Installing Love

-----a forwaded message in my inbox----


Tech Support: Yes, ... how can I help you?



Customer: Well, after much consideration, I've decided to
install Love. Can you guide me though the process?



Tech Support: Yes. I can help you. Are you ready to proceed?



Customer: Well, I'm not very technical, but I think I'm ready.
What do I do first?



Tech Support: The first step is to open your Heart. Have you located
your Heart?



Customer: Yes, but there are several other programs running
now. Is it okay to install Love while they are running?



Tech Support: What programs are running ?



Customer: Let's see, I have Past Hurt, Low Self-Esteem, Grudge
and Resentment running right now.



Tech Support: No problem, Love will gradually erase Past Hurt from
your cur ren t operating system. It may remain in your permanent memory
but it will no longer disrupt other programs. Love will eventually
override Low Self-Esteem with a module of its own called High
Self-Esteem. However, you have to completely turn off Grudge and
Resentment. Those programs prevent Love from being properly installed.
Can you turn those off ?



Customer: I don't know how to turn them off. Can you tell me how?



Tech Support: With pleasure. Go to your start menu and invoke
Forgiveness. Do this as many times as necessary until Grudge and
Resentment have been completely erased.



Customer: Okay, done! Love has started installing itself. Is
that normal?



Tech Support: Yes, but remember that you have only the base program.
You need to begin connecting to other Hearts in order to get the
upgrades.



Customer: Oops! I have an error message already. It says,
"Error - Program not run on external components." What should I do?

Tech Support: Don't worry. It means that the Love program is set up
to run on Internal Hearts, but has not yet been run on your Heart. In
non-technical terms, it simply means you have to Love yourself before
you can Love others.



Customer: So, what should I do?



Tech Support: Pull down Self-Acceptance; then click on the following
files: Forgive-Self; Realize Your Worth; and Acknowledge your
Limitations.



Customer: Okay, done.



Tech Support: Now, copy them to the "My Heart" directory. The system
will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching faulty
programming. Also, you need to delete Verbose Self-Criticism from all
directories and empty your Recycle Bin to make sure it is completely
gone and never comes back.



Customer: Got it. Hey! My heart is filling up with new files.
Smile is playing on my monitor and Peace and Contentment are copying
themselves all over My Heart. Is this normal?



Tech Support: Sometimes. For others it takes awhile, but eventually
everything gets it at the proper time. So Love is installed and
running. One more thing before we hang up. Love is Freeware. Be sure
to give it and its various modules to everyone you meet. They will in
turn share it with others and return some cool modules back to you.



Customer: Thank you, God.

The Perfect Person

By: J. M. Whitaker


For as long as long as I can remember, I have been searching for the perfect girl. Since I was old enough to begin longing for female companionship, I have been on the hunt. I guess it started out as just a simple dream or fantasy, not unlike most of us. The strange thing about it was that it never stayed just a dream or a fantasy. The more people I dated, the more times I was let down, the more I hungered for that perfect person, the one that would fill all of my needs and desires, the one that would never let me down.

I dated girl after girl. Some of them were great while others got me into some trouble. Some of them made me laugh, but a lot of them made me cry. Through my journey, I found a lot of joy and a lot of sorrow, a lot of happiness and a lot of pain, but never the perfect girl. I had dreamed about her. Dark hair, darker eyes, a slim figure tinted golden brown from the sun. She had an accent and could play the cello. She would love to talk, but wouldn't expect me to talk too much. She would always ask me how my day was and would always have a smile on her face; absolute perfection.

I began to devise methods in how I would meet the girls I would date. I knew I wanted an intelligent girl, so I hung out in libraries and museums. I meet this real crazy girl at a library after school one day. She was smart and sexy and, well? crazy. I would rather not go into a lot of details about it. Let's just say she had some real deep-seated anxieties about our relationship and, consequentially, our break up.

I knew I wanted an artistic girl, so I went to music stores and coffee shops, I even tried a couple of classical concerts. I met this wonderfully cute girl who dressed really darkand loved to write poetry. She was great, we used to stay up all night long talking about the silliest things, but she ended up dumping me for some guy who did drugs and rode a motorcycle.

