A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco.
"Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."
"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."
"No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us."
"Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told. The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
The parents in this story are like many of us. We find it easy to love those who are good-looking or fun to have around, but we don't like people who inconvenience us or make us feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from people who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are. Thankfully, there's someone who won't treat us that way. Someone who loves us with an unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever family, regardless of how messed up we are.
Tonight, before you tuck yourself in for the night, say a little prayer that God will give you the strength you need to accept people as they are, and to help us all be more understanding of those who are different from us.
Submitted by Cham Bao Rong (09S06J) If you have any interesting articles, jokes, stores or anything you simply wish to share, simply email it to bucklebuckley@gmail.com!
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee we've hit the 10,000 landmark! Thanks to everyone who have been frequenting this website for information and updates over the past few months! The A-Level Project Work results will be released this coming week as well as that of CT papers so do wish your peers and seniors the best of luck as they face the tumultuous yet exciting week ahead. To commemorate this special occasion, the following are a few specially designed display pictures for you to adorn on your MSN!
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world. 2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners. 3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America. 4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize. 5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winner for best actor and actress. 6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.
How did you do?
The point is, none of us remember the headliners of yesterday.
These are no second-rate achievers.
They are the best in their fields.
But the applause dies.
Awards tarnish.
Achievements are forgotten.
Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.
Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school. 2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time. 3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile. 4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special. 5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.
Easier?
The lesson: The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards.
They are the ones that care.
Submitted by Cham Bao Rong (09S06J) If you have any interesting articles, jokes, stores or anything you simply wish to share, simply email it to bucklebuckley@gmail.com!
Chess Day was held on the last day of school, and it was a nice closure to the end of term 1! :) Well done to all the BB players who came down, for we managed to get 2nd for International Chess, 2nd for Chinese Chess, and 1st for Weiqi and Gomoku combined! :D
Thank you again to all BB players for partcipating, and also to all the supporters who came down! :) Hope everyone had a very fun time at Chess Day! :D
A photo of our gomoku players thinking hard!
And a photo of them looking happy xD
During a tough match over at weiqi...
A group photo of our weiqi players! :)
A particularly intense match going on at international chess
Tense atmosphere over at chinese chess as well
But after the matches, it was all friendly, nice and well :D
Our players enjoyed themselves tremendously, always smiling for the camera happily! :D
Again,
And again xD
But well everyone did enjoy themselves at the last IHC of the month! :) Even BBians who weren't competing got into the game and started playing on the floor :D
And, to end it off, a picture of our chinese and international chess team players! :) Well done all :D
I watch with a discreet eye, as you step out of the bed. The morning sun frames your slender silhouette as you wrestle your hair into shape. You reach over (as my eyes quickly shut) and brush my hair gently, in affection that you seem never to get tired of. I see your shadow dance across my eyelids, and I open them again to watch you pick up the dishes on your way out of the door.
Then I open my eyes again. This time, there is no one, only the wispy curtains fluttering, fighting, foreboding rain. The phone rings and another friend – the one we met at cooking class – leaves a concerned message, recounting how she too lost someone. It is ironic, really, how she makes perfect sense to me, but the words just glance off my brain and into throws of the sheets.
You were here just a week ago. Your bathrobe encapsulates me, breathing your scent into the dank atmosphere. This is the scent that poured into the room with you stepping out of the shower, drying your hair with a smile (your smile) and a story of your day of an insolent customer, your uptight boss, Sheila, the cleaning lady. You paced the room around the bed to put the finishing touches to your flawless skin, picking up towels and clothes strewn from the morning rush and depositing them into the basket. Slowly, you turned off the lights – bath, dresser, bedside – before slipping between the sheets, right up against my arm. The conversation continued to prance about in the darkness, flirting with the occasional giggle.
