Two years ago, I made this poem to commemorate a girl who died on a car crash, way before her untimely death. Somehow, I remembered it today. Dedicated to all to you who have lost somebody.

The pastor comes and done is done
The only child, yes, the girl is
and through the cries, weeps, tears and moans
The girl murmurs, “forget-me-not”

Then Death comes and asks her hand
“No,” she says, “I’m not done yet”
Death nods but says no words
“forget-me-not, I want them to do”
and Death is gone,
is found no more

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Even with my better-than-average intake of veggies and fruits and decent cooking, I feel defeated. Deflated. Gone are those ambitions to become a better cook as I become independent. Now I’m slightly worried of the well-being of my future husband. I really hope he can cook.

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On my previous article, I have talked about discovering your dream. Now, I would talk about how to finally get there.

Like, you know, dreams are not always to be found by trying new things. Sometimes they are to be found by searching your childhood and looking at what you are fond of doing.

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