Setting Forth: Forays Into Life

I always remember that when I was a child back at Zamboanga City, my parents would always prod me to become a lawyer or a doctor or a politician, saying that “these are the three ways to be filthy rich quick and fast”. We did not have a lot of money back then; we were just a lower middle class family trying to find a place to finish our university education. Surely, things changed when I got a scholarship from the Philippine Science High School (I could have easily became a biologist back then, get a few scientific prizes and have a good amount of money on research), but then, getting another scholarship to a Turkish charter school and going to that particular school had probably changed my life in a much profound way.

Well, I always dreamed of being one of two things: being a biologist and/or being a pilot. I imagined flying the skies using a Boeing Jumbo jet; I imagined creating something that would change the world. And all this time, people told me that I was crazy…well, that was the kindest of words that they ever used, to be honest.

I saw adulthood as a time to work; a time to have a bit of fun, a time to experience the reality of life, maybe get fat and realize the better things in life other than money. Sure, I’d like to have a house, a vehicle, a family, a something…but life is pretty content. That’s what I supposed when I was back in high school, living in an era similar to the Dark Ages.

Well, I never supposed that I’ll have to deal with my own insurance bills when I became a college student. And right now, I’m 20, I’m about to graduate from Middle East Technical University here in Ankara, I’m about to pay off my yearly insurance, I’m taking up summer school, I have plans for this and that, I’m expecting that I’ll break out into the literary scene one day, blah blah blah.

The truth is that you think adulthood is easy, but once you get there, you’ll realize that you want to go back to childhood at a certain degree. Why bother with problems (or other people’s problems) when you can have an easy and smooth life, right?

The thing is this: I believe that a victory without struggle is a hollow one. I believe that stars won’t shine without darkness, and the real value of the sun is never appreciated unless the night comes and “devours” it. Surely, young adulthood is pretty hard, with all the responsibilities and the catches that come with it. But at least I’m quite thankful that I don’t have to get into the “9 to 5 rat race” just yet, which, at that point, the whole dimension of what “adulthood” means changes once again.

There are times that I just don’t want to do anything, but I force every nerve and every muscle to do that thing…maybe because it is important or it is something of value. There are times that I feel frustrated and I’d just like to throw my body over the wall, but I keep on going, maybe half-blind, maybe half-broken.

Because I know very that at the end of the day, the harder the hardship, the sweeter the endings that happen. And oh, it does not just happen in fairy tale stories!

I’m 20. I have nothing but a couple hundred of dollars in my pocket. I’m a college student in my senior year who is trying to be idealistic-realistic-modernist-westerner-blah blah blah, and who eagerly wants or wishes to be admitted into a MA/MFA program in Creative writing somewhere in the US/UK/Australia/the Philippines. La-la-la.

And I know that I can do something not just for myself, but also for the ideals that I fight for. Oh, by the way, wish me luck in my forays into the world of work! Shouldn’t be that hard, no?

For more angles…Thanks for reading!

On a Train

I have just came out from a freaking midterm examintaion for my summer school classes, which, I should say, is very stressful, useless, and time-consuming, so I’ll be honest and not mince words with you: I am not a talkative person when it comes to strangers and acquaintances whom I never, ever had a chance to open up with. I am not the kind of guy who talks to people whom I do not know, because as far as I am concerned, my time inside public transportation is my time for retrospect, reflection, serious reading, name it!!!

The reality is that I am in a freaking foreign country, and as long as I do not wear a headset or earphone, someone will always try to talk and open up conversation in about one of five cases when I’m boarding the bus, and one out of sixteen cases when I board the train. In this case, I try to be as polite as possible, especially when it involves people who are older than me. After all, I do not want to offend anybody despite the fact that they are eating through my private time…

However, when it comes to <insert expletive here> high school students, I usually tend to get away from them as one would get away from a leper. They are f*****g immature and have the tendency to ask stupid questions, except for a few remarkable persons, of course.

Unlike most people, I am a bit sensitive about my personal space, despite the fact that I’m between being an introvert and an extrovert; besides, I am just learning to open up to people because I did not have a freaking life in high school. So, that should explain a lot of my postering…

Anyways, I’d like to have space for my mind to wander or to be “peaceful”, and as of this moment, the only place where I get it is whenever I pray and whenever I’m on public transportation, so I hope that people will understand whenever I try to be laconic and limited as possible…

I know that most people have good intentions and are people who just want to connect and to learn a lot of other people’s culture. But they must understand that people have their own concerns too, and I hope that me being honest and direct does not make the the equivalent of a snob and a no-lifer who is just intolerant of other people.

