Letters, Words, Phrases, Sentences.

  • Fire would not burn you, but the heat would.
  • Home suits homy.
  • Introduction must be ended up with conclusion. After "Hi", there must be "Bye-bye".
  • You can't express care with silence.
  • Pros do not expose.
  • It's thin and fragile. Don't ever try to touch or blow it.

My Arts

My Arts
Click on the picture to see photographs, drawings and designs by me :D

Saturday, January 17, 2009


An old lady, Anna, lived next to a little family contained of a couple and a four year-old son. They were always very friendly to Anna. Though Anna was a seventy-year old widow, her physical was seemed to be fifty-year old and she was strong enough to look after herself, so, sometimes her neighbor asked her to look after their son. She was still a useful person.
Anna looked joyful but her eyes revealed a sorrow inside her. None of her children had visited her decrepit house since all five of them left their coop. their last reunion was during her late husband’s funeral five years ago. The tumour in her late husband’s brain was too late to be cured. It had raged within his brain.
“Grandma, grandma,” Tommy, her neighbour’s son, was calling her insistently.
“Grandma!” his last call woke her up. She was lying on the floor. No sooner had she seen a mop in her hand than she remembered what had happened. She had slipped while she was mopping. Then she tried hard to stand up. She felt pain in her back.
“Are you okay grandma?” the little boy asked her. She remained silent, still deep in her thoughts that she was a weak lady who was waiting for her death.
“Grandma,” whined Tommy.
Anna widened her eyes and finally focused her attention on Tommy.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Tommy, I’m alright,” she smiled at Tommy and stroked his head.
Nowadays, Anna often rejected her neighbour’s requests to look after Tommy. She found that her condition was deteriorating. She saw blood on her napkin after covering her mouth when she coughed. She always procrastinated to see doctor until finally she realised that she could not cope anymore. She went to see a doctor and after undergoing some analysis, the results revealed that she had stomach cancer. It was estimated she had only three months to live.
She folded the letter from the hospital and put it in her hand bag. Tears streamed down from her wrinkly green eyes, happy tears. Leaning her head against her late husband’s grave stone, on which was written, Jonas Alfred, 1930-1993, she whispered, “I’m coming, John, we will have the best reunion in heaven.”

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