Candy: Tadada! This is my share on this week's theme: FRIENDSHIP.
Panda: Yepyep! We decided to have a theme every week to make stuff more interesting! P
Candy: MYYYY IDEAAAAAA! x)))
Panda: -sticks fingers in her ears- I CAN'T HEAR JOO. LALALLALALALA.
Candy: oo Anyway....Enjoy this story written by me and take note that none of these characters are real. (:
It was the postman again. Eagerly, I greeted him with a broad smile and received the parcel he had been holding. It was small, no larger than a cupcake and when I shook it, much to my curiosity, the little thing made a rattling noise. Untying the twine that held the parcel's wrapper together, I gingerly snapped the label off. Immediately, I recognised the handwriting as that of the little sweet girl I had helped in the home last month. With this, I was soon watching a mental replay about how we had first met.
I was a good student in class, with consistently good grades and was held in high regard as one who was meticulous and always good in her studies. However, I was always such a pessimistic person by nature and life was not all that meaningful for me other than scoring well and keeping myself from getting into any trouble. In short, I was what most would consider a "model pupil" but not many of them knew of the troubles I had had as a pessimist. So in an attempt to add a little more meaning into my life, I decided to make regular trips to the Children's Homes in my own free time to do some voluntary work.
During one of my visits, I saw this little girl lying on a bed, forever looking wistfully at the window closest to her. Looking at her deep dark eyes so full of longing, a sense of pity and sadness washed over me. After enquiring with the nurses, I soon learnt that she had been abandoned soon after her parents had discovered a deformity in her bones which rendered her unable to walk; the little girl was bedridden. I thought she must have felt lonely and left-out and probably did not have the opportunity to enjoy life to its fullest. I then decided to help this child.
The next time I visited, this same little girl was staring out of the window again. The sun was high and as it shone through the window, her dark auburn locks reflected the light so brilliantly. She looked like any other child that I knew and seemed to be very healthy. She had a nice rounded face, rosy cheeks and the most beautiful feature was her eyes. With these features and her white bed gown, she really looked like such an angel. Day by day, the visits I had with her soon became more and more frequent for she, this little angel of seven, was more energetic and talkative than I had imagined. Angela was her name; it fitted her so perfectly.
The times we shared together were so filled with happiness and it made me glad that she could actually enjoy her life so much. Most of the handicapped people I knew had never been so optimistic before but this girl was different. Spending my time with her let me bask in her warmth and joy; I had not felt so happy for quite some time already.
Everyday I would take Angela to some neighbourhood parks on her wheel chair, which was brightly decorated with stickers and streamers; a product of the artistic girl on board. She would marvel at all the beauty of nature which I could not bring myself to appreciate. Once a ladybird landed on my arm, triggering my phobic reaction towards insects and soon, I was screaming and flicking at my arm. Angela however, calmed me down and picked the ladybird up. It walked right up to her fingertip, stretched its wings and then flew away. Angela giggled – a little tinkling like that of a small brook, running freely through the park. She was such an interesting child, so full of vibrance but whenever I looked at her legs and recalled that she could not walk, I would always feel the pain and sadness. How was it that a girl so innocent and cheerful should be cursed with the inability to walk? What happened next change me for the rest of my life.
While making one of my visits to see Angela, I began the routine of talking to her and tutoring her with her subjects. She was an earnest learner and made a great pupil. I was gladdened by the fact that my excellence in academics was not only beneficial to myself, but beneficial to others as well. Soon after the lessons had begun, however, Angela asked for a glass of water. I reached over to the chest of drawers nearby, on top of which the jug was placed, got a glass out and started to pour her a glass of water. While I was pouring the water, Angela asked, "Why is it that you always look so sad? Don't you enjoy your days?" At this remark, I was shocked. Her eyes, her deep dark eyes seem to see everything – she must have been so observant for even I myself had not noticed that.
My train of thoughts swerved off track and I almost tipped the glass over. I remained silent for a while and handed the glass to her. As she drank the water, I was half-expecting her to drink it all up and held the jug in my hand. However, she only drank half of it. I was just about to put that glass away when she then asked, "How much water is there in the glass now?"
Without giving much thought to it, I blurted out, "It's half empty". After a momentary silence between us, I added, "But of course, if you'd want to find out exactly how much, you'd need a beaker or a measuring cylinder, but that's science. I'll cover that later okay?"
"Don't change the subject please. I think the glass is half full…" the little auburn locks waved gently as the girl shook her head. She gave the glass a little pat and said, matter-of-factly, "You're pessimistic. I could tell."
I was just about to retaliate when I saw that Angela had begun to write on a small mailing label that she had retrieved from the drawer. I looked over her shoulder and saw her writing my name down.
"What's your address?" She asked, tilting her head so that the sun shone once more on them, her locks reflecting with a beautiful bronze shine; much like a halo, the angel she was. I replied and watched her write all of it down meticulously and painstakingly, making it as neat as possible her childish handwriting.
"Stay optimistic okay? I know it's not going to be easy but I want you to do that," she said and stuffed the label into her gown pocket. That was the last time I visited her for the month. For the rest of the days, I kept myself busy, burying myself in mountains of books, studying for the upcoming examinations; I was forever the bookworm, pessimistic or not.
Now, looking at the label I held in my palm, I tore carefully at the wrapper and opened the little box. First, all I saw was a messy pile of shredded coloured paper. I removed that layer of paper and then saw some bubble wrap. I removed that layer too and finally uncovered the gift that had been hidden. It was a small hour glass and attached to it was a note on which I could see more of Angela's childish handwriting.
"This hour glass will always be half full."— this, she had underlined carefully with a ruler, as I had always taught her to do— "Always bear in mind the fact that you can always look on the flipside"— again, she had underlined it—"of things and make use of your time to enjoy the simple pleasures in life."
My cheeks grew warm. I felt neither embarrassed nor vindicated, neither happy nor upset. Then tears began welling up along the brims of my eyes as I realised that the person I had tried to help, had ended up helping me instead. I was touched by Angela's gift. I was touched by an "angel".
Panda: OMG! TT That's soooo sweeeeeeeet. Candy.....I lubb you...TT
Candy: oO -twitch- What's with you people?? It's just a story I wrote!
Panda: But it's touuuuuuuchiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinggggg....TT
Candy: It IS kinda touching huh.....
Panda: It's NOT kinda! It's VERY! HMPH. WEREN'T YOU LISTENING!?!?
Candy: And you were just so touched just now....x.X