I got into a car accident with a girl driving a Pontiac Sunfire. She had no driver's license or car insurance, but she did have a really great smile and the prettiest hair. Instead of calling the police, we called in sick and went out to eat. We dated for a while but eventually came across an irreconcilable difference in opinions. She didn't always feel the need to come "straight home" after work. Okay, to be honest, toward the end of our relationship, she rarely came home at all.

Then there was the girl from the International House of Pancakes. She was an exact replica of my personality. I mean if you had met us both over some Internet chat room, you would swear we were the same person using multiple screen-names. Sounds sweet, huh? Have you ever considered marrying yourself? Have you ever thought about growing old together, just you and yourself? We both found that the whole idea of finding that "perfect person" was to find someone different from yourself to fulfill the empty spots within you.

I searched every where. I left no rock unturned, no leaf moved aside, but to no avail. After much pain and heartache, I began to believe that the perfect girl just did not exist. Then one day, I found her.

Her name was Malia. She was from Hawaii, raised in Italy. She wore silk pajama pants to bed. She had written a novel. She loved the beach and hated cats, just like me. She had silky, dark and curly hair that swayed perfectly if the breeze was right. She had a caramel colored body, etched out of a block of pure perfection, and her face was that of an angel. From the very first time I saw her, I could not seem to take my eyes away from hers. She was like a siren, calling my name, beckoning me closer to her, even when she was asleep. The attraction was complete, with no faults, no annoyances. Every time she spoke she mesmerized me and every time she moved she amazed me. She was... well, perfect. Oh, and did I mention she played the cello?

We spent all the extra time we had together. We spent so much time together that we decided to move in together. We were paying rent on two places, but one of them was doing nothing but collecting dust. We would sit on the porch when it rained and hold each other. We would lay on the beach and soak up a sweet combination of sunrays and pina coladas. Life was good. No, life was perfect and I knew it just couldn't possibly get any better than it was right then and there.

Two years later, Malia left me for a career-opportunity at a really prominent university in Europe. There were no harsh words, no angry feelings, not even any sad good-byes. She was so perfect that if she wanted to leave, I wanted it for her. That is, until she was gone.

I cried for days, and began to drink for weeks after that. I felt as if my life was over, that the only reason that I had existed was gone, and every breath I took from that moment on was a futile attempt to hold on to something I later found I never had: The Perfect Love.

Malia was perfect. She was perfect in each and every single way, but I was not. Our love for each other was a deeply committed one, but it was far from perfect. I know that now, but if I could go back in time to tell myself that in an attempt to save myself from all of that pain and suffering, I fear I would not have listened to myself.

I slept with many women, sometimes a different girl every week. I drank excessively and spent all of my money on temporary satisfaction. Anything to ease the pain. But the pain did not ease, it only grew stronger. It became a vicious circle of self-inflicted torture that eventually brought me to my knees and forced me to open my eyes to the real world. But not before it made me a bitter man.

I was wiser, but to this day, the decisions made left a coldness in my eyes that made my heart appear as lead to anyone who dared look. I became a loner, staying home on the weekends, saving my money for a healthy but lonely retirement, having accepted my fate. I was to be alone for the rest of my life.
>Kathy with a K. Actually, her name is spelled Kathyrn. Quite peculiar, but I didn't think so until later. For the longest time, I never even knew her name. But she was a sight for sore and lonely eyes. I saw her at work. I was her boss (actually, I was her boss' boss) and did not want to risk the chance of even speaking to her. She was just too beautiful, and I had become a beast with a past too horrible to mention. I would just watch her as she passed my office every day. She didn't walk, she frolicked, and I would sneak out for a break whenever she did just to watch that frolicking. She smiled every time someone spoke to her, a smile like the early morning sun, and her eyes were so dark that you couldn't see her pupils, only the glimmering from the light that made her eyes look like two bright stars. I was under her spell and I didn't even know her name.

One day, watching her outside, I convinced myself to ask around about her. Find out her name and maybe even find out if she was seeing someone. Just as I had decided that she spoke to me.

Kathy with a K. She ended up asking me out, you know. I told her I couldn't that night because I had to work late. Actually, I was too scared. I called her and asked her if she wanted to go to Starbucks after work the next day and she agreed. It turned out to be the most romantic night of both of our lives. We were both still pretty new in town and didn't really know our way around. I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to take her next so I winged it the whole way. Like I said, it turned out to be the most romantic night of both of our lives. It was perfect.

