Valentine - Your time to show what's inside!

[dangngochuy]

In 2 days time, it's gonna be Valentine, a time of sheer exultation and pure passion. Yeah, people happily congregate on the streets to feel the balmy billows rolling inwards, to kiss passionately and hug their love ones tightly, or just to rejoice with everyone in the merry festivities. But in that interval of love-expressing and care-giving, there are still people undertaking another forlorn night of sullen rainfalls. And this story is partly dedicated to those people (including me).

It didn't happen on Valentine's night or even has anything to do with that occasion but it's something you should ruminate over to know when to catch the chance before it takes wings.

I really want to share with everyone this story I found on HAO a long time ago. Hope you guys could enjoy it and reckon a little bit about its significance .

Have a happy Valentine !

Broken Heart
Anonymous

It all started when I was 16 years old. While I was playing outside on my farm in California, I met a boy. He was an average kind of boy who teased you and then you chased them and beat them up. After that first meeting in which I beat him up we kept on meeting and beating each other up at the fence. That only lasted for a little while though. We would meet at the fence all the time and we were always together. I would tell him all my secrets. He was very quiet he would just listen to what I had to say. I found him easy to talk to and I could talk to him about everything. In school we had separate friends but when we got home we would always talk about what happened in school. One day I said to him that a guy I liked hurt me and broke my heart. He just comforted me and said everything would be okay. He gave me words of encouragement and helped me get over him. I was happy and thought of him as a real friend. But I knew that there was something else about him that I liked. I thought of it that night and figured it was just a Friend kinda thing that I was feeling. All through high school and even through graduation we're always together and of course I thought of it as being friends. But I knew deep inside that I really felt differently. On graduation night even though we had different dates to the prom I wanted to be with him. That night after everybody went home I went to his house and wanted to tell him that I wanted to see him. Well, that night was my big chance and all I did was just sit there with him watching the stars and talking about what I was going to do and what he was going to do. I looked into his eyes and listened to him talk about what his dream was. How he wanted to get married and settle down. He said how he wanted to be rich and successful. All I could do was to tell him my dream and cuddle next to him. I went home hurting because I didn't tell him how I was feeling. I wanted to tell him so bad that I loved him but I was too scared and frightened. I let my feelings go and told myself that someday I would tell him just how I felt. All through college I wanted to tell him but he always had someone with him. After graduation he got a job in New York; I was happy for him but at the same time I was sad to see him go. I was sad also because I didn't tell him how I felt. But I couldn't let him know now that he was leaving for his big job. So I just kept it to myself and watched him go on the plane. I cried as I hugged him for what I felt was going to be the last time. I went home that night and cried my eyes out. I felt hurt that I didn't tell him what I had inside my heart. Well, I got a job as a secretary and then worked my way to a computer analyst. I was proud of what I had accomplished. One day I got a letter with an invitation to a wedding. It was from him; I was happy and sad at the same time. Now I know that I could never be with him and that we could only be friends. I went to the wedding the next month. It was a big occasion. It was a big church wedding with the reception at a hotel. I met the bride and of course I talked to him too. I fell in love one more time. But I held back so it wouldn't spoil what should be the happiest day in his life. I tried to have fun that night but it was killing me inside watching him being so happy and me trying to be happy covering up my sadness tears inside of me. I left New York feeling that I did the right thing. Before I left on the flight, he came running out of nowhere and said his good-byes and how he was very happy to see me. I came home and just tried to forget about what went on in New York. I had to go on with my life. As the years went on, we wrote to each other on what was going on and how he had missed talking to me. On one occasion he never wrote back to me at all. I was getting worried as to why he hadn't written anything for a long time after I had already written 6 letters to him. Well, just when everything seemed hopeless and sad in my life, I got a note that said: "Meet me at the fence where we used to talk about things". I went and saw him there. I was happy to see him, but he was broken-hearted and sad inside. We hugged until we couldn't breathe anymore. Then he told me about the divorce and why he hadn't written for a long time. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. Finally, we went back to the house and talked and laughed about what I had been going and to catch up on old times. But in all of this, I couldn't tell him how I felt about him. In the days that followed, he had fun and forgot about all his problem and his divorce. I fell in love again with him. When it came time for him to leave back to New York, I went to see him off and cried. I hated to see him leave. He promised to see me every time he could get a vacation. I couldn't wait for him to come so I could be with him. We would always have fun when we were together. One day he didn't show up like he said he would. I figured that he might have been busy. The days turned into months and I just forgot about it. Then I got a call one day from a lawyer in New York. The lawyer said that he had died in a car accident going to the airpor, and that it took this long till everything was settled. It broke my heart. I was shocked about what took place. Now I knew why he didn't come that day. Again, I was broken-hearted. I cried that night, cried tears of sadness and heartache. I asked questions: "Why did this happen to a kind guy like him?" I gathered my things and went to New York for the reading of his will. Of course, things were given to his family and his ex-wife. I finally got to meet her since the last time we met at the wedding. She explained to me how he was and how he always provided. But he was always unhappy. She would always try everything but she couldn't get him happy, as he was that night at their wedding. When the will was read, the one thing that was given to me was a diary. It was a dairy that of his life. I cried as it was given to me. I didn't know what to think. Why was this given to me? I took it and flew back to California. As I flew on the plane I remembered the good times that we had together. I started reading the diary and what was written. The diary was started with the day we first met. I read on till I started to cry. The diary told of him saying that he had fallen in love with me that day I was broken-hearted. But he was too afraid to tell me what he had felt. That is why he was so quiet and liked to listen to me. It told of how he wanted to tell me so many times, but was too afraid to say anything. It told of when he went to New York and fell in love with another. How the happiest time he had was seeing me and dancing with me at the wedding. He said he imagined it was our wedding. How he was always unhappy till he had no choice but to divorce his wife. How the best time in his life was to read the letters written to him by me. Finally, the diary ended when it said, "today I will tell her I love her". It was the day he was killed. The day I was going to finally find out what was really in his heart. If you love someone, don't wait till tomorrow to tell him/her. Maybe the next day will never come at all.


