Being Backstabbed

My heavy heart is waiting to be lighten up...

During My Study Week For O&G End Of Posting Test

Craziest Month of the year - My October

The Great Moms!!!

What am i going to do during raya holiday??? Hmmm...

Flower in a cozy room VS Flower of 'squatters'

What A Nice Day!!!

Tired of Waiting for Delivery in Labour Room

Poor puppy~~~

A Better Tomorrow

My New Sis!!! >>> SU JEN!!!

I hate O&G (cont)

i miss dear dear...

What we did during INDEPENDENCE DAY???

INDEPENDENCE DAY

Dear's birthday!!!

i'm so stressed!!! i don't like ENT posting!!!

23rd August 2008 Family Gathering - it means so much to us!!!

Emo 's moment...

The Day You Went Away

The day you went away

You left me on a lonely highway

I was choked with tears

But you could not hear

Since that day you went away

I have no more gay

Missing you every minute every day

Hope you’ll be back during the holiday

Though I know it is finding a needle in a haystack

Still I insist on burying myself in such a thought

I have been waiting for so many years

I have no more tears

It is a rainy day

Same as the day you went away

Listening to the pitter-patter of the rain

Your shadowy figure appears in my brain

Looking out at the bay

Could not believe that you are far away

At such a sentimental moment

My spirit is dampened

My hope is finally smashed down the drain

Everything between you and me

I can only take a trip down memory lane

Compliment

Joy that I had lost long ago
Ere the piles of plight and sorrow
Returning to me and warming up my cold
Encouraging me to be strong and bold
My sufferings were relieved by your heart of gold
You are indeed the tranquilizer of my soul

IT'S TIME TO LET GO

I really do not know

Why did I make u my idol?

What makes me to hold on until this old?

Why can’t I keep my emotion in control?

I really do not know

How much should I know?

How much I want to know?

Which track should I follow?

I really do not know

To who have I owed?

To whom should I say hello?

Where should I look for the heart of Gold?

How much more I need to undergo?

When is the time I can gain back my ego?

I really do not know

I just wish to buried myself in pillow

How should I grow out of this great sorrow?

The temperature of my heart turning cold

You used to be my heart and soul

And now I wish to get you sold

It’s time to let go

I cannot stand anymore sorrow

I have to be bold

And let go of what I hold

It’s time to let go

Not to be anymore shallow

So that I will grow and glow

To reach my ultimate goal

Sun Rise

You tried to open my eyes

To allow me to see the sun rise

But I was not wise

As my confidence was frozen into ice

For my life which was once brutalized

But you have melted the ice

By using your warmest light

And made my plight capsized

Of the past,

No matter how much pride and plight

No matter how we were analysed and criticized

You seem to be authorized

To silent my cries and held me tight

And willing to pay whatever price

To make me realized

You would bring me paradise

Like the parasite, like the lice

You are the only one I rely

High in the sky,

You fly me with pride

Eventually you opened my eyes

And allow me to see the sun rise

For you, this poem I recite

Power of the Powerless

Have you ever thought of what kind of life would those severely disabled (or shall we call them differently abled?) adult have? How are they going to contribute to our society? How are they 'able' like other who are usually known as normal people? I have thought of this over and over again during this attachment. However, i always come to a dead end everytime i thought of those who are considered as 'vege'. I really could not think of any future for them and i was totally out of idea to help them other than institutionalize them until i talked to my supervisor about this and he showed me the book 'Power of the Powerless' as well as L'arche, (http://www.larche.ca/en/)

Peace is not a question just of stopping this or that catastrophe, but of rediscovering a vision, a path of hope for all of humanity. Jean Vanier,
Founder of L'Arche

By Christopher de Vinck

I grew up in the house where my brother was on his back in his bed for almost 33 years, in the same corner of his room, under the same window, beside the same yellow walls. Oliver was blind, mute. His legs were twisted. He didn't have the strength to lift his head nor the intelligence to learn anything.