That’s just me saying.

Take care…


Good luck and have fun!


War Stories

I’ll be downright honest with you: this is not my own story, it is actually the story of my cousin who has served in the Police Task Force in the Zamboanga City crisis, which I also experienced almost a year ago. He tells this tale while he taking a break from the battle as more reinforcements have arrived on that day.

As for my story, it did not involve any cringe details;it was more about the life behind the scenes, the life that war brings to the suburbs (see 9/9/13), so I guess I’ll leave the floor to him:

It was the second day of battle, and as we went towards Lustre Street to redeploy our troops, all I can see was blood, gore, and death in its most primal form. There were bodies everywhere; bodies of soldiers, of rebels, and of civilians strewn around like manikins, and almost no one dared to get them lest they be picked off by the separatist snipers…

The corpses were beginning to stink; there were different kinds of corpses, some new, some rotting, some decaying, and some flowing with blood as if they were forming a spring of it or something…Me and my comrades were accustomed to the smell due to our training and experience, however, our newer comrades were not as hardened, and they covered their faces with thick cloth to block the obnoxious and horrible smell…

They were saying in the news reports that there were only a couple of dozen wounded or dead, but that’s a freaking lie, bro, that’s a freaking lie: In that street alone, death comes by the bundle. There’s so much of it that one can just easily fill half the morgues in the city with the dead…

If you were there, I am pretty sure that you will not last there for more than five minutes. Even the media reporters simply get the hell out of there…Did you hear the expression “gateway to hell”? That’s the phrase I can use to best describe the experience.

It’s not funny being out there. Dealing with death while trying to do a full-assed job is so freaking hard. Be thankful where you are now, and don’t forget where you have come from.

(After that, we drink a few glasses of iced tea, and then he says his farewells as his scanner indicates that his battalion should be ready to join the next attack. Our house is just actually 20 minutes from the battle site itself, and the sound of artillery, bombs, and heavy gunfire can easily be heard in the distance. Anything that happens, whether it be tracer bullets streaking, firs blazing, or explosions rumbling: I can clearly hear these things in the house.)

War is never pretty. Thinking about it, I feel that the very thought of war alone makes me cringe already with horror towards the very act of it. Why do this? Seriously speaking…There’s nothing I could say.

Each one has a tale to tell, and I urge you to read them too! Good luck and have fun!

And Then…

All I can remember is that it started raining. We were enjoying the summer pretty well; hey, who does not want a dose of the Mediterrenean weather? We were eating watermelons, melons, and green grapes, all directly fresh from the orchard; the rain did not seem to cause us any trouble.

And then the first balls came down very slowly, as if they were from a slo-mo replay.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

At first, it felt like melted snow. It felt so cold, while it felt so…refreshing at the same time.

Wait. What does melted snow do in summer?



Then a child came and asked me:

“Is it winter? I thought we were in the middle of…”

Without wasting any time, I quickly shouted in the manner of an 18th-century artilleryman:

“Go to the nearest cover! Incoming!”

I took whatever fruits I could: I was lucky to have left all my other belongings at the nearby 5-star hotel. Well, so much for having a break between conferences…

Then the big guns came. Hailstones the size of pebbles rained every second; it sounded like a minigun firing its lead at full power.

God. What did we do to deserve this crap? Is this climate change?

In the meantime, people murmured around me about their swimming pleasure being interrupted by this force majeure.

If only these people realize that there are much more important things than pleasure: Be it the issues of the world…or simply living much better lives. Oh wait, what the heck am I doing here in the first place? This seems so hypocritical and humbug to me…

Well, I did not want to be a freaking humbug and know-it-all, so I just tried to symphatize with the people around me. The only person…or shall I say being that I really had real sympathy, was the child who asked me that earlier, standing by his mother at a corner of the lobby.

Then the golf balls came falling down from the sky: It is as if the end has arrived.

The sound was unbearable; in addition, we can clearly see the glasses broken one by one, with people around me instinctively ducking every now and then.

I can clearly see the fear in everyone’s eyes. Well, I don’t know if I am calm or composed or whatever, but I’m pretty sure that all of us have fears inside.