It’s hurt to love someone and not to be loved in return. But what more paintful is to love someone and never find the courage to let that person know how you feel.

 

[dangngochuy]

Here's the cutest tune ever about how a boy struggles despondently within his mind to tell a girl his feelings for her. The sweet sensation of an unadulterated affection spontaneously renders him to quiver over looking at her. Her eyes of pure temptation just drown him in its infinite serenity. Through time and space, he envisions merry moments of bliss when he could gently hold her hands in the break of dawn, and in the blossoming of their tender love!

I deem it a really good song for Valentine, especially when you want a peaceful lull of pure reflection in these chaotic times .

I've Got To Make It To Summer
Billy Gilman Download

[MUSIC]http://www.freewebtown.com/dangngochuy/library/audio/Billy_Gilman_Ive_Got_to_Make_it_to_Summer.mp3[/MUSIC]

My heart skips a beat when I watch her go by
I don't know if she knows if I'm even alive
I'd love to ask her out, but there's too many people around

I've got to make it to summer
I want to drift on that ocean-blue in her eyes
On a blanket of sand, holding her hand
While the lonely people go by

I've got to make it to summer
I want to tell her the things that I'm feeling inside
And if I get the chance, I know I'm gonna make her mine

I'm stuck in my room while the snow starts to fall
I'm lost in big poster there on my wall
I'd love to see her there with the golden sun in her hair

I've got to make it to summer
I want to drift on that ocean-blue in her eyes
On a blanket of sand, holding her hand
While the lonely people go by

I've got to make it to summer
I want to tell her the things that I'm feeling inside
And if I get the chance, I know I'm gonna make her mine

I've got to make it to summer
I want to drift on that ocean-blue in her eyes
On a blanket of sand, holding her hand
While the lonely people go by

I've got to make it to summer
I want to tell her the things that I'm feeling inside
And if I get the chance, I know I'm gonna make her mine
And if I get the chance, I know I'm gonna make her mine