Today I am an English teacher, and each time I introduce my class to the play about Helen Keller, "The Miracle Worker," I tell my students about Oliver. One day, during my first year teaching, a boy in the last row raised his hand and said, "Oh, Mr. de Vinck. You mean he was a vegetable."

I stammered for a few seconds. My family and I fed Oliver. We changed his diapers, hung his clothes and bed linen on the basement line in winter, and spread them out white and clean on the lawn in the summer. I always liked to watch the grasshoppers jump on the pillowcases.

We bathed Oliver. Tickled his chest to make him laugh. Sometimes we left the radio on in his room. We pulled the shade down over his bed in the morning to keep the sun from burning his tender skin. We listened to him laugh as we watched television downstairs. We listened to him rock his arms up and down to make the bed squeak. We listened to him cough in the middle of the night.

"Well, I guess you could call him a vegetable. I called him Oliver, my brother. You would have liked him."

One October day in 1946, when my mother was pregnant with Oliver, her second son, she was overcome by fumes from a leaking coal-burning stove. My oldest brother was sleeping in his crib, which was quite high off the ground so the gas didn't affect him, My father pulled them outside, where my mother revived quickly.

On April 20, 1947, Oliver was born. A healthy looking, plump, beautiful boy.

One afternoon, a few months later, my mother brought Oliver to a window. She held him there in the sun, the bright good sun, and there Oliver looked and looked directly into the sunlight, which was the first moment my mother realized that Oliver was blind. My parents, the true heroes of this story, learned with the passing months, that blindness was only part of the problem. So they brought Oliver to Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York for tests to determine the extent of his condition.

The doctor said that he wanted to make it very clear to both my mother and father that there was absolutely nothing that could be done for Oliver. He didn't want my parents to grasp at false hope. "You could place him in an institution," he said. "But," my parents replied, "he is our son. We will take Oliver home of course." The good doctor answered, "Then take him home and love him."

Oliver grew to the size of a 10-year-old. He had a big chest, a large head. His hands and feet were those of a five-year-old, small and soft. We'd wrap a box of baby cereal for him at Christmas and place it under the tree; pat his head with a damp cloth in the middle of a July heat wave. His baptismal certificate hung on the wall above his head. A bishop came to the house and confirmed him.

Even now, five years after his death from pneumonia on March 12, 1980, Oliver still remains the weakest, most helpless human being I ever met, and yet he was one of the most powerful human beings I ever met. He could do absolutely nothing except breathe, sleep, eat, and yet he was responsible for action, love, courage, insight. When I was small my mother would say, "Isn't it wonderful that you can see?" And once she said, "When you go to heaven, Oliver will run to you, embrace you, and the first thing he will say is 'Thank you."' I remember, too, my mother explaining to me that we were blessed with Oliver in ways that were not clear to her at first.

So often parents are faced with a child who is severely retarded, but who is also hyperactive, demanding or wild, who needs constant care. So many people have little choice but to place their child in an Institution. We were fortunate that Oliver didn't need us to be in his room all day. He never knew what his condition was. We were blessed with his presence, a true presence of peace.

When I was in my early 20s, I met a girl and fell in love. After a few months I brought her home to meet my family. When my mother went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, I asked the girl, "Would you like to see Oliver?" for I had told her about my brother. "No," she answered.

Soon after, I met Roe, a lovely girl. She asked me the names of my brothers and sisters. She loved children. I thought she was wonderful. I brought her home after a few months to meet my family. Soon it was time for me to feed Oliver. I remember sheepishly asking Roe if she'd like to see him. "Sure," she said.

I sat at Oliver's bedside as Roe watched over my shoulder. I gave him his first spoonful, his second. "Can I do that?" Roe asked with ease, with freedom, with compassion, so I gave her the bowl and she fed Oliver one spoonful at a time.

The power of the powerless. Which girl would you marry? Today Roe and I have three children.

After reading this book, i believe that differently abled people do contribute to our society, perhaps what they have contributed is even much more than what we have done for them if we have a way to evaluate that. It is just the way of doing it is different. Sometime i wonder if we have our mind set right, will it still be so depressing to live with them? Perhaps one day i should join L'arche and find out.