UPDATE: Had the link wrong, please do click to her site now and congratulate her!

It was difficult to decide on the winner for the contest. I could easily have picked nearly any of the top 10 as the winner. I spent a lot of time shuffling the top 10, trying to think of what criteria should be used to decide the winner. Finally, around 5AM, I said to myself "Ok, who really seems to have learned the most?" And I realized, I liked this essay the most. This is about a young woman who learned that sometimes to help the ones we love, you have to use your weakest skills, because those may be the ones they need the most. Too often we want to love our way, instead of what is real love for the person who needs it. The writing is passionate and engaging, and thus, I chose it as the first-prize winner of $100. Now that all the entries are posted, time for me to pay up. Go congratulate NatalieTheSaint (link fixed!) here!

Dear Mother,

This is devastating. In fact, there is only one other thing I can think of as being more devastating. I have tried not thinking about that one thing. However, my efforts are fruitless. It is quite hard to not think. The thought does not evade me, no matter how much I try to distract my mind. It is impossible because this thought is the distraction. I cannot write. I cannot draw. I cannot talk. Things I would have done during the day prior to two weeks ago cease to exist. It is as if I have a writer's block on my entire life.

I am a problem solver. You know this. Every action I take has always resulted from a thorough analysis on my part. I am frustrated to no end because I cannot fix this for you. I am constantly worried about how this will turn out. You are worried about losing your hair, about cleaning the house, about not being able to take me to my doctor's appointments because you will be recuperating. I am worried that you will not be able to recuperate at all.

We have two completely different outlooks right now. You say there is no big picture. I say there is. There is always a big picture. It is fine to be distracted sometimes, but the stark reality will always be there whether we like it or not. I used to be just like you. I focused on every single detail along the way. I still am just like you; even more extreme sometimes, for I am a perfectionist. But being a perfectionist enables me to not ignore certain aspects of life. Just like I cannot ignore this big picture at this point in time.

I am afraid.

You already know how I have been fearful of many things. I still hyperventilate when the thunder is a little too loud for my liking. I still keep a light on in the corner of my room at night. I still run up the stairs, in fear of something grabbing a hold of my ankles. I have never been this afraid in my life, though. It is frustrating to no end because I cannot simply hide under the desk and wait for the thunderstorm to pass like I did when I was younger. I do not even notice the light anymore, because my head is always consumed with the thought of darkness. Every time I see you upset, I feel a presence grabbing at my heart, trying to take away the single most important thing in my life.

I know you leave some things out when we talk. I suppose this is because you do not want me to worry. The truth of the matter is, I am going to worry anyway. If you leave out information, then I am left assuming outcomes of the unknown that could turn out completely wrong. I understand it is in your nature to protect, but I would much rather worry about something I know is true than create my inevitable, horrible assumptions. I will eventually learn about the majority of these things, so please do not prolong telling me anymore.

A few days ago you said you felt helpless. Hearing you say that made me feel helpless. I would give just about anything to help you not feel that way. I hear you crying sometimes. And each time I do, it feels like that same presence is chipping away at my soul. I am so afraid to go in and comfort you. I want to do it, but now and then when I do, I end up making the situation worse. I do not ever want to make things worse. I sit and contemplate whether or not I should go and console you. However, by the time I make a decision, you are usually through and off doing your normal routine.

I also understand that maybe it is better if I leave you alone once in a while. Obviously none of us can keep our raw emotions hidden, and sometimes we just need to be able to let go without getting any feedback. I want you to know this, though. If you ever need someone with you when this happens, you need to come to me; and you can. I do not care if I am in the middle of a project, seemingly very busy, or just off in my own world, you need to come to me. I will not say a word if you want. You have always been here for me. I will always be here for you.

The thought of not having you in my life is one of the worst things I have ever encountered. Therefore, I am going to try to ignore this big picture for a change. Yes, this thought is still here, but then again, so are you. And that is all the more reason to ignore something for once. You should be the main focus, and from now on, you will be. We need to focus on making you better, and we need to focus on this family's love.

The doctors said your chance of surviving was better than most, which is great. But if we constantly worry about the little things, and the big picture, we lose sight of our love. If we do not have love, we have nothing at all. We do not need luck, or prayer, or karma. We just need our love. WIth it, you will survive.

I promise, no matter which one of us outlives the other, you will always have my love. I know I have always had yours.

Love,
Natalie

At first, you may be surprised by this essay. Unlike most of the other top 10 winners, it's not about a real life event. However, read each line carefully, and you will be impressed by the intensity of the style. I wish I could pack so much meaning in each sentence I write. Tell GetALifeNOW565 congrats for her 2nd place finish in the contest at her site.