 

[c_loser]

Để làm phong phú, em xin nói 1 chút hiểu biết nho nhỏ của mình về Val của Nhật Bản .
Theo em biết thì, từ lâu Val đã trở thành ngày được coi như một nghĩa vụ cho con gái (hiếm khi con trai tặng quà trong dịp này). Con gái Nhật thường tặng chocolate cho mọi người -> có 3 loại chính:
Giri-choko: tặng cho bạn trai bt (bạn đồng nghiệp, etc.).
Honmei-choko: tặng cho bạn trai "đặc biệt" xD.
Tomo-choko: con gái trao đổi chocolate với nhau .
(Choko = chocolate. Tomo = friends)
----------------------------------
Em chỉ nắm được qua thế thôi, có gì sai, mong mọi người sửa giúp. Em thích Nhật nên chỉ nói về Val của nó thôi; sao mọi người không kể về Val của nhiều nước khác nữa nhỉ?

 

[rikku]

Con trai VN có vẻ thích Nhật nhỉ ) Anh nghe thấy thế cũng thích )

 

[moonlightsonata]

Hic, studying Japanese đây mà chẳng còn bit tí gì ^^, chỉ nhớ là tháng 2 ở Nhật Bản có nhiều lễ hội quan trọng lắm, trong đó có Valentine

 

[moonlightsonata]

3 Valentines For The Divine Miss Priss

On the day in question, I say, looking directly into the mirror during one of my dry run practices, I was actually quite excited about getting to class. Really! I always look forward to last period on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Because we have English, sir. English Literature with Miss Priss. The guys call her that. I think it's because they're all a little sweet on her. She's our young new teacher - tall, good looking, although a little awkward and a bit bookish. Funny thing is, she's not a lot older than some of the students in her class.

Of course, this class isn't the most studious collection of scholars in the system. We're the 'trades' boys.' Generally, we find ourselves in trades' because we're deemed by our high school guidance counsellers to be not quite 'up' to the intellectual demands of the academic stream, but not yet ready to be set loose on the workshops of the world. In the rough and tumble world of these 'trades' boys, nothing quite says 'I love you' like a good head butt or a quick game of smacky-face.

We aren't all human meatballs, of course. Some of us actually enjoy pursuits of the mind - like reading. Take my case, for example. I had always been an avid reader. But somehow Miss P. made literature even more seductive. She did things to add that little something extra to our learning experience. Like taking the class into that mossy old graveyard behind the District High. She urged us to use these opportunities to 'soak up atmosphere' for our compositions. Like the one she assigned on death and dying.

Another time, she had us rewrite a scene from Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar' to make it more relevant to our own lives and our developing worldviews. I set mine in a leadership smackdown in a biker gang.

Her current effort to foster the development of our budding literary sensibilities involved a two-part Valentine's Day project. The first part was to come up with a plot to use in building a Valentine's Day short story. In the second part we would get to the actual writing of the story. So what happened to the project? Well let me see...

It's 3:10pm on a perfect Thursday afternoon in early February. I'm a little late but that's usually not a problem with Miss. As long as you don't overdo it. Moderation in all things, she always says.

Hurrying from the stairwell towards her classroom I run into two hot looking chicks lounging along nonchalantly. They're gushing on about the Beatle's latest release, the so-called 'White Album'. The one with 'Back in the U.S.S.R.' Hmmm, we students can relate to that feeling, can't we, I'm thinking. The three of us are doing our best to not pay any attention to the crackly, scratching loudspeaker announcement drifting down from the ceiling. Nobody pays attention to the Bird's official messages.

His name isn't really the Bird. That's just what the kids call him, behind his back. Some wit christened him with the nickname because he's skinny,and bald. Rumour has it that he was born old and fully-grown and that his mother called him Mr. Partridge right from the get go. Mr. Partridge, our illustrious Vice-Principal. Most of us took his title to mean principal in charge of curbing student vice. And I must say, he is pretty good at it.

