Make A change: The Gift of Magi

Make A change: The Gift of Magi: It was one of those moments. Yes, the kind where you stand there like a fool, staring up at ‘whatever’ for a second and then you click...

The Gift of Magi

It was one of those moments. Yes, the kind where you stand there like a fool, staring up at ‘whatever’ for a second and then you click back to reality. The number of times I had passed the bookshelf, my old friend, are innumerable. And yet, standing there I saw it-the book, one that I had forgotten. It was a gift from one of my aunts that at age 7, seemed to be horrifyingly HUGE but still deliciously inviting. It was called the ‘Book of Virtues’. The name alone hints at what the million gazillion stories inside were about- morals. So, though the faded brown colour with golden letters etched into the side looked totally unattractive and completely void of knowledge, at that moment it seemed to me the most valuable thing I’d ever owned. And thus with the chaotic, warm welcome of greens, and reds and Santa Claus, I have here a story, a Christmas short story that I invite you all to read. If you’re not the type that likes reading, just continue until the end and I assure you that what you will learn from it will definitely be worth the read!

The Gift of Magi:

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had the word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name ‘Mr. James Dillingham Young.’

The ‘Dillingham’ had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of ‘Dillingham’ looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called ‘Jim’ and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater that she calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling- something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window someday to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read, ‘Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.’ One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked ‘Sofronie.’

‘Will you buy my hair?’ asked Della.

‘I buy hair,’ said Madame. ‘Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.

Down rippled the brown cascade.

‘Twenty dollars,’ said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.

‘Give it to me quick’ said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.

She found it at last. It surely had been for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation- as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew it was Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value- the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly cautious of the time in any company. Grand as the chain was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends- a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close curling curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

‘If Jim doesn’t kill me,’ she said to herself, ‘before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like Cooney Island chorus girl. But what could I do-oh! What could I do with one dollar and eighty-seven cents?’

At 7 o’ clock the coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: ‘Please God, make him think I am still pretty.’

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two- and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

‘Jim, darling,’ she cried, ‘don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again-you wouldn’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice-what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got you.’

‘You cut off your hair?’ asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at the patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

‘Cut it off and sold it,’ said Della. ‘Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?’

Jim looked around the room curiously.

‘You say your hair is gone?’ he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

‘You needn’t look for it,’ said Della. ‘It’s sold, I tell you-sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs on my head are numbered,’ she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, ‘but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?’

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year- what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat and threw it upon the table.

‘Don’t make any mistake, Dell,’ he said, ‘about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.’

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! A quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs- the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshiped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoiseshell, with jeweled rims-just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bossom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: ‘My hair grows so fast, Jim!’

And then Della leaped like a cat and cried, ‘Oh, oh!’

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

‘Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.’

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

‘Dell,’ he said, ‘let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now, suppose you put the chops on.’

The magi, as you know, were wise men- wonderfully wise men- who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the gift of magi.

The end.

 

Just as courage takes its stand by others in challenging situations, so compassion takes a stand with others in their distress. Compassion is a virtue that takes seriously the reality of other persons, their inner lives, their emotions, as well as their external circumstances. It is an active disposition toward fellowship and sharing, toward supportive companionship in distress or in woe.

O. Henry shows us that loving compassion makes us act foolishly. But what is foolish for the head may be wise for the heart. And so, with Christmas drawing near, let us show compassion, not only to our loved ones, but to every living being upon this earth. Let us put thought into what we give others and smile, show kindness to those who are less fortunate and remember through it all, that GOD loves us!

Merry Christmas to you all!!!!!!!

 

 

Make A change: Forgive me, my dear

Make A change: Forgive me, my dear: This peom I wrote in dedication to a friend who taught me the true meaning of FRIENDSHIP. Forgive me, my dear     Brave heart, you fac...

Forgive me, my dear

This peom I wrote in dedication to a friend who taught me the true meaning of FRIENDSHIP.

Forgive me, my dear 

 

Brave heart, you faced the winds and pains
The searing pulse of poison running through your veins
But was I there to comfort you?!!!!!
Was I there to see you through?!!!!
The cruel world, the troubles, a world come crashing down
A jolt of the mind, someone fell
You knew not who it was, nor can you tell
For now you cannot see, nor can you smell

Forgive me, my dear!
For I carried you not on my shoulders
Forgive me, my dear!
For I never pushed you aside from those boulders
I'm feeling it now
My soul cries
It aches for your laugh, that sweet melodious voice

It pains, my dear!
Take it away! Take it away!
For you were there when I needed you most
When I was frustrated and crying because exams were so close
My soul cries to hear you say 'hey Chin'
Or laugh because of some joke we were cracking
To see you dance at a Diwali concert
Or see you alive, hyperactive and alert

I'm scared, my dear!
For there's alot my heart fears
Would I forget your voice, your giggles, your laughter?
Would my life have to move on without you in the next chapter?