Dream Guy

he's smart, handsome, and strong. he is the last thing from a pushover, but he'll run at the speed of sound to open a door for you. he's a gentleman, but he loves you all the same when you aren't feeling or acting so ladylike. he praises you with attention and reminds you how you are his one and only, all without completely smothering you and suffocating the flame. he's a prince, a king, and a knight in shining armor who lives in a castle that boasts of grandeur. he never leaves your side: literally. this guy has never left your dreams.

sometimes, we become so entangled in our portrait of our ideal partner - in the filing cabinets of our minds, we create documents based on his ideals, his attitude, his personality, his appearance; it's as if, in a distant corner of our brain, we have an assembly line waiting for a top-secret production of this "perfect idea". we learn to convince ourselves that the things that we want are really the things that we need in an intimate relationship with another person, and our expectations are pushed higher and higher while in persistant search of this knight in shining armor.

however, once outside of the walls of our minds, we find ourselves in the most confusing place on earth - among other human beings. our daily interactions with the opposite sex may differ drastically from the picture we have so painstakingly painted in the realms of our thoughts. the dream guy was sharp-witted and intelligent, but your classmate may be sarcastic and selfish with knowledge. the dream guy showered you with affection and amiable mannerisms, but someone crushing on you silently screams "stalker" and becomes the object of your trash-talking, as opposed to the object of your affections.

when we demand a halt to the evolution of our "dream guy" within the factory of the mind, we open our hearts and minds to different people: different individuals who were nothing like our mannequin of ideas and hopes, but who burn brightly alongside us with undeniable chemistry and excitement. at the very minute that we finalize our expectations only to fufill what is truly best for us and not what we desire for the moment, we start to run into the people who you can't help but thank gravity for the collision. the second you only keep your guard as high as it needs to be, and no higher, you learn to love - and at the moment you learn to love, you learn to live.

This entry was featured, and it's pretty easy to figure out why. It's the 3rd place winner in the contest. Please go congratulate LoveSporks in the comment section of the original entry!

mister deli man.

when i was six, my family moved us to the town i currently live in now. back then, everything seemed so different. it was like the skies were clearer, the days - longer, and i could be relaxed, and free.

saturday mornings, i woke up, promptly at seven in the morning, just to go food shopping with my mom. it was our "thing" to do, food shopping. between my mom, my sister, and myself, saturday morning groceries run was the bonding time we never had time for once in the premises of home.

it was two weeks after moving, we were getting used to our new surroundings. my mom took us to a different place to do our weekly shopping. my sister and i shrugged it off. the location of food shopping didn't matter, as long as we went. my sister used to say it's to "get the yum yum in the tum tum," just to make me smile. but i was stubborn, and my usual pout stayed on my face.

my mom took me to the viciously busy deli section while my sister went off to get other staple goods. i saw other children my age, sitting within the carriage, or holding their mother's hands, crying, fidgeting, wishing they weren't there.

i held onto my mom's coat, standing slightly behind her, hidden from the eyes of the scary older people.

and then her number appeared. it was her turn to order. the deli man began to take her order, when suddenly, he stopped, and looked around her. he saw me. and he smiled.

i immediately hid directly behind my mom, but i could hear his laughter. my mom got her deli goods, turned around, and went to find my sister. i followed obediently, like a lost duckling, and i could hear the man saying "bye bye." i turned around, seeing his smiling face, waving at me.

he looked young. as if he were in college. he had this brown hair that highlighted these emerald jewels in his eyes perfectly. it was hard to describe. but it was like he jumped straight out of a movie and into a supermarket. what was he doing in that kind of place?

the next week came, the same man waited on us, and i still hid behind my mom's winter coat.

"hello little girl," i peeked at him from behind my mom, seeing pearly whites gleaming in my direction, "do you like american cheese? i can give you a slice." i nodded silently, and he handed my mom a piece to give to me. i said thank you quietly, and he, again, grinned, then went to take my mom's orders.

it became routine, week by week. my mom and i would go to the deli section together, and the same man would take our orders, and occasionally gave me a slice of that land o' lakes american cheese.

once i turned seven, my mom began to send me to the deli section alone to take our weekly orders as she went off with my sister and showed her how to buy certain meats and vegetables. i'd skip off to the deli section as soon as we entered the market, and once the man saw me, he'd finish whomever he was helping, and immediately take my order.

occasionally, he and i shared a conversation getting to know more about each other. i learned he was a student at a local college, studying biology. i didn't know the difference between biology and chemistry back then. science was science to me. when it wasn't busy, he'd explain to me the different kinds of trees i walk by every day, and how biology does effect me. it was like my own personal ten minute biology tutoring session every week.

every so often, he'd explain to me how he wants to travel to certain places. this job was one of many to help him on his adventure. he wanted to experience the rush of excitement as he'd find certain plants, trees, natural life. i'd giggle to myself and call him a geek. and in return, he'd take his forefinger and poke the space between my eyes.

