What is Love & Romance?

A perspective

2008-10-21T23:55:00.001+08:00

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Cold Fire

2008-09-24T19:30:00.002+08:00

I wear a mask of ice to hide my soul

I pray it will not freeze on and stick

And remain on me forever even though

I put it on willingly, it hurts while it licks

Its tongue of cold fire on my skin

Burning and flickering like a lighted match

I suppose this is penance for my sins

For now on my skin this mask shall latch

I need to become a girl of ice and snow

Bury my emotions and forget to feel

Look normal while inside it grows cold

My hurt and tears will remain concealed

And I pray for the day that you return

The indifference, the numbness, the pain will go

Once again, to be able to feel I will learn

But until then I will wait, my fingers icy cold.

The Bliss of Waiting

2008-09-06T21:52:00.001+08:00

The door opens slightly; the gap becoming wider and wider as I see glimpses of your tall frame. My heart skips a beat as I anticipate the vision of your full self, a sight that never fails to captivate me. At long last, I see your twinkling eyes and a merry smile as I call out a greeting and motion for you to bridge the gap between us. A task you have mastered very well. Waiting for you is indeed bliss, my love.

Sam Keen on Love

2008-08-27T00:32:00.000+08:00

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

Sam Keen

Curtis Judalet Quote 2

2008-08-27T00:30:00.000+08:00

It is impossible to fall out of love. Love is such a powerful emotion, that once it envelops you it does not depart. True love is eternal. If you think that you were once in love, but fell out of it, then it wasn't love you were in. There are no 'exit' signs in love, there is only an 'on' ramp.

Curtis Judalet

Curtis Judalet Quotes 1

2008-08-27T00:29:00.000+08:00

“Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do, will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, will never...never forget it.”

Curtis Judalet

Expectations

2008-08-05T00:43:00.002+08:00

If anything, love is but a feeling in me
Which i wish nothing for except that he could see.

Love is everything but just a feeling in me
Which i wish for nothing except that she would see.

All i ask from him is but a mere look -
He didn't have to go out, and buy that distracting cookbook.

What I ask of her is but a love that's grand
The concept of which I've been longing for her, to understand.

leoson

The Answer...

2008-07-21T13:49:00.002+08:00

"Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of existence."

--- Erich Fromm, Post-Freudian psychologist

Hmm.

2008-07-20T21:59:00.000+08:00

Love? Is what I feel love?
Let's think.
I feel nervous when you're around.
I feel stupid.
I feel like my heart wants to jump out of my chest and
possibly throw itself at you.
I feel like my tongue's in a hundred different knots, and
all of them can't be disentangled.
I feel like I'm floating when you smile as you glance my way.

Oh, wait, that's a crush.
Oops, sorry.
I'll just wait to outgrow it.

But why is it taking so long?

Love?

2008-07-15T22:09:00.002+08:00

Love is the most beautiful thing that completely different people can have perfectly in common.

Jokingly, my aunt once said: "Love is how the women of the world keep men awake at night."

2008-07-15T12:32:00.002+08:00

If love's a game, I know I've lost;
you've won my heart, but I couldn't win yours.

Stop

2008-07-15T12:27:00.000+08:00

I ought to stop thinking of you,
and start thinking of something new.
I ought to stop checking my phone,
your messages are few as I have known.

I ought to stop dreaming of you,
and start dreaming of something new.
I ought to stop writing your name
as though it's my favourite game.

I ought to stop wishing for you,
and start wishing for something new.
I ought to stop wasting my time,
waiting for you is not my pastime.

I want to stop, I really do.
But how to stop, I have no clue.
I want to think of something new,
but all my thoughts are you, you, you.

2008-07-14T18:07:00.000+08:00

My heart, O! my poor Heart, it is so heavy!
Is it your heart that my heart is carrying?

14 July 2008

2008-07-14T17:59:00.002+08:00

we are now, married, bonded by faith, love and God
a three fold cord and
you
me

in a photo of wedding dresses with invisible safety lines
and you, mandarin collared, oriental
-pretty radiant bride
-charming beaming groom

i would show you this photo
three, five, ten years from now
when we're all old, saggy and falling
into the cinque pace
to show gaunt cheeks, sunken lips and laugh lines, knowing every wrinkle that maps your face
and
how it came about

but-

i would show you the most important thing of all,
of a familial God
and two rings
the very twin of mine
(for love, you know with God at the top,
we are no triangle,
merely
a
line)