This time they're announcing the details of the school's latest hair-brained scheme to halt the spread of one of the most welcome fashion developments since pockets on a shirt – the miniskirt.

"Any young woman found wearing a skirt deemed inappropriate...blah, blah, blah...will be sent to the Vice Principal's Office...blah, blah, blah...four inches above the knee..."

One of the two golden goddesses titters, "Oh, man. And who's going to do the measuring, the Bird?"

"Yeah, man," the other drawls, "What if a guy's wearing one?"

We'd been hearing all manner of warnings about this latest danger to the moral well being of Western society. By now, everybody knows women in mini-skirts are not allowed into the Vatican or Disneyland.

Tommy Dangile's family had just come back from Disneyland. Tommy got a lot of laughs telling how his family was restricted from entering Mickey's theme park. It seems the gatekeepers there measure the distance from women's knees to their hemlines. His mother had to rip the hem out of his sister's skirt to make the offending item of clothing conform to Walt's idea of proper attire.

Anyway, hurrying into the classroom to take my place, I could hear Miss saying with every bit of enthusiasm she could muster, "Okay, who has a Valentine's plot they'd like to share with us? Now, remember guys, there's a story behind everything." Her twitchy smile flickered like the light in a Halloween pumpkin.

In any other class, this kind of stupid opening remark would surely be met with stony silence or the crashing tinkle of one dropped pencil. Especially with the trades boys. If you were in the trades stream it meant you were an adolescent male, and these adolescent males considered it a point of honor not to show any kind of enthusiasm. Ever.

It just wasn't cool.

But with Miss, things were different.

Mike Iannnetti, the wiry little guy from St. Mary's Parish puts his hand in the air and waves it back and forth like he's trying to shake the hand off the end of his arm. "Miss, Miss, I got one."

Taking one quick swallow, Miss plunges in, "Okay Mike, why don't you start us off."

Theatrically, Mike stands up, pulls up his blue jeans, tugs his belt a little to the left, then a little back to the right. Running one hand through his spiky hair, he picks up his paper and looks around with a knowing smirk. "Youse guys are gonna like this one."


With a trace of a quiver in her voice, Miss says, "And this is suitable for mixed company, right, Mike?" as she takes her place behind the protective cover of her desk.

Mike's face squinches up like he's just had a bad sting from a hornet. "Of course, Miss." In a wounded tone he could not quite conceal, he says, "You know me."

From the back of the class somebody snorts, then smothers the rest of their laugh. Mike struggles to regain his dignity.

Deep breath. Exhale.

"Okay, are youse ready? Here goes."

"Returning home, a young single woman finds the Doberman pinscher her boyfriend gave her for Valentine's Day, choked up and experiencing great difficulty breathing. Rushing her Valentine's Day gift to the veterinarian she leaves him there for treatment.

"Re-entering her house, she picks up the ringing telephone. It's the vet.

"Get out of the house now!" he tells her.

"Why, what's the matter?" she asks.

"Just do it. Go to a neighbor's. I'll be right there."

"Minutes later she sees the police pull up in front of her house. When she goes back outside they're entering it with drawn guns.

"The vet arrives.

He jumps out of the car and says, "When I looked inside the dog's throat I found two human fingers. I figure the dog must have surprised a burglar."

Mike pauses to take a quick look around to gauge the effectiveness of his plot.

"Go ahead Mike, you're doing fine," Miss says.

Smirk restored, Mike picks up the story. "Sure enough, police find a man in a deep state of shock hiding in the bedroom closet clutching his blood covered hand."

A couple of the dumber bozos actually boo him but most of the guys start clapping. Mike couldn't have beamed a more radiant smirk. Miss stands up, a big smile on her pretty face.

"Very good, Michael. A good example of a tightly tailored plot. Notice that character, setting and description were all minimized to keep the focus on the plot. And that Michael even managed to get the Valentines Day topic into the plotline. I'd say it would be hard not to be interested in a tale like that, even if it isn't true."

Well, that last bit didn't appear to sit well with Mike. He gets this look in his eye, like he's about to go a little hinky. Not picking up on the soured look, Miss smiles, turns blithely away, and says "Okay, who's next?"