"you're silly."

all of the other deli-workers would smile every time they saw me approaching. "you bring a smile to his face," they once told me. i would grin in return.

but sometime during my eighth year, my sister stopped going to do morning groceries with us. she was fourteen, and wanted to do things like sleep in instead of spending time with my mom and me. after a while, i followed suit. "if she gets to sleep, why couldn't i sleep, too?" i thought that if i didn't go to the groceries with my mom, that would give me some right of passage of being "older," i guess. that whole mimicking-my-sister thing was just a bad move on my part.

two years later, i returned to my usual routine of food shopping with my mom. it was just the two of us. i skipped over to the deli section, like old times.

but he wasn't there.

i looked around after i'd get my weekly deli goods.

but he wasn't there.

i aimlessly searched and searched for him, but i'd end my shopping journeys with no results. until one week, when i went to the deli section, a woman in the deli section that used to see me talking to mister deli man spotted me, as i waited to place my order. "oh! it's the girl that brian used to adore!"

was she talking about me?

she walked up to me, and said hello, smiling. asking me if i recognized her. i nodded shyly, my eyes unable to look into her own. she questioned how i've been, where i've been, and wondered why i hadn't shown up at the deli section in the past two years. i ignorered her question, and asked her the question i was dying to know. i looked up at her, hoping to hear an answer i wished for.

"where's mister deli man?"

her smile faded quickly, and suddenly the mood changed. no longer was she smiling, and she couldn't make eye contact with me.

"oh," her voice quivered, "brian? he went somewhere." somewhere?

"where'd he go?" i grinned, expecting an answer like peru, or timbuktu. but she didn't say anything. instead, she looked up.

"he went to heaven."

i stopped going to the deli section afterwards. my mom learned of what happened to mister deli man from the woman who talked to me. i never learned what happened to him until a few years ago. apparently, a year earlier, one night he was driving back on the highway from the city, and a drunk driver hit him directly into an exit rail.

he didn't make the night.

my ten year old self couldn't comprehend the severity of what it meant, mister deli man going to heaven.

it wasn't until today, when i went to this same market, and this same deli section, to pick up a few things for my mom. it wasn't until today that suddenly, i re-encountered a memory i left behind.

that same woman who talked to me seven years ago still worked at the deli section, and she saw me.

"my my, haven't you grown into a fine young lady." she told me. back then, she seemed elderly already. today, it is apparent age is catching up to her quickly. i asked her how she's been these past years, and she told me nothing much has changed in her life.

after a brief amount of chitter chatter on our past lives, and future to come, she hesitated and brought him up.

mister deli man.

i felt my chest tightening, and my breath became shallow. "even though you never knew each other's names, you brightened his days. life is about all sorts of encounters, and i've known brian for a long time. you were definitely his greatest." my eyes watered, and i could feel hot streams gliding across my cheek and down my face.

i didn't see him very often. but back then, i couldn't wait for my deli encounters. my biggest regret is suddenly disappearing, and never being able to say goodbye.

this is to you, mister deli man.

 This story is perhaps my favorite, even though it didn't win, because it focused on the area of sibling relationships and how complex they can be. Ice_Droplets only wrote this one entry, but it's enough to show her talent. Leave comments at her site. This is the last entry before I present the Top 3 winners.

My Best Friend for Life

Siblings- most of us have them.  Some of us wish to have one, while some of us feel as though they have too many and would be the first to volunteer to give them away.  Whatever the case may be, siblings share a bond for a lifetime, an everlasting connection. 

My case is no different.  I have an older brother.  I'm the only one who can call him my brother, and he's the only one who can call me his sister.  The two of us are stuck together for life, whether we like it or not.

Growing up, my brother and I had a pretty normal childhood.  He's two years older than me, and we were inseparable.  We were the typical siblings living the American dream.  The two of us and our parents lived in a two story house.  My dad worked as an electrical engineer, and my mom was a stay at home mom.  My brother and I did what most kids did; we went to Disneyland, we rode our bikes to the park, and we sang in the church choir.  We fought over toys, got punished together, and constantly argued. 

But behind closed doors was a hell one can't even begin to imagine.  I lost count of how many times my parents fought, how many times everyone cried, how many times I shuddered and hid away at the sound of a door slam.  I wondered if all parents fought this often, I wondered if it was my fault, but most often, I wondered if my parents still loved each other.  My brother and I saw and heard everything that occurred in that house.  Some things just stay with you forever. 