She was not perfect, but neither was I. We both carried a truckload of emotional baggage and we both had a mountain of flaws. But it was perfect. She would always forget to plug in her cell phone at night, but I would always remind her. I couldn't do laundry worth a flip, but she showed me how. She could never get to work on time, and she hated to drive, but we both had to be at work on time so I drove us both there. Whenever she was slacking I was always right over her shoulder, and when I would lose track of what I was trying to do, she would help to keep me focused. We complimented each other in every single way. Neither of us was perfect, but we were perfect for each other.

When you're out there looking for that perfect person keep these things in mind. People change, no matter how hard they try not to. As you grow older you mature, and with each new level of maturity come different ideas, different needs and wants. The person who was perfect for you at twenty could be the person you hate when you're thirty-five. You have to find some one who will grow with you, change with you, laugh with you and cry with you. A person who fills in where you lack, a person whom you can fill in for when they are lacking. But what about the perfect person, you ask? They do not exist. Even Malia was not perfect because the perfect girl in my dreams was supposed to stay with me. There are no perfect people, only people who are perfect for each other.

"i always thought that love was something i'd know the minute itappeared. That there would be drumrolls and bells ringing as love sweptme off my feet. No one told me how quietly love could appear, or how humbly. That someday i'd look up and there it would be, waiting for me in a pair of familiar eyes... I never expected i'd find somebody to love in you... i guess i never knew love the way i do now. "

A Love Story

----Unknown Author----

Cruel misunderstandings one after another disrupted the blissful footsteps
to our family. Our original intend of having Mother enjoy some quiet and
peaceful moments in her remaining ears with us went terribly wrong as
destiny's secret is finally revealed at a price, every thing became too
late.

Just two years after our marriage, hubby brought up the idea of asking
Mother to move from the rural hometown and spend her remaining years with
us.

Hubby's father passed away while he was still very young. Mother endured
much hardship and struggled all on her own to provide for him, see him
through to a university degree. You could say that she suffered a great
deal and did everything you could expect of a woman to bring hubby to
where
he is today.

I immediately agreed and started packing the spare room, which has a
balcony
facing the South to let her enjoy the sunshine and plant some greenery.
Hubby stood in the bright room, and suddenly just picked me up and started
spinning round and round.

As I begged him to put me down, he said: "Lets go fetch mother."

Hubby is tall and big sized and I love to rest on his chest and enjoy the
feeling that he could pick me up at any moment put the tiny me into his
pockets.

Whenever we have an argument and both refuses to back down, he would pick
me
up and spin me over his head continuously until I surrender and beg for
mercy. I became addicted to this kind of panic-joy feeling.

Mother brought along her countryside ! habits and lifestyle with her.

For example; I am so used to buying flowers to decorate the living room,
she
could not stand it and would comment: "I do not know how you young people
spend your money, why do you buy flowers for? You also can't eat the
flowers!"

I smiled and said: "Mum, with flowers in the house, our mood will also
become better."

Mother continues to grumble away, and hubby smiled: "Mum, this is a
city-people's habit; slowly you will get use to it."

Mother stopped saying anything.

But every time thereafter, whenever I came home with flowers, she would
ask
me how much it costs. I told her and she would shake her head and express
displeasure. Sometimes, when I come home with lots of shopping bags, she
would ask each and every item how much they cost, I would tell her
honestly
and she would get even more upset about it.

Hubby playfully pinched my nose and said: "You little fool, just don't
tell
her the full price of everything would solve it."

There begins the friction to our otherwise happy lifestyle. Mother hates
it
most when hubby wakes up early to prepare the breakfast.

In your view, how could the man of the house cook for the wife? At the
breakfast table, mother facial _expression is always like the dark clouds
before a thunderstorm and I would pretend not to notice.

She would use her chopsticks and make a lot of noise with it as her silent
protest.

As I am a dance teacher in the Children's Palace and is exhausted from a
long day of dancing around, I do not wish to give up the luxury of that
additional few minutes in the comfort of my bed and hence I turned a deaf
ear to all the protest mother makes.

From time to time, mother would help out with some housework, but soon her
help created additional work for me.