Tim, the tall guy from Grand Avenue with the black dyed hair stands up. He's considered mostly cool because he drives one of those new Mustangs, a yellow one and wears Hansen boots.

"On a crowded street, during a bright Valentines Day afternoon, a young couple, obviously in love, approach me on a busy downtown street. I'm on my way to pick out a Valentines Day present for my mother."

A little wave of groans ripples though the class.

"Before I realize what they're up to, one of them throws some Coke onto my new fringed suede jacket. I'm standing there in shock, and they're apologizing like mad. The chick starts trying to clean me up, dabbing at my jacket with a paper napkin.

While she keeps me busy, the guy goes around behind me. All at once he jerks my jacket down over my arms. They're pinned. I can't move them at all. At last, I understand what's going on. They're robbing me. Of course! They take my wallet with all my money and take off into the traffic, before jumping into a taxi and getting away."

I think I hear a sarcastic boohoo but...

Tim folds his lanky frame back into the shiny wood-top desk, and puts his paper down.
He doesn't look up at Miss, or at Mike.

"Well, Tim, that was...interesting...a little brutal perhaps...but another good example of a closely plotted storyline."

Nobody seems to know quite what to say, or do.

Brightly, Miss looks us over.

"Yes, Guillame, do you have a plot you would like to share?"

My turn.

At this point, I must say, that I often feel as if I enjoy a certain unfair advantage. After all, I've loved books all my life. I'm an insatiable reader.

"My plot concept is borrowed from the famous English author Somerset Maugham, Miss." I say with all the assurance I can muster." I'm hoping I'm pronouncing it correctly. Although I've read a lot of his work I've never actually heard anyone say his name.

"I've adapted an idea he wrote about but never used for an actual story."

I see her eyes light up, then she turns her head towards the window and says, "Okay, go ahead, Guillame." I don't know why, but her shoulders seem to be shaking a little.

"Just after the Second World War, two young Englishmen are working on a tea plantation in the mountains of Sri Lanka, then called Ceylon. One of the two, Brian, gets handfuls of letters every time the mail pouch arrives from Britain. The other man, John, never receives any.

One particular mail delivery day just before Valentine's, John offers to pay Brian five pounds if Brian will give him one of his letters from home.

'Five quid,' John says, 'for one letter.'

Brian looks at him. He can tell John is serious. Maybe he even feels a little pity for the guy.

'Sure,' Brian says. 'Take your pick.'

Without hesitating, John reaches out and picks up the envelope marked 'To My Valentine'.

The envelope is perfume scented and is all decorated with small hand-drawn red hearts. Brian is more than a little surprised at John's choice of letters but he doesn't quite know what to do, or what to say. So he does nothing, takes the five pounds, puts it in his pocket and leaves the room.

Later that day, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Brian asks his co-worker what the letter was about. 'None of your business,' is all he gets in return.

'All right, then,' Brian says. 'I'll pay you thrice what you paid for it. Be a sport, old chap, and let me buy it back. What do you say, old boy?'

"Not on your life," is the reply. And with that, John gets up and leaves the room.

Triumphantly, with only the tiniest hint of a flourish, I sit down.

Nobody moves. Nobody says anything for at least one full minute. It is so quiet in the classroom of the pretty, young, English Lit teacher that we can hear the squeaks of running shoes on the floor out in the hallway.

"Is that it?" Mike says, giving voice to the thought on everyone's mind. "Well, if that's all there is to it, I think it's a stupid plot for a Valentine's Day story."

"In literature," Miss pipes up, "When we critique someone, it's best to put it in terms like 'I need such and such because' -"

"But what about if it's just idiotic?" Mike says.

"Well," she says, "In literature, it's important to remember that everyone is logical in their own terms."

"Okay," Mike says, amiably, as he turns towards me. "So what was in the letter?"

I smile my biggest, bestest, shit-eatingest grin and say "None of your business."

And that, Mr. Principal, is precisely when the fight started.