When I was about five years old, I ran downstairs to the living room.  My parents were arguing upstairs and I didn't want to hear it anymore, so I hid in the corner, closed my eyes, and covered my ears.  As usual, my brother was there with me.  We often stuck together when my parents were having one of their episodes. 

My brother did something that moment that I'll never forget.  With tears in his eyes, he motioned me over and said, his voice trembling, "Let's pray". 

It haunts me to this day when I think about it, how a boy at seven felt so helpless that the only way he knew to cope with the situation and comfort his sister was to pray to God.  We both went on our knees as the doors continued to slam, as the yelling continued, and my brother asked God for our parents to stop fighting so that we could all be together and love each other again.

God only answered half of our prayers.

After sixteen years of marriage, my parents divorced when I was twelve.  It was decided that I would be legally placed under the care of my mom, and my brother would legally be under the care of my dad.  My mom and I moved into a two room apartment.  My brother stayed at the house with my dad.  Our family was divided in half.  The sheltered life I had taken for granted was gone.

At the time, I accepted that my parents would no longer be together, but I didn't know that it would change my relationship with my brother forever.  I never thought my brother and I would grow distant, which is why it didn't bother me that we were no longer going to live together.  The apartment was less than a mile away from the old house, so I didn't think it would be difficult to see him.  After all, my brother and I were inseparable.  We had already endured so much together, which is why the thought of us drifting apart never even crossed my mind. 

However, as the years went by, the two of us grew apart.  Days would go by without talking to him or seeing him.  Days turned into weeks, which soon turned into months.  During the two years we went to high school together, the only time I saw my brother was briefly during the seven minute passing periods.  Whenever teachers asked me how he was doing, I would quickly tell them he was doing fine, when I really had no idea how he was.  I didn't want to explain our living situation to other people, because that would only invite further questions.  More and more, the brother who had protected me from bullies growing up, the one who held my hand as we walked down the church aisle, the one who played with me, was becoming a distant memory.

After the divorce, my mom found a job as a social worker and she was no longer able to take me home from school.  I needed a ride home, and even though my brother had a driver's license, he didn't take me home.    I remember walking home in a storm once during my freshmen year in high school.  I called my brother, but he never answered his phone.  I had no choice but to walk.  I ended up getting a high fever that lasted for four days.  I remember how I cried late at night, because I felt as though my brother didn't care about me, and I resented him for it.  I hated how my parents' divorce had changed us, and I wanted things back to the way they were.  I wondered what God's purpose was, and why things had ended up the way they did.  I wondered what I did to deserve losing my best friend.

I stopped asking my brother for rides home after that incident.  I stopped calling him.  I didn't want to be a burden to him any longer, as strange as that sounds.  Siblings are supposed to depend on each other and help each other out, but we were no longer the typical siblings.

I remember one occasion when my brother agreed to take me home from a friend's house after my mom asked him to.  We were sitting in the car together, and the radio was off.  It was silent.  Without even realizing it, I started blabbing about the weather, going on and on, and I couldn’t shut up.  My brother gave me short responses to my random questions, sometimes not saying anything.  Soon we reached the apartment, and I said my goodbyes and headed to the door.  As I was walking, I asked myself why I kept talking.  Why I felt as though I needed to say something to break the silence.  But I already knew the answer.  I felt awkward.  Awkwardness with my own brother?  How was that even possible? 

When my junior year in high school began, many of my friends were sad because their older siblings had left for college.  I didn't feel this sadness, because I had grown accustomed to it.  You could say I got a couple years head start.  My brother was still living at home, commuting to college. 

My brother began instant messaging me on AIM more often after he started college.  At first, I found this interesting since he never really voluntarily talked to me.  Then, it dawned on me that he might be lonely in college.  Whatever the reason was, I was just happy that we were talking, even if it was through a computer.  Slowly, but gradually, I let go of my resentment and bitterness towards him.

I haven't seen my brother since last October.  It's been half a year already.  It's taken me years, but I'm finally at peace with our relationship.  Our childhood relationship is something long gone, and things will never be the same again, but I cherish what we have right now.

Of course, there are obvious changes to our relationship.  I watch what I say around him because I'm afraid that if we fight, we'll never talk to each other again.  It's ironic, since I used to pick fights with him all the time when we were growing up and we used to bicker daily.  I used to know what he was thinking just by looking at him.  That's no longer the case.  I hardly ever know what's on his mind. 