The room is silent now, albeit dark. The T.V. throws shadows and lights in array of patterns onto the ceiling. At this point, for some reason, I decide to get out of bed. “Time to move on, come on,” I repeat under my breath. You’d think after 1 year of you helping me out of bed I would have learnt how to do it myself, but I still find some difficulty in traversing from bed to wheelchair without falling into the chasm in-between. I knock the bottles of beer onto the wooden floor, but I make it. It was easier when your slender hand held my arm as I heaved myself into the chair. For a woman your size, you were unexpectedly strong. Once I eased myself into the groaning frame of the wheel-chair, you pushed me out into the corridor and stop at the stairs. The light of the day seems to make up for dialogue, as I watched struggling to move me down the steep stairs without me plummeting headfirst into the wall. You seemed so much more tired when you woke up. Did you realize then every morning, that this is your husband? This man whom you swore to take care of on an altar a year ago? The sound of my voice didn’t sound right without yours, so I looked out silently at the glowing sky, listening to the sounds of your cutlery over the breakfast table.
The squeaking of the wheels as I make my way down the corridor patters along the dusty carpet. It is quite a daunting task to maneuver this place without catching a box by the edge or getting cloth stuck in the wheel, but I do. I gratefully open the door to the refrigerator that sits majestically at the hall; since you’ve been gone, the last other person I talked to here were the friends who forced all my furniture into the second floor, ‘for my convenience’. I consider getting someone to help me with groceries as I try to find something edible amongst the numerous packets of microwave dinners. Unfortunately, the slight stench met unkindly with my alcohol-drenched guts, and my empty stomach urges me to the toilet – which resided downstairs. I drudgingly get out of my chair, and drag my two redundant limbs behind me as I pull myself with effort towards the top of the stairs.
I found myself in the same position that night, I remember. Arms sprawled on the floor, face plastered to the ground, except that quiet Saturday, I had a foot against my back, and your screams pierced the silence. I was dressed better too – after all, we had just come from a night out at the movies – and so were you. Perhaps if I had told you how beautiful you looked that night in the car instead of (unromantically) in the deserted parking lot, no one would have heard me but you, and no one would have decided to take action upon it. No one would have pushed me out of the chair and pinned me to the ground. No one would have grabbed you by the shoulders and – I watched helpless, as they proceeded to abuse you, leaving you in a pile of blood and your best dress, as quiet as the night. The dim streetlamp highlighted a slow path of red creeping towards a drain, the only trace of the clamorous mob that came as quickly as they left. I could hardly hear my cries for help over the deafening silence.
I return to my wheelchair after relieving myself and mounting the stairs, to resume the enthusiastic squeaking of the wheels. I maneuver the hall from room to room, around the furniture and boxes that you cleaned and arranged but today lie undignified beneath cobwebs and each other. With each room I enter, the thunder roars more loudly, as if God himself was there with me in my rounds. The rooms are empty save for the deepening darkness that plays a prelude for the storm. I search each and every room for something that seems to linger in the silence – I wouldn’t be staring blankly otherwise – what was there to find?
I search each and every room.
Written by Foo Ye Wei (08S06R) If you have any interesting articles, jokes, stores or anything you simply wish to share, simply email it to bucklebuckley@gmail.com!
WE GOT SECOND! AND Best Arrangement as well! =D Thanks a lot to the hardworking people in our BB ensemble who spent so much time planning, rehearsing and executing the beautiful rendition of Ju Hua Tai! Well done!
Here are our wonderful players!
(from left) Mabel [cellist], Rachel [music conductor], Deborah [violinist], Jessica [violinist] (front row) Chester [flautist], Gabriel [music director & pianist], Joel [flautist] (back row) Shunta [erhu player], Ling Zhang [clarinetist], Shi Da [dizi player]
And their ardent supporters!
And a big photo of the happy family :)
And of course, here we have an honarary photo of our music director, Mr Gabriel Quek!
Well done once again to all the Music Feste people! And all who came down to support! Hope everyone enjoyed themselves at Music Feste :)
Here's a chance for you to hear the music piece by our Ensemble if you have missed it! This was recorded during the dry run (:
