurt, you don't learn how to
love.
Love doesn't hurt all the time, though the
hurting is still there to test you and to help you
grow.
Don't find love, let love find you.
That's why it's called falling in love because
you don't force yourself to fall. You just fall.
You cannot finish a book without closing its
chapters.
If you want to go on, then you have to leave the
past as you turn the pages.
Love is not destroyed by a single failure or
won by a single caress.
It is a lifetime venture in which we are always
learning, discovering and growing.
The greatest irony of love is letting go when
you need to hold on and holding on when you
need to let go.
We lose someone we love only when we are
destined to find someone else who can love
us even more than we can love ourselves.
On falling out of love, take some time to heal
and then get back on the horse.
But don't ever make the same mistake of
riding
the same one that threw you the first time.
To love is to risk rejections; to live is to risk
dying, to hope is to risk failure.
But risk must be taken because the greatest
hazard in life is risking nothing!
To reach for another is to risk involvement,
to expose your feelings is to expose true self;
to love is to risk not to be loved in return.
How to define love: fall but do not stumble, be
constant but not too persistent,
share and never be unfair, understand and try
not to demand, hurt but never keep the pain.
Love is like a knife.
It can stab the heart or it can carve wonderful
images into the soul that always last for a
lifetime.
Love is supposed to be the most wonderful
feeling.
It should inspire you and give you joy and
strength.
But sometimes the things that give you joy
can
also hurt you in the end.
Loving people means giving them the
freedom
that they choose to be and where they choose
to be.
For all the heartaches and the tears, for
gloomy days and fruitless years,
you should give thanks, for you know, that
these were the things which helped you grow.
Loving someone means giving him the
freedom to find his way, whether it leads
towards you or away from you.
Love is a painful risk to take but the risk must
be taken no matter how scary or painful,
for only then you'll experience the fullness of
humanity and that is love.
Only love can hurt the heart, fill you with desire
and tear you apart.
Only love can make you cry and only love
knows why.
If you're not ready to cry, if you're not ready to
take the risk,
if you're not ready to feel the pain, then you're
not ready to fall in love.
There was a time in our lives when we
became
afraid to fall in love because every time we do,
we get hurt,then I figured that's why it;s called
falling in love.
When you decide to love, allow it to grow.
When you promise to love, refuse to let it die!
A Sweet Love Story
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II
During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 pm at Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me, " she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young women was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A women well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the women whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the women, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The women's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in it's response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
A Sad Love Story
It had been raining for more than a week, so much rain it made everyday seemed so restless and gloomy. She called and said she was coming up. It was the third time she came up to see me that week. I carried her excuse of why she came all the way here and went to meet her at the nearby seven-eleven. She was standing there alone, carrying her red umbrella. Her friend had dropped her off. It was raining and she was shivering. She looked weak and fragile in the harsh rain, wearing not enough to keep her warm.
I walked up to her and said, "You shouldn't come see me anymore," and stuff like how we shouldn't be together.
She said, "I miss you."
I told her coldly, "Lets go, I'll take you home."
She did not open up her umbrella, I knew she wanted to share mine.
I said, "Open up your umbrella, let's go."
Unwillingly, She opened up her umbrella and walked with me to the car. She said she hadn't eat lunch or dinner and asked if we could stop at some place to eat.
Right away I answered with a stoned heart, "No!"
Disappointed, she asked me to take her to the train station, she said she would take the train back home.
Maybe it was the rain, all the trains were full of people with umbrellas and suit cases who were eager to get home, not caring about who just passed by. We waited and waited, she looked at me innocently. Being together for so long, of course I knew what she meant. I understand how she must feel when she came all this way here in this kind of weather and I treat her like this. With her soft eyes staring at me, I felt guilt and wanted to let her stay for the night.
But reality struck again, I said to her coldly, "Let's go try the other train station."
