Four seasons of a tree.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 16th January 2005.

There was a man who had four sons. He wanted them to learn to not judge things too quickly, so he sent each, in turn, on a quest to look at a pear tree a great distance away.

The first son went in the winter, the second in spring, the third in summer, and the youngest, in the fall. When they had all returned, he called them together to describe what they had seen.

The first son said that the pear tree was ugly, bent and twisted. The second one said no - it was covered with green buds and full of promise.

The third said the tree was laden with blossoms that smelled sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful thing he had ever seen. The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and drooping with fruit.

The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because they had each seen but one season in the tree's life. He added that you cannot judge a tree - or a person - by only one season, and that the essence of who we are - and the pleasure, joy and love that come from life - can only be measured at the end, when all the seasons are up.

Carrot, egg or coffee bean?

Taken from The Sunday Star, 2nd January 2005.
Sent in by Jaysheila Manoharan.

A young woman complained to her mother about how hard things were for her. She was tired of fighting and struggling, and felt like giving up. It seemed as though whenever one problem got solved, another cropped up.

The mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and put them on the stove to boil. Then she placed carrots in the first pot, eggs in the second, and ground coffee beans in the last and let them boil. After about 20 minutes, mum fished the carrots and eggs out and placed them in a bowl, and ladled the coffee into another bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she said, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs and coffee."

She drew the girl closer and asked her to feel the carrots. The daughter did, and noted that they were soft. She was then asked to take an egg and remove the shell. The egg was hard-boiled. Finally, the young woman sipped the coffee from the second bowl, smiling as she breathed in its rich aroma.

"What does all this mean, mum?"

her mother explained that three items had faced the same adversity - boiling water - but each had reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile but its thin outer shell and protected its liquid interior. And the boiling water had hardened what was inside. However, the coffee beans were unique - they actually changed the water!

"Which are you?" mum asked. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Do you become soft and lose your strength when you encounter pain? Are you like the egg, which had a malleable heart that changes with the heat? Do you become bitter and hard inside after facing hardship?"

"Or are you like the coffee beans, which actually changes the hot water - the very factor that causes pain. As the water boils, the bean releases its fragrance and flavour. In times of trial and darkness, can you, like the bean, elevate yourself to another level?

Keys to my life.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 14th November 2004.
Written by Leonard Selva Gurunathan.


Many of us have certain things that make us better people and our life, an unforgettable journey. For me, the organ had played and still plays a major role in my life.

It all started when my parents got me an organ when I was 11 years old. I was thrilled to see it in our living room. I wondered: "How am I going to play all those keys with just 10 fingers?"

Mr Jeffrey, my first teacher, was very patient and kind. He sparked my interest in the instrument with creative impro-visations on every piece that he played for me.

By the time I was 13, I realised that whenever I was happy or sad, something would tell me to go to the organ and play. When I was sad, I would play a sad piece; when I was happy, it would be a happy tune.

Once, when I was reprimanded by my father for not completing some assignment he had given me, I went straight for the organ and hit the keys with a clenched fist. That produced a thunderous sound.... Of course, my father gave me a piece of his mind, in a thunderous voice.

When I was in Form Four, the organ took a backseat as I concentrated more on games with my friends. I also decided to take a break from lessons.

That year, I faired badly in my mid-term exams. As I headed home with a heavy heart, I wondered what to tell my parents.

As I reached my house, something told me to look towards the window in the living room. There, with a thick cloth draped over it, was the organ. On top of it was a family photo, books, a vase filled with flowers ... it had become a piece of furniture on which to display household items.

I puled off the cloth and lifted the lid of the organ. It was dusty. I played a few notes and, slowly, it all came back to me. I started playing all my favourite pieces. Suddenly, I realised that my parents were behind me. They were so happy to see me at it again. I told them my results and they said it was okay, as long as I worked harder in future.

A few years later, I entered collage and soon discovered I was in love. While all my friends were busy writing love letters to their heartthrobs, I was composing songs for mine.

I wanted to express my feelings for her without a single word, yet with a thousand sentences. I could only manage that with the organ. There were times when we had minor arguments and would not talk for days. But the minute I played the songs I composed for her on the organ, she would be there.