And then…

And then the hail stopped.

It lasted only ten minutes, but as far as I can tell, everyone’s beach experience has been wrecked literallty: Tents were crushed; umbrellas were shredded, and shards of glass were everywhere, making it very, very dangerous; adventurous at best to wander around the beach barefoot.

What I did was I sliced one watermelon, took a seat, and opened my mobile phone.

Beach’s over for today, I guess.

Come for more stories!

Nature can be very unpredicatble at times, no?

The Last 10 Days of Ramadan: One Window

Ramadan, as everyone knows, is the month where Muslims are not just supposed to abstain from food and water, but are supposed to fast the eyes, mouth, hands, feet, and heart as well. The thing is that the last 10 days, which is the most important part of the month are upon us.

As far as I can remember, we are supposed to do a lot more in terms of good things and worship, and as far as I can recall, my experience of the last 10 days has been nothing short of amazing, whether I spend the month in Turkey or in the Philippines.

The day always starts with a pre-dawn meal called sahur, which is more or less like a sort of breakfast. In a typical sahur meal here in Turkey is composed of fried potatoes, jam, chocolate spread, watermelons/grapes/any fruit with lots of water, olives, and God-knows-what-else (usually, a middle-class home here will have around 10-12 types of dishes during this time). Then there’s of course tea and water, and after a good hour of eating and talking with friends, some pray the supererogatory prayers while some others read books or just do some dhikr.

Afterwards, the guys in the house pray the fajr prayer altogether, and since it is still dark, a lot of us go back to sleep (including me). During Mondays and Tuesdays, I usually end up early for summer class; while on the rest of the days, I spend my time doing some other business. If anything else, I try to read a religious book or take care of my WordPress blog.

I observed that the day does not drag very much, as long as a person does something, such as walking, reading, or doing house work…Sleeping does not do much good; and surfing the Net 24/7 or playing lots of computer games does not seem to do the trick, as all three cases leave the person doing it much more tired and haggard than they were supposed to be.

Then comes the sunset, and if everything’s good, there’s always someone  (that’s usually one of my Turkish buddies) who will call. The conversation will always go like this:

“Salam. Bro, got any place to visit today?”

“Ehhh, nope. Why?”

“Someone just invited us. Be at so-and-so at around 7:30, alright? And oh, don’t forget to bring your friends!”

“Sure thing, bro.”

Then of course, we dress up a bit and go with our friends and visit all places and all sorts of houses. All our hosts have been very, very good; the food has been generally great…This is usually followed by tea time and snacks, where all sorts of topics are being discussed, from religion to politics; from football to school…

During one of those times,before the tarawih prayer, the imam exhorted the congregation to do something about Gaza, be it a charity drive or simply informing more people about the issue so that they can take the necessary steps.

When I remember the word “Gaza”, I remember death and devastation. Oppression and lies. Whitewashing and deception. Indifference and hate. All I can see are animals who delight at the death of others, or bears in man’s clothing who are not minding the sufferings of a part of humankind.

I really hated seeing those children die…Especially when I saw the pictures where the IDF struck 4 children on the beach who were just playing football, I could not help but say to myself: May Allah help Palestine.

And then the tarawih prayer comes. One of the best moments, I must say: No words could convey the atmosphere that exists during each Ramadan night.

And then it’s the end of another day. On to another sahur…

Sometimes, being a human is just plain hard. I am just hoping that one day, people will be able to have good Ramadan(s) and be able to bask in the atmosphere without having to worry about rockets, bombs, and shells dropping over their houses and heads.

Peace is a hard thing to attain. But nothing is impossible, as long as it is wanted, isn’t it?

Paragons of A New World

Most of us aren’t really happy with the world that we live in right now. With all the oppression and recession that is going, who would not like to change the world?

Many people want to change the world. Some of them fail; some of them die in the process. And those who survive to do it become paragons of an increasingly globalized planet.

Changing the world isn’t easy. And all of us know that change is a slow and painful process. We are also aware that if someone attempts to change the world through war and/or revolution, destruction and hatred are left in their aftermath.

If one does really want to change the world, then he/she must consider three things: education, economy, and the self.

For those of us who are taking up educational sciences, we may be familiar with the notion that “education is the driver of change”. And more than often, it has proven to be true. If we want to change the world towards the better, we must give the children of our generation a well-rounded education that does not just satisfy their material needs, but their emotional and spiritual needs as well.