Despite how much we've drifted apart, he's the only person who will ever understand what I went through and how I felt in that house, because he was the only person there with me.  We share a bond that I won't ever have with anyone else.  I'm content knowing that I'm still a part of his life, no matter how small, and for me, that's enough.

There are times when he still hurts me.  Recently he said he couldn't give me a ride home from volunteering because he'd be out playing with his dogs.  I wondered if that implied that playtime with his dogs were more important than me.  Instead of crying, I laugh at what he says now.  I no longer take it to heart, but I'd be lying if there wasn't a part of me that's still saddened over the way things turned out.  But, what can I do?  I can only handle these changes the best I can.  I don't want to force my brother to do things that he doesn't want to.

I do little things for my brother to show him that I care about him.  I buy him his favorite Danish sugar cookies, I listen to his problems when he wants to talk about them, and I look around for clothes he might like when I noticed the holes in his old shirts.

I wondered why this happened to me, but now I know the answer.  God wanted to teach me how to truly love someone, and thanks to Him, I've learned what unconditional love really is.

I'll be turning eighteen in a few months, and my brother will be turning twenty.  I'm currently in my last year of high school and I'll be graduating this June.  I can't remember the last time I told my brother how much I love him, how I miss how close we used to be, and how sad it is that I can't tell him in person, which is why I'm writing about it on Xanga. 

The life lesson I wish to share is to cherish the ones around you, don't try to change them, and accept them for who they are, even if you don't quite understand them.  Only when you are able to accept someone completely, will you be able to truly love them with all your heart.

To my best friend for life: If you do somehow read this, know that I will always love you. 

Today's pick is a lovely reminder of the importance of play. Go over to AasthaKathy's site and discuss it there

75 Minutes of Childhood

People say that once your childhood is gone, it won't come back - ever. They say you should enjoy it as much as you can because later you'd reminisce about them with tearful eyes. I too used to be a part of this group but that was before I realised that this statement is wrong.
Last year, in eleventh grade, my friends and I used to attend extra tuitions in the evening. 5pm to 6pm was Maths and 6 to 7 was Accountancy. One lucky Saturday, the Accountancy class was called off and so we were left with some free time.
We were standing outside after the Maths class and one of my friends suggested that we should play 'Chain - Chain'. Everyone started to laugh because the game was really childish. In this game, a player chases the others and those who get caught hold his/her hand in order to form a human 'chain' that chases other players. The one who doesn't get caught till the end is declared the winner. No one was ready to play in the beginning but after a lot of persuasion, we started. And then it turned into a period of everlasting laughter and happiness. We laughed when two of our friends fell twice. We laughed when one of my friends broke the chain. We laughed, we laughed and we laughed till our stomachs began to ache. This game thing continued for about an hour and 15 minutes. During those 75 minutes, we didn't think of our future, we didn't think of college, we didn't think of studies or homework, we didn't think of the worthless education system, we just didn't think of anything. Everyone's sole aim then was not to be the first - ranker of the class or the sports captain or someone famous or anything. All we wanted to do that time was avoid being caught and if caught, to not spare the others. We concentrated on the game and gave our best to it. We were being ourselves - immature, loud, clumsy and innocent. We didn't try to act like 'adults'. We were just being kids. We realised that we had somehow relived our childhood in those 75 minutes.
Usually we keep worrying about our future, our grades, scholarships, collage, projects, the competitive world, exams and other emotional problems (which teen doesn't?). But during those 75 minutes, we were all pure - free from worries and pressures of life. Free from envy or jealousy. Free from expectations. Free! Free! FREE!!!
The mud never felt so good, the air never felt so cool, the world never seemed to be this beautiful. It was like some angel had given us 75 minutes to spend in heaven. I can never forget that feeling - we were dirty, sweaty, smelly, exhausted but the smile we wore on our faces never faded away.

"Where were you? The Accounts tuition was canceled, right?" Mom asked angrily when I reached home, "And what's with your clothes? How come you're so dirty? You know I washed that jeans only day before yesterday, didn't you? What on earth were you doing? Riding through the city streets with your friends?"
"No. I was doing something even better."
"What?"
"Reliving the best part of life." I smiled and ran in the bathroom to take a shower.

Mom looked puzzled as I entered the house. All those fat books stared at my face as I approached the study table, but I was looking for something else. I took out my box of broken crayons and began to draw Santa Claus on the wall. I'd probably received one of the best presents - that too before Christmas! I didn't care how it looked - I just wanted to draw like I used to when I was young. Life really isn't that bad; you can always steal some moments of fun. That day, I got my childhood back. And now I know I can relive it. Although I can't be a kid by my physical appearance now, and I can't even overlook the worries that live in my head all the time. But I sure can get back that innocence. I can get back that laugh. My childhood has returned.
And the change? Well, we've all stopped acting wise all the time and in stead of reading books or watching TV, I take out time to play with my young cousins so that I can enjoy the beauty of my childhood yet again. Those 75 minutes taught me that the things we believe we've lost forever and come back to us in the most unexpected ways.
So what are you people doing? Trust me, you'll get me better when you go and play baseball with Junior. Cheers to childhood! Cheers to Life!!!

