im in a wonder-mood.


wondering if mum misses me at work (haha) & what she'd have for lunch,
wondering if dad's okay overseas and if he misses 'everybody loves raymond',
wondering if smu allowing students to skip classes without legitimate reasons is that much of a "lucky" thing for my sis,
Wondering how netballers gonna come out of this weekend's matches & ultimately- nationals,
wondering how bestie is doing in school right now,
wondering if everyone's feeling lethargic from the entire week's schedule
wondering how annoyingly stereotypical teachers can get,( but there're very repectable and nice ones of course! (: )
wondering how im gonna perform for CTs and mid years, prelims, and shucks As.
wondering why im experiencing paranoia and low self-esteem whenever i think of As.
wondering when i'll jolt awake
wondering if im heading towards the right direction in the first place.
wondering how im gonna get through this year
wondering why i just ate so much for breakfast when i had two dinners yesterday
wondering about how my timings have disappointingly declined and what i should do
wondering why im always unable to focus
wondering what i should do to keep awake for all my lectures next week
wondering if someone's drinking enough water and feeling better
wondering if fevers subside fast and if physical exercises would worsen it
wondering if im illusional or a happy lucky contended girl
wondering why today must be 24 hours
wondering why cant saturday come instantly

wondering if im wondering too much.

& really hoping things will turn out a simple kinda lovely (:



oh yes, i came across this read;



She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach.
"Good-bye joy,"
I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on.

I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy." She giggled.
"You're funny," she said.

In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.

"I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared....

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again.

"I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation." She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today."

She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
"Why?" she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt? " she inquired.
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?" "Of course it hurt!!!!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."
"Not at all - she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it.
"Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught.
"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." her voice faltered. "She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues - a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.

Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms.
"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.

Six Words - one for each year of her life - that speak to me of harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand - who taught me the gift of love.


I wish for you, a sandpiper.