I wonder what people mean when they talk about wings, for me they have different meanings..
I feel like soaring in the clouds when i make my parents proud of me, or when someone praises me in front of my mum and dad and i see dad's chest swell with pride.
I feel the clouds passing by me when my little brother comes to me with his maths problems and when i solve them he asks me "Apne kya PhD ki hai maths mein"
I feel like touching the sky when i make people smile, when i help my patients, when i make aunties smile on my trip back to home on bus everyday.
I feel like bathing in the shining sun in the sky when i play with kids, colour with them, tickle them and see them laughing.
And i feel like taking slides on the rainbows when he makes my heart flutter like a butterfly by making me believe that he would always be mine...
Another one which needs to be shared..
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law,
and four-year grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his
eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.... The family ate
together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky
hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off
his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk
spilled on the tablecloth.
So the husband and wife got irritated and set a small table
in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of
the family enjoyed their dinners together.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was
served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction,
sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the
only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions
when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening
before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are
you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am
making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in
when you get old." The four year old smiled and went back
to work.
The words so struck the parents that they were speechless.
Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no
word was spoken, both knew what must be done.
That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and
gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of
his days he ate every meal with the family and for some
reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth
soiled.
This is another share that was worth sharing...
Pencil: I'm sorry
Eraser: For what? You didn't do anything wrong.
Pencil: I'm sorry because you get hurt because of me. Whenever I made a mistake, you're always there to erase it. But as you make my mistakes vanish, you lose a part of yourself. You get smaller and smaller each time.
Eraser: That's true. But I don't really mind. You see, I was made to do this. I was made to help you whenever you do something wrong. Even though one day, I know I'll be gone and you'll replace me with a new one, I'm actually happy with my job. So please, stop worrying. I hate seeing you sad.
I found this conversation between the pencil and the eraser very inspirational.
Parents are like the eraser whereas their children are the pencil. They're always there for their children, cleaning up their mistakes. Sometimes along the way, they get hurt, and become smaller / older, and eventually pass on. Though their children will eventually find someone new (spouse), but parents are still happy with what they do for their children, and will always hate seeing their precious ones worrying, or sad.
All my life, I've been the pencil. And it pains me to see the eraser that is my parents getting smaller and smaller each day. For I know that one day, all that I'm left with would be eraser shavings and memories of what I used to have.
