My Name is Na

Kayaknya postingn ini bakal lumayan panjang dan membosankan, tapi gue disini cuman mau berbagi pengalaman aja.  Cerita bermula pas ketemu temen baru di salah satu sosial media, namanya Mark Smith, ngaku sih orang Perancis, tapi tinggal dan kerja di UK. Saat itu juga tukeran alamat email dan mulai kirim2an email. tapi orangnya rada aneh kalo gue bilang, baru juga ketemu udah sok romantis aja kalimat2nya. Karena merasa gak nyaman, gue gak terlalu merespon email dia. Selang 1-2 bulan dari terakhir contact, dia kirim email lagi. kali ini beda. Dia tuh mau minta tolong gue, bilang mau nitip duit, selama dia mau pergi ke tengah laut, jadi dia ngaku kerja di perminyakan gitu, gue kurang paham. nahh... gue karena emang udah ngrasa "rada" kenal sama ini orang, ya gue pikir gak ada salahnya bantuin lah. Toh cuman dititipin doang. Dia bilang kalo udah balik ke daratan (macam kodok aja) dia bakal dateng ke Indonesia ngambil itu duit plus nikah sama gue (dih, siapa juga elu).  Ini fo...

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, “I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you.” The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie. “What’s wrong, are you well?” she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news. “I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded. “Just the two of us.” She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I would like that very much.” That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the d...

“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears. Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy … called me a freak.” He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart. The boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? “I believe I could graft on a pair of out...