Go visit the original post and comment away!

Life lessons are sometimes taught in the most unusual ways. Sometimes, on the other hand, they're taught through simple actions that symbolize a greater meaning. One day, I took off my glasses, and my father asked me why. Stowing my dark-rimmed spectacles away, I explained that seeing too clearly all the time made my eyes tired. My father was silent for a moment before saying, "at least you'll never see all the evil in the world." I gave him a skeptical look at first, not quite sure what he was implying. Then I realized something, something that I always knew but was never quite sure how to explain.

 

Sometimes, seeing too clearly ends up blinding you entirely.

 

            What I mean to say is…in our modern society, kids and adults alike are too focused on the big picture. We devote ourselves to applications beyond our palpable reach. That's not to say that humans shouldn't dream big. Rather…to shed light on what is truly worth something. We as a generation want to widen eyes to see every possibility, every prospect, and every tangible goal in life that we often lose focus on what's standing right before us.

 

            We want to make the most money, get into the best college, realize a purpose, and see every aspect of life as clearly as possible…that we end up tiring ourselves out. We lose focus. We lose perspective.

                                                                                

            The things closest to us, almost right in our faces, end up blurring, shifting out of place. They become forgetful holes in our vision. The holes are the simple things that we take for granted. The world is full of opportunity. There are so many choices that sometimes, we spiral out of control. Not getting into your favorite college, not finding the perfect job, not finding the perfect boyfriend to sweep you off your feet. Those things…they just don't matter. Not when you see as I see.

 

            A lousy grade means a lousy grade. It doesn't mean that I'll become a failure in life; it doesn't mean I'll never amount to anything. It's just a missed chance to shine. But the world moves on. Not landing the dream job won't destroy your entire future. There are billions of jobs in the world and only one you. Everybody has a place in the world.

 

            When you see to big, you miss the small things. The people who love you – the friends, the family, and the loved ones – are the holes in our generation's vision. The small things that bring you joy – a piece of cake, a beautiful sunset, or a movie and a bowl of popcorn – are the holes in our vision. We need to reset, refocus.

 

             Glasses don't do anybody any good when they're out of focus.

 

So when I take off my glasses I may not be able to see the whole world perfectly, but the things and people close to my heart…well that I can see clearly.

This entry by x83sheakels was beautifully written, and, as for all the entries I publish here, please go to his site and tell him what you thought

     I walked down the steps into the 96th street station with my cello strapped over my right shoulder. While waiting for the downtown B train, I was approached by an elderly man. “Great”, I thought. “Another man asking me for money.” He was black, his eyes were bloodshot, and I tried not to cringe every time I got a whiff of his alcohol-drenched breath. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by the sound of a train passing through the floor above. I tried to think of ways I could tell him I had no more money. The wrinkles across his face were deep thick etches, like dried up rivers crisscrossing an aged land. He turned to me with his unshaven face. Everything about him was slow and weary except for those eyes. His eyes courageously defied the rest of his features through their youthfulness. They were blue marbles, the shade of a cloudless sky. With his newsboy cap on slightly crooked and his hands in his pocket, he began to sing to me. It was a sad song in a minor key. He sang a song about a wicked messenger, about Eli, and about bad news. His deep voice was weary, but sweet. Sweet enough to make me forget about his bitter breath. His soulful music was legato and his vibrato delicate, but steady. It was the soulful blues, a song of vanishing beauty.
     I closed my eyes as the song came to an end. "Weird ass song, ain't it?" He asked. I replied with a chuckle. "I see you're a musician yourself." His eyes turned to my cello as I nodded. "That instrument you're carrying," he said. "That's a beautiful instrument."
     I gave a playful smile and thanked him. He went on talking, looking straight into my eyes. It made me uncomfortable but I kept on listening. "I'm 72 and I've been a musician for 51 years now," he said. I raised my eyebrows to show that I was impressed. He went on, "I know you're a good musician. I can tell." He paused and  looked away for a second. "You know what you're doing is important. It's important that you keep on making music. Make yourself heard. Never stop." I laughed and told him I wouldn't.
     "Remember," he said. "When life gets you down," he bent his knees to lower himself as he looked at the ground. "Just push yourself back up." He straightened out his legs, stood tall, and looked me in the eye. There was power behind his words. His tired old face, graying hair, and heartrending eyes seemed to tell me that his life had been filled with meaningful experiences. The train came. I smiled and thanked him as we went about our separate ways. As I got on the train his simple message resonated in my mind like the last note of a beautiful sonata I didn’t want to end, “When life gets you down, just push yourself back up.”