We were living in the same apartment building, on the same floor. Back then there were four of us, and we got along well. We would always eat dinner together, watch movies, and sometimes go camping. We were more like a family, but I didn't know I would end up falling in love with the only girl of the four. Maybe it was during the last year of college, having living together for two years, we developed deep feelings for each other. After she graduated she went back home, and I stayed for one more year to finish school. During that year I was only able to take the train down to see her on holidays, but never for long. That was how we kept the treasured relationship.
We were walking along the side of the road. She was in front of me and I was right behind her. Her umbrella had a broken spoke. She looked liked a wounded soldier, carrying her rusted rifle walking weakly. Many times, she was too into thinking or whatever she was doing, drifting off the road, she almost got hit by the cars passing by. I wanted to just take her in my arms, but with the love I had for her and the constant pain in my stomach, I did nothing. On the way, we passed by the park where we use to always go.
She begged and said, "Lets go in the park just for a little while please, I promise I'll go home right after this."
With her begging, my cold heart softened, but I still put up an annoyed face and walked in the park. I was just sitting on the benches looking like I wanted to leave. She went to the big oak tree and she was looking for something. I knew she was looking for what we wrote on that tree with a silver ink pen half a year ago. If I remember it right, it said, "Chris and Susan was here, Chris had tea and Susan was drinking hot chocolate. Hope Chris and Susan would always remember this day, always loving each other, forever." She was looking around for quite a while, then she came back slowly with tears on her face.
She said, "Chris, I can't find it, it's not there anymore."
I felt so sour inside, there was a stream of pain, flowing into my heart, the kind of pain I've never felt before. But all I could do was pretend I didn't care, and said, "Can we go now?"
I opened up my big black umbrella, she was just standing there, didn't want to leave yet, hoping there was still a chance. She said, "You made up the story of you and that other girl didn't you? I know I frustrate you sometimes, but I'll change, can't we start over?"
I didn't say a word, just looked down and shook my head. After that we just kept on walking towards the train station, didn't say a word to each other.
Four years ago, the doctor said I had cancer, but it was found early, so it was still curable. Thinking that it was okay, I started living my normal life again, and even forgot about the cancer. I didn't think about the cancer again and did not go back to the doctor. Until a month ago, my stomach was hurting for two weeks straight, and the nightmare awakened me again. First I thought the pain wouldl go away, but it grew stronger until to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. I went back to the doctor and took an X-ray. The picture came out and there was a big black spot, which proved the truth that I did not want to believe. I was at the most glittering part of my life, but it was coming to an end. I wanted myself and the people around me to go through the least pain possible, so I decided to commit suicide. But I couldn't let people find out about my intentions, especially Susan, the person I love the most in this whole world, who still doesn't know about the truth. Susan was still young, she shouldn't have to go through this. So I made up some stories and lied to her. It was a cruel thing to do, and it broke her heart, but it was the fastest way to wipe out three years's feelings. I didn't have much time, because I would soon start to loose hair and she would find out eventually. But now I'm close to succeeding, this drama would soon be over. Thirty minutes more this would all come to an end, that was what I had in mind.
The train had stopped running so I called a taxi for her. We were just standing there, waiting, loosing our last moments in silence.
I saw the taxi from far away, I held my tears and said to her, "Take care of yourself, take good care of yourself."
She didn't talk, just nodded lightly, and then opened up her misshaped umbrella and stepped out on the street. Out in the rain, we became two single life forms, one red, one black, so far away from each other. I opened the door for her and she got in, then I close the gate that would separate me from her forever. I stood by the car, staring in the dark window, at the first love in my life, also the last one, walking out of my life. The car started, driving into the street. Finally I couldn't hold my sorrow and the twist in my heart any longer, waving my arms rapidly chasing after the taxi, because I knew, this would be the last time I see her. I wanted to tell her I still love her, I wanted to tell her to stay, I wanted to tell her so much, but the taxi had already turned in the corner. Warm tears kept falling down my face, blended with the cold rain drops. I was cold, not because of the rain. I was cold inside.
She left, and I didn't get anymore of her phone calls even until today. I know she didn't see my tears, because they were washed away by the rain. I left without regrets. But I'm not Chris, I'm that girl Susan, using my memory, and his diary I found after one year since he left, writing down these last words
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