There is a very good Chinese proverb that explains the importance of education. It says: “When planning for a decade, plant corn. When planning for a decade, plant trees. When planning for life, train and educate people.

If we train our children well, then we would be able to start changing the world. As a Muslim scholar states: “A young person is a sapling of power, strength, and intelligence. If trained and educated properly, he or she can become a “hero” overcoming obstacles and acquire a mind that promises enlightenment to hearts and order to the world.”

Next comes the economy. As everyone knows, a large part of the world economy is in the hands of a few multinational entities. In other words, a huge amount of money is circulating among the hands of the few. To upset this, people must pool capital and start creating business firms, whether it be in the manufacturing or in the service sectors. At the same time, these firms must create their own R&D sections, and must expand properly so that the “monopoly of a few” would be broken. In this way, money will circulate within a fairly larger chunk of the population and people would realize that they could empower themselves.

Finally, the most important part is the self. Without changing ourselves first, how will we have the ability to change society? If we don’t change ourselves, we won’t be able to change anything at all.

People must learn how to prefer others over themselves. But at the same time, they must not forget to work for their own happiness; and they should learn from their mistakes. After all, as the famous cliche goes, “Experience is the best teacher.”

If all of us learn compassion and altruism, then we will understand that we humans were created to help others and to improve ourselves. And once we understand this, then we can embark on our quest to refine this world.

Editing this world is no easy task. But if we do it with good intentions, and once it is accomplished, then all of us will feel the blessing of living a happy and productive life in this world.

As the paragons of a new world, we can make this world a better place. Always.

It would be a little bit nice if we have more perspective, ain’t it?

For more stories, visit here! Thanks for your time!

PS: Interpreted the prompt wrongly :D Sorry for the mistake! Lulz.


Ever since when I was conscious of the world around me, people have described me as someone “who does not care a lot about his possessions”; thus, as far as I am concerned, it would be almost impossible for me to determine a single item that is associated with me and my personality.

When I was a child, I basically had three items that defined me as a person: a remote-controlled car, a BB gun, and a wire-controlled helicopter. Each of them had a story.

The remote-controlled car represented my best efforts at saving money, as well as a hallmark of my father’s love for me, because we shared the costs of buying that toy. It was absurdly expensive by our standards during the time, however, at the end of the day, I got to enjoy it for four long years before it finally worn out.

The BB gun was a representation of my personality ever since when I was a child: Though people mostly recognized me as someone who is smart and clever, I prefer to go behind the scenes and remain as underrated as much as possible; only to break out at the most opportune moment. For the record? It was a semi-automatic sniper rifle that had a range of 200 meters. And for some reason, I always aimed at dogs’ eyes whenever I had a chance to do so (and my beloved papang berated me hard for it!)

The wire-controlled helicopter was a dream: A dream of seeing myself flying through the sky and controlling the skies. It was cheaper, however, I just got as much pleasure as I could have taken from buying a RC helicopter, which was way far too expensive already.

Then came my teenage years at high school. All I can remember is the dark. I hated that moment, however, one thing made me love life a little bit more, even if people would blame me that I’m addicted to it:

Computer games.

Within the world of computer games, I could be anybody; I could dominate anybody as long as I’m creative enough, and with a little bit more luck, I can set the rules of the game, anywhere, anytime that I want. This is in stark contrast to the blurred life that I’ve had in my high school years: In my high school, the only thing that was worth the time were the teachers and the activities inside the dormitory (I’m saying this even though I’m considered to be a “top-flight student”).

I came to Turkey, and the computer monitor became more stuck with my name: I read e-books, write all sorts of things, listen to all kinds of music, and play a lot of games on any laptop/desktop/rig/contraption that I could find.

Soon, I admitted that it has defined a good part of my life. Due to my searches in Google, I learned a lot more about the world; I learned how to synthesize things, and I learned how people in the past tried to change the world…

The Internet has given me a big chance to prove my worth.

So this is it. To conclude, my friends would immediately associate me with being a writer.

But most of them forget that I write using a word processor…on a computer.

And oh, even as of this moment, I’m writing this post on a computer hub at my university!


This is how I define the item that has defined me.

What’s yours?

Let’s check theirs, shall we?

