Juggling thoughts

THE FORGOTTEN _an ancient tale retold. A Story by  lichanbeni   An oral traditional story I once heard.   Every evening the young son comes back home from the Morung (Chumpo) shouting grumpily to his father and tells him that the men-folks at the morung were gossip mongering of him and were criticizing him.  The son gets peeved to hear his father as the "talk of the village".  Days passed through but for his father was still the talk.  Each day he comes back and narrates the "whole-hog" to his father who calmly listens with a smile.  Gradually, the squeaky-wheel began to squeak lesser than yester- week.  The father began to wait for his son's return and inquired if he was apart of any discussion. And the son almost contentedly answers back that nothing much of him was picked.  Days passed through and little was heard and less complains and lesser to no more .  One day he asked his son, " was my name picked by a...

Every bit of what I am  began from her. I recall everything of her and the way she nurtured me as a girl to grow into who and what I am today. If am a woman today, am what she shaped and molded  me. I vividly recall the first teacher of my life. My mother, the greatest inspiration of my life. My first written alphabet before pre- school, her hand shaped beautifully. My initial education began at home with her home schooling every day. My first school with her as I attended every class she took. Every word I write is how and what she effortlessly taught me, owe to my great mentor. Closer to God she brought me with and in prayers. Life and relation value she instilled in me. My first best friend, my best mentor, my love and life. Of all she is my greatest inspiration in the whole wide world. The daughter who always epitomize her mother with love and will always. I love you, Mom!