For example, she would keep all kinds of plastic bags accumulating them so
that she sell them later on, and that resulted in our house being filled
with all the trash bags.

She would scrimp on dishwashing detergent when helping to wash the dishes
and so as not to hurt her feelings, I would quietly wash them again.

One day, late at night, mother saw me quietly washing the dishes, and
"Bam"
she slams her bedroom door and cried very loudly in her room.

Hubby was placed in a difficult position, and after that, he did not speak
to me for that entire night. I pretended to be a spoilt child, tried
acting
cute, but he totally ignored me.

I got mad and asked him: "What did I do wrong?"

Hubby stared at me and said: "Can't you just give in to her once? We
couldn't possibly die eating from a bowl however unclean it is, right?"

After that incident, for a long period of time, mother did not speak to me
and you can feel that there is a very awkward feeling hanging in the
house.
During that period of cold war, hubby was caught in dilemma as to who to
please.

In order to stop her son from having to prepare breakfast, mother took on
the "all important" task of preparing breakfast without any prompting. At
the breakfast table, mother would look at hubby happily eating his
breakfast
and cast that reprimanding stare at me for having failed to perform my
duty
as a wife.

To avoid the embarrassing breakfast situation, I resorted to buying my own
breakfast on my way to work. That night, while in bed, hubby was a little
upset and asked me: "LD, is it because you think that mum's cooking is
not
clean that's why you chose not to eat at home?"

He then turned his back on me and left me alone in tears as feeling of
unfairness overwhelmed me. After sometime, hubby sighed: "LD, just for me,
can you have breakfast at home?" I am left with no choice but to return to
the breakfast table.

The next morning, I was having porridge prepared by mother and I felt a
sudden churn in my stomach and everything inside seem to be rushing up my
throat. I tried to suppress the urge to throw up but I couldn't. I threw
down the bowl and rushed into the washroom and vomited everything out.

Just as I was catching my breath, I saw mother crying and grumbling very
&g!
t; loudly in her dialect, hubby was standing at the washroom doorway
staring
at me with fire burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth but no words came
out
of it, I really didn't mean it.

We had our very first big fight that day; mother took a look at us, then
stood up and slowly made her way out of the house. Hubby gave me a final
stare in the eye and followed mother down the stairs.
For three days, hubby did not return home, not even a phone call. I was so
furious, since other arrived; I had been trying my best and putting up
with
her, what else do you want me to do? For no reason, I keep having the
feeling to throw up and I simply have not appetite for food, coupled with
all the events happening at home, I was at the low point in my life.

Finally, a colleague said: "LD, you look terrible; you should go and see a
doctor."

The doctor confirmed that I am pregnant. Now it became clear to me why I
threw up that fateful morning, a sense of sadness floated through that
otherwise happy news.

Why didn't hubby, and mother who had been through this before, thought of
the possibility of this being the reason that day? At the hospital
entrance,
I saw my hubby standing there. It had only been three days, but he looked
haggard.

I had wanted to turn and leave, but one look at him and my heart soften, I
couldn't resist and called out to him. He followed my voice and finally
found me but he pretended that he doesn't
know me; he has that disgusted look in his eyes that cut right through my
heart.

I told myself not to look at him anymore, and hail a cab. At that moment,
I
have such a strong urge inside me to shout to my hubby: "Darling, I am
having your baby!" and have him lift me up and spin me round in circles of
joy.

What I wanted didn't happen and as I sat in the cab, my tears started
rolling down.

Why? Why our love couldn't even withstand the test of one fight? Back
home,
I lay on the bed thinking about my hubby, and the disgusted look in his
eyes.

I cried and wet the corner of the blanket. That night, sound of the
drawers
opening woke me up.

I switched on the lights and I saw hubby with tears rolling down his face.
He was removing the money. I stared at him in silence; he ignored me, took
the bank deposit book and some money and left the house. Maybe he really
intends to leave me for good.

What a rational man, so clear-cut in love and money matters. I gave a few
dried laugh and tears starting streaming down again. The next day, I did
not
go to work. I wanted to clear this out and have a good talk with hubby.

I reached his office and his secretary gave me a weird look and said:
"Mr.
Tan's mother had a traffic accident and is now in the hospital."