Tonight,

2008-07-14T17:54:00.002+08:00

Tonight, let us crawl into silk spun slumber, as in your large hand hold my palpitating fluttering sparrow heart and

encapsulate me in your embrace and in each finger i push into your muscle,
know that i am not pushing you away, merely
mappingknowingunderstandingfeeling
you as a child does, with lips and hands before you still and

drink in my sorrow,
sipping off the curved
plane of my cheek
imbibing it in your helpless state as we, like twin
butterflies grow embedded in
a m b er

as i feed your soul
and you feed
mine

Lovers with half moon - Modern Art

2008-07-14T14:15:00.000+08:00

The Equestrian - Modern Art

2008-07-14T14:14:00.000+08:00

The Embrace - Modern Art

2008-07-14T14:13:00.000+08:00

An Intimate Moment

2008-07-14T14:05:00.002+08:00

Classical Romantic Art

2008-07-14T14:04:00.001+08:00

Seascapes - Modern Art

2008-07-14T14:02:00.005+08:00

Intense Passion III

2008-07-13T12:51:00.002+08:00

In the kitchen

2008-07-13T12:46:00.000+08:00

High...

2008-07-13T12:45:00.001+08:00

Forbidden Fruit II

2008-07-13T12:44:00.001+08:00

In heaven

2008-07-13T12:42:00.000+08:00

Forbidden Fruit

2008-07-13T12:34:00.001+08:00

All wet...

2008-07-13T12:32:00.000+08:00

From the top...

2008-07-13T12:30:00.000+08:00

Intense Passion II

2008-07-13T12:29:00.000+08:00

Intense Passion

2008-07-13T12:28:00.001+08:00

From behind...

2008-07-13T12:26:00.001+08:00

Cornered...

2008-07-13T12:24:00.002+08:00

Waking up to a kiss II

2008-07-13T12:23:00.002+08:00

A gentle kiss

2008-07-13T12:20:00.000+08:00

Waking up to a kiss

2008-07-13T12:05:00.000+08:00

Lost in their own world

2008-07-13T12:02:00.000+08:00

Live on your kisses

2008-07-13T11:09:00.000+08:00

Kiss at sunset

2008-07-13T11:03:00.000+08:00

Best movie love scenes - another version

2008-07-13T01:38:00.000+08:00

The best love scenes in movies

2008-07-13T01:33:00.000+08:00

TV/Movie's intense kissing scenes

2008-07-13T01:22:00.002+08:00

Romantic TV/Movie couples montage

2008-07-13T01:19:00.001+08:00

A very touching Korean MTV

2008-07-13T01:15:00.000+08:00

Korean Love Story MTV

2008-07-13T01:04:00.000+08:00

Romantic Bollywood Scenes

2008-07-12T22:23:00.000+08:00

Montage of romantic hollywood scenes

2008-07-12T22:14:00.001+08:00

A very romantic manga slideshow

2008-07-12T21:22:00.001+08:00

A kiss at dusk

2008-07-12T21:12:00.003+08:00

Graffiti Love

2008-07-11T14:22:00.004+08:00

act one–regret

It was three in the afternoon, on a Saturday. He stood in the shade of the giant tree, the tree Emma loved. Huge overhanging branches and crinkled brown leaves, just a shade too brown for this autumn. Beside him, a young boy—no more than eleven or twelve—frolicked playfully in the sunshine, unusually warm for this time of the year. His mother sat on the bench nearby; concern etched on her weary face. It was picturesque really, he thought. Funny, it could have been Emma sitting right there. How time flies.

The weather reminded him of the beginning of his time in university. Glorious autumn conditions – hot not humid, yet cool, but not chilly. And the varsity days, undoubtedly one of the most fulfilling and memorable periods of his life. He still remembered the afternoons on campus, filled with so much laughter and fun. He wished that he had never graduated into the real world. This was his second home; his home away from home; his life had truly started here. The team sports, the people, the professors, the dean, the lectures—yes, the lectures, he missed their mind-numbing impacts now—the food, the dorm, the sights, the million and one things he never really got around to forgetting. The park, for example, this park, was one of those.

He watched the boy gurgle happily as he pranced around, lost in childhood innocence. Lucky fellow, he thought, life continues to be full of joy and happiness, not heartbreak and tears. He missed Emma. He also realized that he had been standing motionless for a long time, staring blankly into the distance. He wanted to walk, to pace, to move, to shout out all his frustrations, all his cares in this world—but still he remained rooted to the spot.

Dazed, he raised his eyes to the view beyond for a long time, taking it in. The playground, swings, slide, roundabout, monkey bars, sand and all. It was foreign. He didn’t know any of this. He had never played before, and with this thought a wave of sadness swept across his frame. Deprived—yes, that was it. He felt a deep yearning within him, an uncontrollable urge pulling him towards the playground. He sat down on one of the swings and rocked himself back and forth, back and forth, in perfect rhythm. The other children looked at this intruder curiously, uncertainly. They did not know what to make of this grownup occupying their space. He chuckled bitterly. He didn’t care what they thought. Father Paul would’ve fussed over them though; he loved children. But right now he wanted to empty his mind and meditate. ‘You’re a troubled young man, Peter; clear your mind and listen to God.’ Again, the words from his childhood rang in his ears. If only it was that simple, Father, he cried. He tried blanking his mind out. He couldn’t.