DimoDae143 proves that guys can write too with this essay. As usual, comments are closed here--go tell him how well he did. Please do comment on his page. I am intentionally closing my chance at comments and hits from this because I care that much about promoting the winners.

I’ll take Tony. Then, I’ll take Daniel. I’ll take James. I’ll take Isaac. Hold on, let me think…David. Oh great…Hey Timmy, you’re on my team, so try to keep up this time. You know what? Just make sure not to get in my way.
Again, picked last, I only wanted to fit in. But I knew that wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t an idiot. I could never be like them because I was fat.
As the “fat kid” of the class, I was frequently a target of taunting. But I couldn’t retaliate. I was secretly too envious of them to produce a genuine comeback. On top of the pains of an isolated lifestyle, I had been diagnosed as a pre-diabetic. My doctor warned me that if my weight continued to escalate, I would develop type 2 diabetes permanently. In order to deal with my anxiety, I searched for a quick way out. For a week, I threw up after my meals. Sometimes, I skipped eating altogether. At one point in the 8th grade, I consumed only water for five days straight.
The same week, as I was rising out of bed, I collapsed to the floor. That moment opened my eyes, and I specifically remember thinking, “What am I doing to myself?” I couldn’t go on treating my body like this and hope that my weight would disappear so easily, so I decided on a new approach and went to the local 24 Hour Fitness center. At first, it was strange being at a gym at ten o’clock on a school night, and even stranger being the only person under 30. Yet none of that mattered in comparison to the problems of my overweight life, so I stepped onto a treadmill for the first time and started running. After only five minutes, my lungs felt like they were on fire. By the first mile, my stomach and thighs burned to the point that my skin began to itch and turn red. At the two mile mark, my feet suffered piercing stings with each step. Unaccustomed to so many pains at once, my body cried out for me to stop. I didn’t. I kept running until I finished my self-imposed five miles.
I continued this routine every night, regardless of unexpected obstacles. If I had not eaten a meal since noon, it didn’t matter. If I had a semester long science project to finish, it didn’t matter. If I had a fever, it didn’t matter. I convinced myself that nothing would stop me from reaching my goal, but that certainty was challenged. It was hard staying awake in school, having exercised until midnight the night before. My body had a tough time adjusting to the heavy loads of activity I had suddenly taken on. My parents insisted that I slow down, saying I looked too pale and sickly. There were periods throughout the process when I wanted to just give up, but I knew that I couldn’t return to my old life. The physical pain was bearable; the mental pain was not. After a year and a half of constant struggle and steady progress, I lost forty pounds, while growing four inches taller. I had become a new man.
Nicknames such as “big bear” and “fat boy” no longer apply to me, I have a sense of respect for myself, and I am no longer at risk for type 2 diabetes. The change I have brought about in my life has granted me a new confidence, not in the superficial sense, but within my character. I am no longer afraid to approach new people or try new things, and when I set my sights on something – an academic award, a job promotion, or even a group of people to befriend – I don’t take the easy way out and do nothing. I strive for it. And I will continue to strive for my best with the mindset that anything is possible. No matter how big the hurdles, I will never be afraid to take that first step and start running.

You know how girls love the story where the princess lives happily after? This is the man counterpart of that, ha--the man who pulls himself up from tough situations and, against all odds, conquers. How impressive is it that a fat kid with no exercise habits climbs on a treadmill like that in the middle of adults? You're the man!

Please comment on Christin0 's original entry and tell her what you thought of her post! As I said before, closing comments here so the contest winners can get more fans

I remember all of the times of when my dad visited. Once when I was 5 (or that might have been just before he left), a night when I was in 6th grade- December 2002, and a week in August 2004.

I think to sort of "make up" for not being around and never sending money to my mom, he would buy us anything we wanted. Going Toys R Us and having the option to buy anything, anything is the ideal dream for a 5/6 year old. My younger brother quickly picked out his present, he always knew what he wanted. I, on the other hand, went around in circles because I didn't know what I wanted. In the last moment I just took some video game thing only because it was 101 Dalmatians and I loved dalmatians, and also because my older sister had a Beauty and the Beast version of the game so I think I just wanted to be like her.

He only visited that night in 2002 because it was like a pit stop from Korea to LA (where his mother lived). And the same reason again, in 2004. That one week in August was so good; we always have fun with our dad.