I stood there in shock. I rushed to the hospital and by the time I found
hubby, mother had
already passed away. Hubby did not look at me, his face was
expressionless.

I looked at mother's pale white and thin face and I couldn't control the
tears in my eyes.

My God, how could this happen? Throughout the funeral, hubby did say a
single word to me, with only the occasional disgusted stare at me. I only
managed to find out brief facts about the accident from other people.

That day, after mother left the house, she walked in dazed towards the bus
stop, apparently intending to go back to her old house back in the
countryside. As hubby ran after her, she tried to walk faster and as she
tried to cross the street, a public bus came and hit her...

I finally understood how much hubby must hate me, if I had not thrown up
that morning, if we had not quarreled, if...In his heart, I am indirectly
the killer of his mother.

Hubby moved into mother's room and came home every night with a strong
liquor smell on him. And me, I am buried under the guilt and self pity and
could hardly breathe.

I wanted to explain to him, tell him that we are going to have our baby
soon, but each time, I saw the dead look in his eyes, all the words I have
at the brink of my mouth just fell back in.

I had rather he hit me real hard or give me a big and thorough scolding
though none of these events happening had been my fault at all. Many days
of
suffocating silence went by and as the days went by, hubby came home later
and later. The deadlock between us continues, we were living together like
strangers who don't know each other. I am like the dead knot in his heart.

One day, I passed by a western restaurant, looking into the glass window,
I
saw hubby and a girl sitting facing each other and he very lightly brushed
her hair for her, I understood what it meant. After recovering from that
moment of shock, I entered the restaurant, stood in front of my hubby and
stared hard at him, not a tear in my eyes. I have nothing to say to him,
and
there is no need to say anything.

The girl looked at me, looks at hubby, stands up and wanted to go, hubby
stretched out his hand and stopped her. He stared back at me, challenging
me. I can only hear my slow heartbeat, beating, one by one as if at the
brink of death. I eventually backed down, if I had stood that any longer,
I
will collapse together with the baby inside me.

That night, he did not come home; he had chosen to use that as a way to
indicate to me: Following mother's death so did our love for each other.

He did not come home anymore after that.

Sometimes, when I returned home from work, I can tell that the cupboard
had
been touched -he had returned to take some of his stuff.

I no longer wish to call him; the initial desire to explain everything to
him vanished.

I lived alone; I go for my medical checkups alone, my heart breaks again
and
again every time I see a guy carefully helping his wife through the &! gt;
physical examination. My office colleagues hinted to me to consider
aborting
the baby, I told them No, I will not.

I insisted on having to this baby, perhaps it is my way of repaying mother
for causing her death. One day, I came home and I saw hubby sitting in
the
living room. The whole house was filled with cigarette smoke. On the
coffee
table, there was this piece of paper. I know what it is all about without
even looking at it.

In the two months plus of living alone, I have gradually learned to find
peace within myself.
I looked at him, removed my hat and said: "You wait a while, I will sign."

He looked at me, mixed feelings in his eyes, just like mine. As I hang up
my
coat, I keep repeating to myself "You cannot cry, you cannot cry..." my
eyes
hurt terribly, but I refused to let tears come out from there.

After I hung up my coat, hubby's eyes stared fixed at my bulging tummy. I
smiled, walked over to the coffee table and pull the paper towards me.
Without even looking at what it says, I signed my name on it and pushed
the
paper to him.

"LD, you are pregnant?"

Since mother's accident, this is the first time he spoke to me. I could
not
control my tears any further and they fell like raindrops.

I said: "Yes, but its ok, you can leave now."

He did not go, in the dark, we sat, facing each other.

Hubby slowly moved over me, his tears wet the blanket.

In my heart, everything seems so far away, so far that even if I sprint, I
could never reach them.

I cannot remember how many times he repeated "sorry" to me, I had
originally
thought that I would forgive him, but now I can't! In the western
restaurant, in front of that girl, that cold look in his eyes, I will
never
forget, ever.

We have drawn such deep scares in each other's heart. For me, it's
unintentional; for him, totally intentional. I had been waiting for this
moment of reconciliation, but I realized now,
what had gone past is gone forever and could not repeated.