-No, I don’t want to go.

-But Emma, please, you must understand, this is for our future, we need to do this, we must leave this place-

-I can’t, Peter, I can’t, please don’t force me.

-Leave the old be and let the young live, our time is now; we have to hold fast to our resolve and go. The tickets are ready and the train leaves tonight. We’ll start anew, I promise-

-My father is ill, he needs me and I intend not to leave him-

-Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t be naïve, you told me yourself that you wanted to leave him-

-The situation has changed, Peter. My father is dying; I need to be with him.

-He’s controlling your life, Emma, the drunkard beats you up when he’s drunk-

-That’s not the point; he is my father, Peter.

He could still taste the grief in her voice, the distress, the pain. She was torn between two duties and her kinship triumphed. God, he was so frustrated. Months of planning flushed down the drain. He knew how she felt, he empathized, yet his anger and displeasure stemmed from the fact that he was jealous. She was merely remorseful, the inner guilt that rose up unwanted and unannounced. He never had parents to care for, so he didn’t feel any obligation to be filial. After all, he reasoned, they were the people who had put him into an orphanage in the first place. Nevertheless, he experienced agonizing pangs whenever he saw moments of bliss between mother and son. God was unfair, he mused.

act two–pangs

The boy was still at it, he noticed. Dashing around, playing a game of catch, he half wished he could be like the boy, carefree and unburdened. Growing up—he remembered now, the memories flooding back like an avalanche—was more of standing up for oneself than anything. Father Paul, yes, he exclaimed excitedly, Father Paul encouraged him to pray to God in times of help and need. It never worked out right though. He didn’t really know how to believe in God, or if he even existed. Religious love, love of God, he just couldn’t understand the concept. What he did know was that he could only rely on his own abilities to overcome the obstacles. Was there divine aid from a higher being? He was unsure, for if there was, it didn’t manifest itself. But he would trade his life, gladly, a thousand times over, for a different life, with parents, for a life where there was family. He was never given a chance to love, or to be loved. He was denied the opportunity to feel a mother’s warmth, a father’s hand, or even sibling rivalry. At least they had each other.

The boy was crying now. He had tripped over a hidden branch. Instinctively, his mother hastened to his side. He closed his eyes, feeling tears welling up. He thought, as always, about Emma.

Fool that he was, he saw himself as some sort of knight in shining armor, springing forward to save the pretty damsel, rescuing her from evil. But yes, he understood from the start that this story, this journey would have no happily ever after; no fairytale finish. And yet, with the ending already a foregone conclusion, he charged into this relationship, doomed to fail. He was shattered, of course. Oh, he was stupid, but then again, love is blind. It seemed so wonderful, perfect at first. It just happened, he thought, it just happened.

-Well, if you really want to know…

-Do tell, Peter.

-It was kind of like a flower, tense and hesitant, it didn’t know when to open up and show its true colors, but when it did, it blossomed. It was weird, Emma, really weird.

-But it worked, didn’t it?

-That’s love for you.

It certainly was strange, he admitted. He was confused at that time as to the many mysteries and miseries of love. He distinguished clearly now, and the irony struck him. He tried desperately to stem the tide of reminiscences churning around in his mind, willing them to disappear. Their first meeting, their first kiss, heck, even their first fight; so many firsts, so many moments of pure, undiluted love, in the longest autumn of his life.

Autumn is a season for courtship, a spell to which couples dance and twirl to the tune of the falling leaves; share a precious moment together under the golden earth and sky; spend time strolling down the boulevard of love. He loved her with all his heart, with all his soul, with all of his being. Reciprocity, what was that? She rent his spirit into two.

act three–love

-What do you think love is, Emma?

-Love? To me, it’s like a bottle of wine.

-A bottle of wine, why?

-Well, because it just gets better with age.

He remembered they both laughed, in the sweetness of the love they thought, or rather, he thought would last eternally. He knew better now. No, love never ages like vintage wine; absence does not make the heart grow fonder. He realized love becomes stale, and then vanishes, fading away into nothingness.

Love spoils when kept too long.

He couldn’t help being emotional now. One year of empty promises, one autumn since their pledge that night, one year of heartache. Still, she delayed her decision. He didn’t comprehend why–why she loved her father, the man who beat her whenever he was in a drunken stupor. He persuaded her, cajoled her, and reasoned with her until she relented.

-Break free of the clutches of your father, Emma, we’ll go elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but here.

-We’ve gone through this a thousand times, Peter-

-We’ll find ourselves a place, I promise, and start right from the beginning. It’s not about his money; we want our life, as adults. It’s the way he treats you that riles me, Emma.