During that week, he took us to a clothes store and told us that we could get whatever we wanted. Back then, I was a lot simpler, and more 'tomboyish' than I am now, so it wasn't like a big deal to me as it would have been to any other girl my age. My brother got a nice jacket which cost a lot more than we are/were used to paying. I felt bad for it, as if he had bought the jacket for me and we were a burden to my dad and his finances. My brother was eating it all up shamelessly, not caring at all about my dad's money. Knowing my family's limited financial issues, I had grown to be very money conscious.

Again, I went around in circles trying to find something that I liked that didn't cost a lot. He kept urging me to pick something out and wouldn't let me say no. My dad tried to assure me and told me to not worry about the money. He asked me if I wanted jeans, the kinds that all the other girls in my school wore... but they were like 50 dollars and I just couldn't let him spend that kind of money on something like that. Granted, he hadn't been around in my life and might have felt that he owed it to me, but I still felt bad for some reason. I finally picked out a shirt that was $12.99 which I thought was even too high of a price for a shirt.

He also bought my brother a bass guitar- something Kevin had been wanting for awhile.

After my dad left, high school started and that's when I started to want... I wanted to do a lot of things that needed money to start (photography for example). I felt so foolish. Why. why, why had I felt bad about my dad spending money on me that week!?!??.... I mean he was never even around, and was the cause of much of our problems and pain!!! I should have just took advantage...

I kept thinking...I should have asked him to buy me a camera. I should have asked him to buy me a guitar. I should have gotten those good kind of jeans....

But at that time, I just couldn't.

I just couldn't bring myself to because I think, that deep inside, I really just wanted a normal family. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think I wanted just everything that money couldn't buy.... I felt that my dad shouldn't have to buy this stuff to get my 'approval' or 'forgiveness,' if those are the appropriate words. I wanted him to know that... it's not the things he buys for me that I want, it's a dad that I want. (but of course my transitional middle-to-high school mentality couldn't recognize these feelings in concrete words at the time)

That is one of the things I learned last week:

Seek God's face, not his hand. Seek who He really is, not his blessings.

I liked this essay because it reminded me that in the end, it really is all about the person, not about stuff. I know that, but it's good to be reminded! Also, if I ever do have a daughter, I hope she has a heart this warm and thoughtful.

Please visit LandLockedEyes and tell her if you liked her post! I will close comments, and link you directly to their site so they get the comment benefit.

I was merely an eight year old child at the time, happy but shy nonetheless. I never had a need to tell my family much about my accomplishments, I never wanted to either, for fear they might laugh or disapprove.

Anyway, it was the last day of school and we'd had a class quiz, which somehow, I'd won and been rewarded with five dollars and a plastic glow in the dark insect of my choice. I must've been feeling overly confident because I rushed home to tell my Mum about the success I'd had and show her the prizes I'd won. And then I got cocky.
"Mum, I won a quiz today at school!" I said to her, as I showed her my prizes excitedly.
"Cool." she said, busy in the kitchen.
"I can answer any question you ask me, ask me something, anything!"
She stood there stirring a pot-full of what would be our dinner that night, thinking. As I look back, it probably didn't take her long to come up with her question because a few seconds later, she turned to me and said "Okay then. What's a blowjob?"
I'd never heard that word in my life, didn't know what it meant and by the laughter erupting from my mother, figured I shouldn't ask her.
Not only had she proved me wrong against myself, she'd done that, embarrassed me and shut me up all in one go, which was exactly why I didn't tell her anything then, and limit the things I tell her now.
And that was the day I learnt that despite what you think you know, you really know nothing at all.

Now that I'm older, I really appreciate that experience, no matter how strange it made me feel on the day. I think it's important and valuble to know that, outside of yourself and your own situations, you really don't know anything at all. Of course you can talk to people about things, you can share your knowledge and do all the research in the world, you can form your own opinions on things, but still, in reality, you know nothing at all.

You don't know how the homeless man on the corner is feeling, with his ripped jeans and rough skin. You can only assume he's cold, worn out and poor, which may not even be true. You don't know why Isaac Newton decided to do all those things with physics and come up with new "laws", you can only wonder and be grateful for the sake of the world, that he did.
You don't know why some people act like this and others act like that, you don't know anything outside of yourself.

It's like that for everyone, you only know what you feel, and nothing else. And what else you do claim to know, in the end, won't matter at all.

I liked this essay for the line about the homeless man. It reminded me of the great JRR Tolkien quote "Not all who wander are lost."   Yes, sometimes I can guess what people are thinking or feeling...but other times, I guess wrong, and the consequences can be harsh.