Rebusao Saging

When I was a child, my father always asks me to pluck his gray hairs off his head, every weekend at 1:30 in the afternoon. He always takes an one-hour nap at this time of the day, when the sun is unforgivingly hot and humid, as is typical of most tropical settings.

I try to get the gray hairs off my Papang‘s head as meticulously as I can using a small device called a “puller”. It was painstakingly hard: I needed to check every single inch of his head in order to see if there are any of them lurking inside my father’s jet-black hair.

Usually, after an hour, my father just wakes up from his nap (provided that I did not escape halfway, which I do quite a lot), and he always asks me to go to the stall some three hundred meters away from our humble wooden contraption where an old lady sells caramel-coated fried bananas, known in the local language as “rebusao saging”, or simply “rebusao”.

Rebusao saging was, and is still one of my favorite snacks: I can usually smell the sweet scent of caramel, as if inviting people to taste it and to grab it for their afternoon. I usually enter a swift trance whenever the smell of the caramel-coated bananas reach my nostrils; it is as if I am entering heaven for a while.

I buy seven sticks of the stuff (each stick has two to four bananas; I usually tend to choose the ones with three bananas) and I quickly run to my house so that I can prepare my father some coffee and I can get myself some iced tea from the fridge. My father really likes coffee, despite the fact that the weather is hot; I can easily remember a smiling image of my father in my mind whenever I smell coffee.

Afterwards, we sit down together and start eating our merienda. It is always nice to share such a moment with one’s parents…and at times, I really miss those bonding moments.

I hope that I get to smell again the musk-like scent of rebusao.

Because for me, it is a door to heaven.

And one that I can put in my stomach. LOL.

People tell different types of tales. You can see more of them here!

Hope to see you guys!

Experiences: Games and Stuff

I fondly remembered the days when I was a child and I did not have to cope with the pressure of the modern world. We played under the brightly shining sun, drinking “Eight o’ clock” powdered juice drinks, eating mangoes taken from the colossal trees of neighbors, and we made our faces brown by spending long hours under the sun. When we were tired, we simply ran to a nearby stream and bathed there, while some of us catch fish and roasted them for a good snack. Finally, if we did not have money, we would simply peddle all sorts of things from freshly harvested fruits to fish. Overall, it was an idyllic life: Even though we did not have lots of money, we were really happy and blessed.


Of course, we would walk for 20 minutes and/or take a pedicab, which is basically a bicycle with three wheels and a roof to school (I was in third grade back then) and back: However, there was no “rat race” and instead, students played all sorts of games in the large field of the school, which is also utilized as a football field and a baseball field at the same time.


Back then, time goes as fast as a race horse, and all of a sudden, December comes, with its Holiday festivities…and of course, the much-awaited Christmas vacation. But for the meantime, we eat and drink at the year-end party, where we receive all sorts of gifts.


Then, vacation comes. For us, vacation is not about having a lot of parties, or having to play with lots of expensive toys, or having to go to a lot of places. Instead, we get to gather our friends with a martial spirit, create bases, and voila!

Declare war!


Yes, you’ve seen it right! With fists, slingshots, wooden swords and shields (along with lots of chips, biscuits and juice), we try to fight and uphold the honor and glory of the purok that e live in! Of course, quite a lot of parents (especially my mother) did not agree with it, saying it is dangerous.


A normal day starts by eating our breakfast and helping our parents with the housework, followed by setting up camp at various locations in the neighborhood that we live in. Our first base was found in a grassy area filled with lots of banana trees; it was a good location to scout the opposing force (OPFOR), since the other puroks were just beyond that road!


Well, the OPFOR was pretty good too, as they created camps deep inside their respective neighborhoods, and believe me, we really had a lot of fun and frustration trying to weed them out! Thus, we tried to create strategies, whether it be raids, secondary attacks, or even pitched battles in order to reach our objectives.


For some unexplained reasons, the other purok (we were Purok 2, which is basically a couple of wooden and dilapidated houses near a middle-class bivouac, while Purok 1 hosted the basketball church and the local chapel) always took the initiative to attack; all we have to do at the first instance is to send a runner, call our friends, and fight with all our might. Our enemy had a land area 9 times bigger (and thus having lots of reinforcements), but we had the upper hand.


It was noontime. We have just finished our lunch, and we were eager to bring the battle to them; we pelted them with pebbles and a fruit of an herb, which can be easily used in a slingshot. As a general rule, we did not hit our opponents in the head; we simply tried to find chinks in the body where we can “chip shot” them.