- Peter, he’s sick, he’s an old man, I’m his daughter, and I want to see him through this.

-Emma…

-No more, Peter, say no more.

Will Emma leave Peter? Read "Romance Vol. 1" to find out!

Excerpt from "Romance Vol. 1"

Symptoms and Diagnosis of the Affliction Known as “Deep Attraction”

2008-07-11T13:26:00.005+08:00

Dear patient,

This illness can be fatal.

Do read the following diagnosis carefully,

And the rest depends on your mettle.

-Whenever you meet the one responsible for your dreadful illness:

You cry even when you’re feeling happy,

You laugh even when you’re feeling down.

You walk away and then you feel intensely lonely,

You feel that there’s no one else in town.

-He or she can make you:

Seem immature even though you lead a soccer team,

Seem as if you’ve got a mental disease.

Seem as if you can always find a gleam,

Seem shattered even though you were always in one piece.

-Psychological effects include:

Feeling stupid even when you always top the class.

Feeling confused when you try to speak

Feeling depressed when you don’t meet on the bus

Feeling unsure when it is he or she that you seek.

-What you should do:

You could drown yourself in a glass of wine (I mean coffee)

You could leave a note and disappear

You could bury yourself in books and shout with glee

Ah, I don’t care!

-Doctor’s notes:

Though I must say there is a risky way

To make this better with each passing day

Go right up to her and say

I like you and have loved you every single day!

You could also slip a message under her table

Put in her mobile phone a loving fable

To her mailbox pieces of paper in a decorated riddle

Or words on her screen in the virtual mail ladle.

My dear patient, do think about it

This operation only has a limited success rate

Unless you have a hide so thick or unlimited wit

Do beware,

You may soon be afflicted with another ailment known as “Heart’s Tear”.

Get well soon,

Your Doctor.

Extracted from "Romance Vol. 1"

Wounded heart

2008-07-11T13:24:00.002+08:00

The broken heart heals but leaves a scar behind. I may move on but my heart will always have a part of you imprinted on it…

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

I'm sorry...

2008-07-11T13:22:00.001+08:00

There is an ocean between us…and it is filled with tears of my regret. I don't want to drown in my own foolishness. Please forgive me…

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Missing you...

2008-07-11T13:20:00.002+08:00

Every little detail I remember about you makes me smile; every message I get warms my heart; and every time I hear your voice on the phone I forget the distance between us.

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Dreams & Reality

2008-07-11T13:18:00.001+08:00

Men often dream, and think how wonderful their dreams were. I often think of you in my reality, and cannot believe my sweetest dream has came true.

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Proposal

2008-07-11T13:17:00.002+08:00

All that stands between now and happily ever after, is a YES from you!

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

The second best thing...

2008-07-11T13:15:00.002+08:00

Marrying you is the second best thing that has ever happened to me; the first was meeting you.

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Juvenile

2008-07-11T13:12:00.003+08:00

Sometimes I really wished I was a child. Because children say and do things they feel with much less hesitation. Then I won’t be afraid to tell you how I feel. To tell you how much I want to kiss you, and see that beautiful smile every single day of my life...

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Tune in my head

2008-07-11T13:10:00.003+08:00

Sometimes you just pop into my head for no reason at all during my day. It’s kind of like when you have a tune you really like stuck in your head.

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

SMS...

2008-07-11T13:01:00.002+08:00

The other day I found this sms that said ‘I love you…’ I thought it was from you, but when I checked...it was actually a sms I left in the outbox for you…

Extracted from "Romantic Words for Every Occasion"

Loving You

2008-07-11T12:32:00.004+08:00

Dearest _____________,

They say Love is blind, and I say, indeed! If we knew what we were doing back then, we wouldn’t have fallen in love with each other. We should have just remained the way we were: mutually attracted, but neither daring to make the first move. We should have spared ourselves all the agony and misery.

They also say opposites attract, and I must say I agree. We are as different as “different” could be. We both knew that it would never be easy, and yet we promised each other we would stay true to ourselves, to each other and to our beautiful Love.

We tried our best, I know, to convince the world of our beautiful Love. But pity, they never understood. And they never will.

It was too hard, much too hard. It felt as though it was the two of us against the rest of the world. You were close, but not close enough. I was there, but it was all getting too much to bear.

I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I gave up on us. Even though it was hard for me to leave you, I’m sorry darling, you know I had to, there was nothing else I could do.

Believe me when I tell you I tried… I really tried to forget, and learn to live my life again, just as it was, before you came.

But we both know that in fact, I had only given up on us being able to stay together. Deep down, I had never given up on our beautiful Love. Never… Neither of us had.

I’m sorry I surrendered to this cruel world. But for now, once again, I have given up. I have given up pretending everything is over between us. I have given up living this pathetic lie.

