Let me a quote a paragraph in the short story written by Chekhov, "About Love":
"How love is born," said Alehin, "why Pelagea does not love somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout-we all call him 'The Snout' - how far questions of personal happiness are of consequence in love - all that is unknown; one can take what view ones likes of it. So far only one incontestable truth has been uttered about love: 'This is a great mystery.' Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained unanswered. The explanation which would seem to fit one case does not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, would be to explain every case individually without attempting to generalize. We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each case."
True, we cannot generalise a certain meaning pertaining love, thus the discussion about love in this story goes on and on, and these men try to rationalize things about love... but there is one thing that the story wanted to tell.. Carpe Diem, seize the moment, because of the mundane concerns of the character in this story, concerns on ethics, work, professional life, he missed that opportunity to fulfill his love...
Seize the day, the moment... as it may be too late.
They say 'Carpe Diem' is the axiom of the reckless... if it will entail recklessness to enjoy living... why not....
Mahmoud Darwish, one of the great poets of our time passed away, he has touched the lives of a lot of people... People who still long for a homeland...
When I was working in Saudi Arabia, I have lots of Palestinian friends, who's sentiments were shared with me, Mahmoud Awad, Hassan Abo-Nofal and their families, and others. I always travelled back to my homeland Philippines then for vacation, and I would say, 'I'm going home'... And they would say... 'It's good you have a home, we don't'.
For you my friends.. let me share you this moving one... The Prison Cell by Mahmoud Darwish
It is possible... It is possible at least sometimes... It is possible especially now To ride a horse Inside a prison cell And run away... It is possible for prison walls To disappear, For the cell to become a distant land Without frontiers: -What did you do with the walls? -I gave them back to the rocks. -And what did you do with the ceiling? -I turned it into a saddle. -And your chain? -I turned it into a pencil. The prison guard got angry. He put an end to my dialogue. He said he didn't care for poetry, And bolted the door of my cell. He came back to see me In the morning, He shouted at me: -Where did all this water come from? -I brought it from the Nile. -And the trees? -From the orchards of Damascus. -And the music? -From my heartbeat. The prison guard got mad; He put an end to my dialogue. He said he didn't like my poetry, And bolted the door of my cell. But he returned in the evening: -Where did this moon come from? -From the nights of Baghdad. -And the wine? -From the vineyards of Algiers. -And this freedom? -From the chain you tied me with last night. The prison guard grew so sad... He begged me to give him back His freedom.
My artist one He was a skinny passive boy, being push around He was made to learn aikido and give other guys one round Eyeglasses made him look an unattractive nerdy But we were surprised to see him being followed by some girlie Learned the recorder when he was in year three Will play it everywhere I didn’t realized how annoying it could be Computer games is on one of his top priority Sleeping so late awake until the wee hour of three Music he looks at it passionately He plays his guitar exceptionally Teachers, colleagues, relatives, and family Admire him playing and give him a glee A brother so sweet to his sisters He’ll save money and buy gifts on their birthdays To be the man of the house we ask Responsibilities he takes without qualms Even in the middle of his company This young man will say I love you comfortably My Artist One
My intellectual one. She is the one born with lipstick on her mouth My makeup I would notice always used and out Long hair was her illusion when she was eight Skirts she would put on her head as an alternate She’s got talents, singing is what we encourage To sing, Lola and mommy will pay her change She joins singing contests, plays, beauty pageant I thought I was seeing the making of a legend She is not lazy, she runs around like crazy Especially if she has to go in a hurry Passionately she will express her opinions You’re not supposed to say no for any reasons She keeps her diary to every second Organized things better than any administration She could run for any government positions For she wears jovial smiles that shows her affections My intellectual one
My blue sapphire - Jammy My creative one, She draws and sketch and paint, Will overturn her Mac to produce a page, Renovates her room three times a week Picks up her camera, frown, and shot in a wink Spends lavishly when it’s aplenty Counts every cents in scanty Her wardrobe must come from top brand Fashion is a priority she wears on her band Imagination took her places, Make-believe friends I see no faces Freedom is what she will fight for Will go her way even if it will take her on her four She is passionate in what she believes in Will pray for everyone even if it takes her all evening She will not talk when she is upset But in good mood will smooch you to a set She holds onto things because of its value Her close friends are dearest to her even if afew My creative one
- working in IT industry, but do love work of arts, the earlier as my source of living the latter as my reason for living... - divorced, mother to three, and love to one... - a doer, reckless at times... but know not the word regret... - grew up with six brothers, trained just like one of the boys... - born in Manila, worked in Riyadh for 14 years, and now a Filipino Aussie living in Sydney... ... and finally decided to enjoy the pleasures of life after 46 years...