We are married now and the organ is in our living room. I still play it to communicate with my wife. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I will sit and wonder what the organ means to me. I see my face on its varnished surface and I realised that's how it helps me to express myself - it reflects my emotions.

Well, in a few hours, a young student will be starting his first lesson with me. I think I'll use a mirror to help him understand the beauty of this instrument.

An angel of my own.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 24th October 2004.
Sent in by Kamalhesvari Nagaraj.

There was a time when I felt angels had no place in my life. My childhood was difficult and hurtful. The one bright spot that remained constant was my maternal grandmother.

She lived halfway across the country so I didn't see her nearly as much as I'd have liked to. When she visited she had a way of making me feel loved and special. She accepted me just the way I was and I always felt safe when she was near.

I grew older and got into all kinds of trouble. I got pregnant at the age of 15/ I had not told anyone yet when my grandma came for one of her visits. It was near Mother's Day. She had a penchant for costume jewellery and she gave me one of her rings.

Needless to say, I was pretty surprised and exclaimed, "But Gram, you're only supposed to give gifts to mothers on Mother's Day!" She looked at me with infinite wisdom and simply said, "I know."

That was it. I felt her love and compassion and total acceptance. I still cherish that ring. It's tarnished and the pearl has faded, but there is no other ring of mine quite as beautiful to me.

Later, when I told her I was going to keep the baby, she told me to live with the father before I married him. That was almost 27 years ago - certainly not your average bit of advice for the times. It turned out to be the best advice I have ever taken.

But the father just perpetuated the misery I experienced at home. Eventually, I left him and took my daughter with me.

For the better part of my life, I felt like a misfit and sought refuge in drugs. Misery and despair were my daily companion. Sadly, my grandma died during this time.

My daily use of drugs and my running from reality accelerated. I wanted to stop but couldn't. My life had become a hell that I longed to be released from. I nearly killed myself with overdoses on more than one occasion.

I felt totally worthless and spiritually bankrupt. I tried to protect my daughter from the filth my life had become, but it was becoming impossible. I hated myself even more for what I was doing to her.

I prayed to God, though I didn't have much faith. I believed in God, but felt that he didn't believe in me. Why should he? I was the most vile of creatures.

In desperation one dark night, I prayed more fervently than ever. There was one difference though. I prayed to my grandmother.

I knew without doubt that if there was indeed a God, she sat close to him. She was the kindest, most loving person I had ever known and could only be at God's side. If anyone could help me, it was her.

My prayers were answered. The next day, I received a call from a rehabilitation centre. I had tried the week before to get in, but there was a waiting list and they said they wouldn't have space for months. This was for a 30-day programme, but they kept me for three long months. Eventually, I gained the tools and strength to get clean and stay that way.

I joined a 12-step programme and sought therapy for myself and my daughter.

That was 13 years ago. Slowly, I healed physically, spiritually and emotionally. I started to become whole. It hasn't always been easy. I've learn to let people love me and to trust enough to love others. I've since married a wonderful man I know my grandma would love.

My therapist once said she was amazed that I could even function in the real world, given everything that had happened to me when I was younger. I believe it was my grandmother's unconditional love that led me from certain death into the loving and rewarding life that I live today. She will always live on.

Faith in oneself.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 3rd October 2004.
Sent in by J. W. Lee

The master has just concluded his session on reincarnation and the lessons one undergoes during different lifetimes.

Disciple A and B: Honourable Master, how many lifetimes does one's soul need to go through in order to reach he state of enlightenment?

Master: What do you think?

Disciple A: Er ... Many, I guess. Probably hundreds.

The Master frowns, but nods.

Disciple B: Hmm ... I guess tens?

Master (smiles): Yes, that would be true too.

Disciple A: But Master, how can there be two contradicting truths?

Master: There is no contradiction. You lack faith in yourself, thus your inner soul requires many cycles of life to learn and grow spiritually.

But Disciple B has greater faith and confidence. Thus, he will progress through the lessons in life much faster. Hence, his answer is also true, for him.