I have never stopped loving you for even a split-second of my life, and I want you back. As long as I have you by my side, nothing else matters. With each other, we can face the world together.

Loving you is hard; but pretending I don’t love you is harder.

And not loving you, the hardest thing ever…

Love,

Extracted from "Romance Vol. 1"

Fireflies

2008-07-11T12:27:00.003+08:00

As a child, I was a rebel. At an age where other little girls played with dolls and had little tea parties, I was out there. Climbing trees and throwing rocks at beehives perched atop some branches. I was not a naughty little girl per se. I was simply a tomboy. I was the town’s only tomboy. Well, it was not a big wonder how I could be the only tomboy in existence. It was a small town. It was a very, very small town. We had one supermarket, one bank, one church. And yes, one tomboy. Me.

Little girls and little boys would not befriend me. I was neither a girl nor a boy to them. Due to a lack of knowledge as to what I really am, they played it safe and avoided me altogether. During those early days, the opposite gender was not to be friends with. They had “cooties”. A doctorate, three children, five grandchildren later, I gained wisdom of a lot of things in life. Except for the wisdom as to what exactly “cooties” were.

But this story is not about a lonely six year old tomboy. It is not about the search for a meaning to the word “cooties”. This story is about love and friendship. It is about a boy named George McClanahan. It is about fireflies. Yes, fireflies.

George McClanahan. We shared the same birth date. And somehow, due to that, our parents instinctively believed that we ought to be the bests of friends. We were each other’s playmate since, I guess, the day we were born. There were so many pictures of us taken as toddlers up to the first day of Grade school. I could still remember the picture of us grinning at the camera, identical lunch boxes in tow. It was all too adorable.

George never minded the teasing he got for being my friend. The danger of getting “cooties” never seemed to bother him. From such a young age, George was an individual, never faltering to someone else’s opinions. Of course, as a kid, those qualities did not matter. George could catch the biggest spiders and climb trees the fastest. And it was all that mattered at that age.

It was around the age of eight years old; George hatched a plan to sneak out of our houses at night. He had found something “cool” and was eager to show it to me. With George “cool” was an understatement. The last time, he had something “cool”, left me in awe poking at a dead snake with a dead squirrel stuck in its mouth. I wondered what he had in store now.

That night, we sneaked out into the darkness and ran madly to a nearby lake. George had me close my eyes before I was unveiled to a beautiful spectacle of fireflies dancing in the night sky. It was breathtaking. There were so many of these tiny creatures flying around by the lake with their bottoms light up.

For the years to come, catching fireflies became our hobby. We would laugh so hard chasing after the little creatures. We kept the fireflies in bottles. Though, they never glow as beautiful as it was left free in the wild. As we grew older, catching fireflies became therapeutic. Some days, we would simply sit down, admiring the fireflies and we talked about anything and everything that came to mind. Our parents intended wish came true; we did become the bests of friends.

In January 2002, it was time for George and me to head off to college. We both decided to attend a local university together. Though it was simply a half hour drive from home, we both stayed in the campus hostel. Our parents decided that it was time for us to be independent and lead our own lives.

What our parents did not know was that, from time to time, we would drive home at night; simply to catch fireflies. Sometimes, Grandma would even walk down to the lake and treat us with her apple pies. But it was not living in a hostel that made us grew up; it was catching those fireflies that did.

We might be a little too old to be catching fireflies. Then again doing just that made us free, recapture the little kid we always had inside us. It made us realize life is all about the simpler things. We would spend hours talking or just enjoy the show the fireflies put up for us. It was beautiful. Fireflies and in the company of a man who I grew up with, I was definitely happy.

A month after graduation, our friendship unexpectedly crumbled. George proposed. It caught me off guard and my answer caught him off guard too.

I loved George for who he is. He made me feel safe all the time. He made me feel it was alright to be who I really was, be it a tomboy or anybody. On the other hand, I wanted adventure. I wanted to free myself from the small town I lived in for all my life. I felt that the world had others I had not met yet; someone exciting. I said no to George and we parted ways. At that point of time, my decision seemed smart. Seven years later, I realized how dumb I was.

I moved to many parts of Europe and America working different jobs. At first, it was exciting to experience with so many jobs in my life. I was a journalist, editor to a fashion magazine, photographer and even managed to co-direct a play. I was actually living the life of my dreams. As the years go by however, slowly, it hit me of how empty my life was. I had no stable job, had no relationship, I barely came home for any family occasions. I had nothing. My life was empty.

One cold night walking back to my apartment after dinner, a tiny glowing creature flew by me. A firefly, here, in winter, in New York? I was surprised. Growing up in a pious Roman Catholic background, I knew that everything happened for a reason. Someone up there was trying to tell me something. And I think I understood what was hinted to me.