I was scared, my dear!
That 10th month of last year
A white dress you wore, a crown on your head
Not moving, not breathing, not laughing
I wanted to shake you, to holler, to scream
'Wake up my princess! My best friend, my queen!
But you said nothing....
Just lay there in that coffin

Come back, my dear!
I promise i'll be here
We'll cross mountains, reach the sky
Touch the stars, burning high
I know you're up there
Smiling brightly through your tear
And, just like the three stars (the orion belt) in the sky, dear
We'll always be 'Rohinie, Akeeta, Sheena'-
The three musketeers!

Dedicated to: Rohinie Haridat (deceased)
Written by: Sheena Chin

*may your soul rest in peace....

Make A change: Holding Up A Burning Torch For Life

Make A change: Holding Up A Burning Torch For Life: CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! The time is indeed here when we close another chapter of our lives. For some of us exams have been all new, for othe...

Holding Up A Burning Torch For Life

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! The time is indeed here when we close another chapter of our lives. For some of us exams have been all new, for others like myself, the basic routine of the old clock at the front of the room has already worked a relaxed familiarity into our minds- in other words we’re the ‘old birds’. J

      We’ve all passed the stage of shaky hands and wild thoughts to ‘run for it while there’s still time’ when the student portal wasn’t open to access results. And, have already moved towards what our next step’ll be. Sixth form, UG, A-Levels, studying abroad, entering the work force, whatever it may be we should be proud that we’ve all accomplished something. We’ve endured the late night studying, slapping ourselves to stay awake in class, the effort put into SBA’s and IA’s, and sore bottoms after a 3 hour exam. Whatever our results may look like, it’s no use crying over spilt milk, ’tis the past. Instead, welcome the future with open arms.

       I’ve always told my brother, success comes with the three D’s: ‘Dedication, Determination and Discipline’. Use your results as a motivator, something that inspires you to drive on. It unravels your weaknesses so that you can correct them by trying your best the next time. Every one of us has a special treasure within us, the brain, so there’s no such thing as ‘I’m stupid’ or ‘I can’t do this’. Say ‘YES!!!!’ be confident, ‘I know I can’. Our Credo at President’s College has the words ‘We Can! We must! We will!’ Just try; it’s not the end of the world if you pick up a text book. I know the ‘million pages’ inside looks intimidating, but go a little at a time everyday and you’ll be okay.

      We can’t get into a university without putting extra effort, neither can being lackadaisical, or not having any goals set; it takes a lot of time spent studying and the ambition to get something out of life. We want to see social mobility taking place, to climb the rungs of that ‘social ladder’ and sit at the tippy top. We want success, a great job, a comfortable life, but we must work for it. Henry David Thoreau once said, ‘Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined’. Following your dreams is the only way you can achieve them. As you grow, learn and mature in life you’ll make adjustments to those dreams. But, that’s fine as long as you continue following them. And most of all don’t waste your time trying to live someone else’s life. Whatever interests you pursue it. Time is limited on this Earth. Don’t let the noise of other people’s thinking drown out your own voice...shout it out!!! Follow your heart and intuition; they seem to always know the way.

     As you proceed through life, remember that nothing but your best is acceptable. In everything you do, do it with a willing heart, a heart that is free of malice. It doesn’t matter if you’re writing a letter, cooking, doing chores, conducting an experiment; it should be done in a way that makes you feel proud when you’re done. Nothing in this world comes easy. Who said climbing that mountain was gonna be a walk in the park? You have to fight your way to the summit of ‘Success Mountain’. You stumble, you fall, you’re bruised and heartbroken, but be persistent...keep trying because when you get there, that euphoric feeling you’ll have will indeed make it all worth it.

     Mahatma Gandhi also said (and one of my favourite quotes) ‘You must be the change you wish to see in the world’. When people look at you they must see you standing out, you shining amongst others. They must be able to say, ‘Ah! This is someone worth admiring....a role model’. When you die people must remember you for the good that you did, the change that you made in this world. We want to be leaders; we want to set an example for others to follow, we want to cross mountains and conquer things, a desire to make a difference in society. Let’s not leave hope in Pandora’s Box this time. We’ll walk through life together with that ‘burning torch’, impacting people’s lives and making a way for hope when there seems none at all.

Best of luck in ALL of your future endeavours!!!! J

Make A change: CELEBRATING THE INNER YOU!!!!

Make A change: CELEBRATING THE INNER YOU!!!!: Do you ever go to lunch with no one by your side? Cause the moment you arrive they leave the table Calling me everything but m...