They were really pressing the issue, as a group tried to flank us from the main road; we decided to reposition near the chapel (it was huge, by the way), and try to harass them from there while we waited our “tank force”, which was basically composed of five children with all sorts of shields and weapons.


After thirty minutes of engaging, the cavalry finally arrives, and I suggested that I take four of our fastest runners and pelt them from the rear while the rest of them engage head-on. The rest agree, and I take my friends on a run; all of us were shivering from nervousness!


Finally, we reached the basketball court, and we were completely between the opposition and our comrades! We loaded our slingshots without delay, and after ten minutes of endless firing, the other side was forced to retreat in a panicked manner!


We were not contented with that; we entered the eskinita which leads to the center of the neighborhood, and to our surprise and delight, we were able to recover a lot of slingshots, wooden swords, and some other paraphernalia, including a map of our neighborhood! Oh my God!


That was the end of a long day. We were victorious that day, but everyone knows that Luck is not really that kind, and after three vacations of fighting and dominating them (we even forced a lot of “treaties of capitulation” with them), they beefed up their ranks and conquered our fortress. I was in sixth grade, and by then we were already about to step into high school.


No matter though. I really enjoyed those days, and I hope that the children of this generation get to enjoy a childhood away from the computer monitor and Candy Crush…

One Envelope

Sometimes, kindness is all about doing large things for the community  whether it be schools, hospitals, orphanages, or roads. Sometimes, kindness is about inspiring more people to sacrifice for the greater good of humanity. Sometimes…

It is just about a touching moment on the road; it is about when you relinquish your hard-earned seat on the crowded subway train in order to let an old lady sit down in comfort. It may be about the pie that you share with your friend who has been hungry for days.

It may be about the time when you just say to your mamang, “have a rest”, and do for a day what she has done for you since you were born.

It may be just about answering your father’s phone, whom you have been estranged.

It may be just about saying hi to a friend whom you could not contact or who refuses to answer back over the past few years.

It may just be a show of love.

Or a little, silent prayer that you utter for an important or beloved person in your life.

Kindness takes many forms.

It may be charity, care, or whatever.

As long as the meaning and the intention is safe,

Then be rest assured of this:

People will not forget your kindness, and more or less, you will live an happy life.

And since telling is not enough…here’s a story for you:

When I was a bit younger, I remember going to the house of Mehmet’s uncle, who invited us for a fast-breaking dinner. It was a plush neighborhood called Or-An, located on the outskirts of Ankara, and a lot of the elite or the upper-class live there (Personally, I think that I must amass a bit of a fortune before even thinking of residing in such places!)

Anyways, the muezzin called the ezan for the sunset prayer, and since it is Ramadan, we are supposed to fast from dawn to sunset, well, we haven’t ate anything basically. We ate our dinner, and after praying, we’ve had our tea time, of course.

The thing is that out of nowhere, I was locked in a debate with the owner of the house, named Ali (I personally call him Uncle Ali), and somewhat, after a long and protracted debate (Uncle had the upper hand; after all, he is a bureaucrat and a freaking genius), he asked what I wanted to do:

“What do you want to do?”

I replied, “I want to do something for myself. Writing maybe.”

He smiled.

I thought that was the last that I would hear of him.

Not quite.

Five months later, Mehmet heard from somebody that I was planning to register for a writing contest abroad, and that I did not have enough funds for the registration fee.

Mehmet remembered the words that his uncle told him:

“If the time comes, tell me if I can help him. He deserves to have a good future…”

He called his uncle, and afterwards, his uncle sent him an ample amount of money, around 100 Turkish liras (50 US dollars).

Then he discreetly dropped by teh house and told one of my housemates about the issue.

When I reached the house from school, still thinking about where the heck I will find money for the registration fee, my short and bald and kind housemate, named Recep, gave me an envelope and said:

“Bro, Mehmet’s uncle, you remember him?”


He takes out a white envelope and says:

“He wants to give you this, and he says his best regards…and oh, don’t forget to pray for his success.”

I looked at the envelope.


I almost cried.

I could not believe it.

I will never forget the kindness that he has shown for me, and I hope that he will have a very happy life, one that is adorned with success.

For more stories, please come here! Hope you enjoyed!