I called home. I called George. No one picked up. I decided I could not wait anymore. I had already wasted seven years of my life. There was no more time to lose. I quit my job the following day and was on a plane home that very day.

I rushed home from the airport in a cab. I clutched my purse tight. I wondered how everyone would react with me being home so sudden. Instead of dropping by my house, I stopped in front of the house next to it; George’s house. I knew he went back to live with his parents the day his father had a stroke. George sent me letters from time to time. I never had the time to reply all the letters. Eventually, he stopped writing. And I assumed he eventually had a family and forgot all about me.

In the cold of the winter, I walked up to his house. It was still as beautiful as it was so many years ago. My hand was shaking as I reached for the doorbell. I was nervous. Would George welcome me with open arms?

I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Moments later, a tall handsome man opened the door. George. Age had definitely agreed with him. Seven years groomed George into a dashing adult.

My heart was racing. My mouth became dry. All I could think of was to hug him and apologized for refusing his marriage proposal, for not contacting him all this years. I wanted to turn back time and made it all better between us. Instead, I said, “Wanna catch some fireflies?”

He looked at me as though ET was standing at his doorstep. I had hurt this man. Would he slam the door in my face? My heart was beating incredibly fast.

His gaze dropped to the floor and slowly his eyes found mine.

“Oh no, he’s trying to find the right words to make me go away,” I thought. This was the end. George would not forgive me. It was over. I made a mistake and I have to live with it for the rest of my life. My heart would not stop racing. I wanted to scream and cry.

Find out George’s response in “Romance Vol. 1”!

Excerpt from "Romance Vol. 1"

Love to a 19 year old

2008-07-11T12:11:00.007+08:00

What is love? I’ve yet to unfold.

So to speak, I’m only 19 years old.

Puppy love, mostly what I’ve seen;

that’s as far as I have been.

True love to me, I’ve got a long way to find.

If love is true, how can it make one blind?

Chocolates and roses are the epitome of romance;

yet it can’t sweeten loves’ intense.

I must admit, there is a guy.

Every time I’m near him, my heart’s so shy.

I’m attracted to him, not his looks.

What I learn from him, I can’t get from books.

He’s so different from the guys I know.

More experienced, so mature; slightly old.

Seeing him happy, seeing him smile;

if only he knew how I’ve been feeling all these while.

I’m only 19, a child to him.

But deep inside, I’m far from a teen.

What is love? He definitely knows.

After all, he’s rather old.

I don’t expect him to read my heart;

I dread the day we have to part.

Time spent together- so little.

I try to make my romantic gestures subtle.

Want more romantic poems? Get a copy of “Romance Vol. 1”!

Extracted from "Romance Vol. 1"

Precious Moments

2008-07-11T12:03:00.005+08:00

It is noon, and an old man slowly eases himself into an armchair. It is only noon and already he feels tired. He opens the photo album sitting on his lap, coughing as he does so for the album has not been opened for years. The dust on it testifies to that.

The old man looks down at the photos. A young man and woman are laughing up at him. A sad smile slowly forms on his face as he traces the woman’s face fondly. A tear rolls down his wrinkled cheek, and he brushes it away, seeming almost surprised at his reaction. He flips the pages. The same man and woman are in every picture, sometimes with friends, other times not.

Before long, his gaze is no longer focused on the album in front of him; rather, his eyes look back into memory. His eyelids begin to droop, and he shifts in the chair, slouching a little. A kaleidoscope of memories hovers before his mind’s eye.

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It is summer, and the children have come out to play together in the park. A little girl races her two older brothers and their neighbour, a boy the same age as her eldest brother. She squeals as she tries to keep up with them. The boys finally reach the tree they were aiming for, and collapse on the ground, panting. The girl arrives a moment later, still trying so hard to win that she doesn’t slow down, instead running straight into the tree. The boys laugh at her as she tumbles on the grass, breathless from the race.

“You lost, Cathy,” her second brother says.

“It’s not fair and you know it, Josh! You’re all of you at least 2 years older and your legs are longer’n mine.”

“Well, we can’t help it, can we? Maybe you should just go home and play with a doll or someth ––”

Suddenly, their lanky, dark-headed neighbour stares at her blond curls. “Cathy, don’t move. There’s a spider on your hair.”

The little girl goes wide eyed. “Get it off, Dylan, please?”

“All right, don’t move.” He suddenly pounces, knocking her gently on the head and pulling out a few strands of hair.

“Ow!”

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now,” he says, straight-faced.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, and he discreetly winks at her brothers. She catches the smirk that passes between them and jumps on him immediately, pounding him with her tiny fists. “I knew you were lying! You beast ––” The rest of her words are lost in howls of laughter. Passer-bys stifle a smile at the sight of a tall boy attempting to defend himself against a little girl while two others roll about, helpless with laughter.

