Like a Bird with Flapping Wings . . . to Malaysia

When was the last time you told yourself, "Just do it?" This was how it went for me then . . .

Going on a trip to a place I have never been. I did not know what to expect, except those that I have read on the Internet and seen on photos, but for what I would be feeling when I am there, I can't comprehend.

It was the first time I would be traveling alone. Be brave my heart, I told myself.

Okay, what did I do first? Let me run through that again. I read things about the country, so I get to familiarize myself with a little of the culture. I don't want to humiliate myself . . . self-talk, self-talk. Be quite self.

(How I planned my trip)
People speak English in Malaysia, so I guess if I got lost, I will be found. Yo!

I did some homework, researching on possible places I can go, considering it will be just a short trip with just enough budget, of course. Really excited now, even with the H1N1 thingy going on, though that too crossed my mind. I just prayed, nothing much I can do about that.

You see, I wrote down my dreams several months ago, about 10 dreams, and traveling sure is listed, so please, please just do it.

Pick a place, c'mon, pick a place. I would start on local trips first, and I did. I went to Tagaytay and Quezon for this year. Then bingo, a friend is going to a wonderful Asian country by herself too. Oh yeah, better tag along. She said yes, I can tag along. Woohoo, off to the beautiful land like the Philippines, off to Malaysia.
(Tourist attractions visited: Safari, Genting, Malacca City, Batu Caves, A' Famosa, Melaka)

P.S. I just have to write this down. A reader noticed that there are lots of pigeons in the photo and told me that I was lucky I did not get hit by droppings. I said, I was not so lucky 'coz I had warm poo on my bag, heheh.

The Sin of Omission
by: Margaret E. Sangster

It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone
That gives you a bit of a heartache
At setting of the sun.
The tender work forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flowers you did not send, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.

The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way;
The bit of heart some counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle, winning tone
Which you had no time nor thought for
With troubles enough of your own.

Those little acts of kindness
So easily out of mind,
Those chances to be angels
Which we poor mortals find
They come in night and silence,
Each sad, reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging,
And a chill has fallen on faith.

For life is all too short, dear,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late:
And it isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone
Which gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.

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