Other than the thought of the baby inside me that would bring some warmth
to
my heart, I am totally cold towards him, I no longer eat anything he buys
for me, I don't take any presents from him and I stopped talking to him.
From the moment I signed on that piece of paper, marriage and love had
vanished from my heart.

Sometimes, hubby will try to come into the bedroom, but when he walks in,
I
will walk out to the living room. He had no choice but to sleep in
mother's
room. At night, from his room, I can hear light sounds of groaning, I kept
quiet.

This used to be his trick; last time, whenever I ignore him, he would fake
illness and I will surrender and find out what is wrong with him, he would
then grab me and laugh.

He has forgotten that last time; I cared for him and am concerned because
there is love, but now, what is there between us? Hubby's groaning came on
and off continuing all the way till baby was born. Almost everyday, he
would
buy something for the baby, infant products,
children products and books that kids like to read.

Bag sand bags of it stacked inside his room till it is full. I know he is
trying to use this to reach out to me, but I am no longer moved by his
actions. He has no choice but to lock himself in his room and I can hear
him
typing away on his computer keyboard, maybe he is now addicted to web
surfing, but none of that matters to me anymore.

It was sometime towards the end of spring in the following year, one late
night, I screamed because of a sudden stomach pain, hubby came rushing
into
the room, its like he did not change and sleep, and had been waiting for
this moment. He carried me and ran down the stairs, stopped a car, holding
my hand very tightly and kept wiping the sweat off my brown, throughout
the
journey to the hospital.

Once we reached the hospital, he carried me and hurried into the delivery
suite. Lying on the back of his skinny but warmth body, a thought crossed
my mind: In my lifetime, who else would love me as much as he did?

He held the delivery suite door opened and watch me go in, his warm eyes
caused me to managed a smile at him despite my contraction pain. Coming
out
of the delivery room, hubby looked at our son, and me, his eyes tear with
joy and he kept smiling. I reached out and touched his hand.

Hubby looked at me, smiling and then he slowly collapsed onto the floor. I
cried out for him in pain... He smiled, but without opening that tired
eyes
of his... I had thought that I would never shed any tear for him, but the
truth is, I have never felt a deeper pain cutting through my body at that
moment. Doctor said that by the time hubby discovered he had liver
cancer,
it was
already in terminal stage and it was a miracle that he managed to last
this
long.

I asked the doctor when did he first discover he had cancer? Doctor said
about 5 months ago and consoled me saying: "Prepare for his funeral." I
disregarded the nurse's objection and rushed home, I went into his room
and
checked his computer, and a suffocating pain hits me.

Hubby's cancer was discovered 5 months ago, his groaning was real, and I
had
thought that... the computer showed over 200 thousand words he wrote for
our
son:

"Son, just for you, I have persisted, to be able to take a look at you
before I fall, is my biggest wish now... I know that in your life, you
will
have many happiness and maybe some setbacks, if only I can accompany you
throughout that journey, how nice would it be. But daddy now no longer has
that chance.

Daddy has written inside here all the possible difficulties and problems
you
may encounter during your lifetime, when you meet with these problems, you
can refer to daddy's suggestion... Son, after writing these 200 thousand
words, I feel as if I have accompanied you through your life journey. To
be
honest, daddy is very happy.

Do love your mother, she has suffered, she is the one who loves you most
and
also the one who loves me most..."

From play school to primary school, to secondary, university, to work and
even in dealing with questions of love, everything big and small was
written
there.

Hubby has also written a letter for me:

"My dear, to marry you is my biggest happiness, forgive me for the pain I
have caused you, forgive me for not telling you my illness, because I want
to see you be in a joyful mood waiting for the arrival of our baby... My
dear, if you cried, it means that you have forgiven me and I would smile,
thank you for loving me...

These presents, I'm afraid I cannot give them to our son personally, could
you help me to give some of them to him every year, the dates on what to
give when are all written on the packaging..."

Going back to the hospital, hubby is still in coma. I brought our son over
and place him beside him. I said: "Open your eyes and smile, I want our
son
to remember being in the warmth of
your arms..."

He struggled to open his eyes and managed a weak smile. Our son still in
his
arms was happily waving his tiny hands in the air. I press the button on
the camera and the sound of the shutter rang thought the air as tears
slowly
rolled down my face...

...The end...