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It is Christmas, and their two families have come together to celebrate the birth of Christ. After dinner, the families come out to have a snowball fight – teenagers against parents. The fight leaves them with red cheeks, sparkling eyes and numb hands. Finally, the mothers put a stop to it and the parents begin to go back in while the teenagers linger outside a while longer. Their breath comes in mists as they laugh and joke.

“Hey Dylan, did you see your dad’s expression when I got him straight in the face as he was aiming at Ben? Oh, that was just beautiful…” The girl giggles.

“I didn’t see that, but I noticed that your mom is a great shot. Does she throw stuff at you all the time?”

Her oldest brother rolls his eyes. “My goodness, yes. Because you see, we have pillow fights every night since we were two.”

“I believe you. She must want to hit all of you very often. I can understand that.”

She smacks him on the shoulder then drapes an arm across his shoulder. “Dylan, I have something for you,” she says sweetly.

“Yeah?” he asks, not quite without suspicion.

“Yeah. This.” With that she dumps a handful of snow down the back of his shirt and takes off for the house. He barely catches a glimpse of her face before the door slams, her big blue eyes sparkling with laughter and mischief and suddenly he realises for the first time how lovely she is, even as he feels the snow beginning to melt and trickle down his back as the other two snigger.

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It is the Fourth of July, and the young people are having a dance. He stands to one side, watching the scene before him. He is quick to note that the young woman is already besieged with young men begging for dances. She dances with the first one to ask her. He watches her, admiring the way she dances for the sake of dancing, simply because she enjoys it. As the dance ends, he makes his way towards her.

“Cathy, dance with me?” he asks, teasingly.

She looks up at this tall – and yes, rather handsome – young man standing in front of her whom she has known all her life. She doesn’t hear the half serious tone that underlies his question. “Uh huh. I seem to remember that you once promised to break all of my toes if you ever danced with me.” Already her attention is skittering away to somewhere else.

He drops the teasing tone. “Will you dance with me, Catherine Amy Addison?”

Now she looks up at him, those big blue eyes at their very biggest. She is startled. For a moment, they stand there silent, she gazing at him as though seeing him for the very first time. She is the first to drop her gaze as a faint blush colours her cheek, though she answers flippantly. “Only because it’s you.”

They dance together, not saying much but both unable to completely suppress a smile hovering around the corners of their mouths. Afterwards, her brothers leave for another party. When he walks her home, her mother opens the door, sees them together, and smiles.

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It is the spring, and there is a wedding held. The voice of the bride and groom ring out clearly and all present can hear each say, “I do.” Her mother is smiling through her tears, offering his mother a tissue as they watch their children exchange rings. Her eldest brother is the best man, her second the groomsman along with his younger brother. As he lifts up the veil, those big blue eyes smile out at him, their expression one of sheer joy. He bends to kiss the bride and cheers ring out through the church. As they leave, well wishers crowd around them, the bride looking like a flower amidst her friends. Her laughter soars out, and he whirls her around and catches her to him, she, his friend, his bride, his wife. As they leave the church, her father shakes his hand heartily, his voice gruff. “Take care of my girl, you hear?”

“Yes, sir. To the best of my ability.”

“I know you will. Best wishes for your married life.”

The bride hugs her parents. “Dad, Mom,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I love you.” She turns to her brothers, hugging each of them in turn. “Ben, I’m waiting for your wedding. And Josh – just so you know, Amelia is one of the sweetest girls I know.” Her eldest brother smiles sheepishly as the girl beside him blushes. Her second brother flushes, and, despite himself, looks across to the bridesmaid. She laughs at them, and then hugs her new parents. “Dad, Mom. Thank you for Dylan.”

He has been saying his goodbyes to both his and her parents, shaking their fathers’ hands warmly and giving their mothers’ hugs and more tissues. They get into the carriage and drive off to their new home, to their new life together.

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It is autumn, and there are cries coming from a house. The young mother, looking tired and worn out, rocks the cradle and sings lullabies to the baby while their toddler son plays on the nursery floor. Her husband comes back from the fields and sits in the living room, closing his eyes for a moment, looking as tired as she. This harvest will not be a good one.

She finally gets the baby to sleep, and goes to find her husband, hoping for his sympathy for the day that she had to go through, hoping to have more conversation than they did the day before. Nowadays, they are both so tired that they hardly speak more than three sentences to each other. Before she can say anything, he opens his eyes. “Is there any dinner? I’m starved. We were pretty short on men today.”

“I haven’t had time to cook anything. The baby cried for half the day and Ryan would get underfoot. Oh, Dylan, I’m just so tired.” She sees the way his expression changes the moment she says there is no dinner.

He stands up. “Cathy, I’ve been out there all day with just a packet of sandwiches for lunch and tea and you haven’t even cooked dinner?”

This is the first time that he is upset with her; she cannot help but feel defensive. “Well, the baby fretted all day, there was washing to do; the dog messed up the kitchen floor, and you wouldn’t have a shirt to wear tomorrow if I hadn’t done some mending.”

“Mending can wait and so can the washing. Why didn’t you cook dinner? You know how hard it is for me out there, you know I’d be hungry and tired when I got back. The least you could do is have a hot meal ready!”

“I was so busy! You don’t know what it’s like at home when the children are restless and there’s ever so much housework to do. I can’t cook and watch the children at the same time! This is the first time I haven’t gotten dinner ready for you and you yell at me like this?”

Their volume has been increasing steadily, but now his voice becomes low and cold and controlled. “I did not yell at you. I only want to know why dinner is not ready. Particularly when I had to endure Ben’s detailed description of the dinner he knew that’d be waiting at home.”

“I can’t handle all the housework by myself! Both Amelia and Jess can afford to get hired help, they’d have time to cook a wonderful meal. I’m tired of being poor. If all you wanted in a wife was someone to cook and clean and slave away for you, then you shouldn’t have married me!” She is angry and hurt and desperately trying to hold back tears. To stay at home, never be able to get away for a while, to cook and clean and wash and sew, to watch the children, to never have time alone with her husband anymore…she has endured all this and more; should she have to bear her husband’s temper too?

He is all too aware of the implication her words carry – that he cannot provide for her well enough, that her brothers can provide for their wives better than he can. He is angrier than before; she doesn’t provide dinner, doesn’t apologise, doesn’t sympathise and twists things around to blame him?

The words slip out. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. He regrets it more when to his horror, he sees her big blue eyes fill with tears that spill over. The silence in the room is broken only by the crackling of the small fire.

“Cathy. Cathy, I didn’t mean ––” he begins, but she runs out of the room. He runs after her as she dashes out of the house and catches her at the gate. She is crying in earnest now, in a way she has never done before, not in her whole life.

“Let me go, don’t touch me, let me go! You can divorce me and marry someone else for all I care. Just leave me alone! Don’t touch me, I said don’t touch me!”

“Cathy, please ––” but she begins to struggle with him. He pulls her to him in a hug. “I’m sorry. I was angry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She is sobbing into his chest now. “I was going to cook dinner, honest I was. But Sarah would fuss…”

“I know, sweetheart. Shhh, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to get angry with you either, I just wanted to have some time with you, we’ve hardly talked these couple of months almost, and I just…”

“It’s all right, Cathy. I love you.”

They cook dinner together and eat a real family dinner with their little son in his own high chair. Laughter floats out from an open window. That night, they sleep soundly, each holding the other in the embrace of their arms.

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It is winter, and civil war has broken out. One day, a woman sees her husband come back from town. She sees his eyes, and knows what he will say. He comes into the house, and she looks at him wordlessly. Their six young children play on the living room floor, unaware of what the future holds. He opens his mouth, but looks as though he does not know how to broach the subject and so closes it again.

“So you’ve decided, then?” It sounds more like a statement than a question, and they both know it. He nods.

“Dylan, nobody will accuse you of being a coward. The government knows that we need some men to keep the farm going. We have five young children. Ryan is only eleven, for goodness’ sake!”

“Cathy.” She bites her lip. “Cathy, I can’t live with myself if I don’t go. The war’s dragged on for three years already. They need more men.”

She does not say anything. Both of them are silent, listening to the sound of their children playing in the next room, the sound of childish happiness, innocent oblivion to the great tragedy that is playing out over the country. Unconsciously, she twists the wedding ring on her finger. After a while, she looks up at him. “I understand. I’ll, I’ll go and pack your things.”

She begins to walk away, moving more slowly than she has ever done before. He strides up to her, and pulls her to him in a fierce hug. “Everything will be all right, Cathy. You’ll see. I’ll come back to you.”

She clings to him tightly. “Promise?” She sounds like a little girl again.

For an answer, he drops a kiss on her hair. They hold each other for a long while, silently. On the day he leaves, she stands at the door with the children, her eyes dry as she watches her tall, strong, handsome, young husband walk away, knowing that if – no, not if, when, when – he comes back, he may be none of those things……………………

Does Dylan come back? Find out in “Romance Vol. 1”!

Excerpt from "Romance Vol. 1"

Definition of "Love"

2008-07-11T11:52:00.008+08:00

“Love is….”

If you can complete the sentence then it isn’t true love, it’s a “rational commitment”.

Love isn’t rational. Love doesn’t have criteria. If you can list down reasons why you love a person, then would you still love him or her if those attributes changed? True love is unconditional and inexplicable, because it comes from the heart, not from the head.

Excerpt from "Cupid Corporation"