“Kies geluk”

Ek het ‘n knop in my keel.

Ek wag vir die foon om nie te lui nie. Eers dan sal alles wat ek wil sê haar tref.
Ek tik solank die boodskap wat alle bande tussen my en die persoon vir wie ek die liefste het sal sny.

“Totdat jy dit vir jouself gun om gelukkig te wees, kan ek jou nie in my lewe hê nie.”

Ek wag vir daai foon om te lui, sodat ek nog so ‘n bietjie langer kan hoop.

3 Responses to “Kies geluk”

  1. Son sê:

    Ouch Kaneels😦 Kan ek hoop dat alles sal uitwerk vir jou? Strongs.

  2. Carel sê:

    Wear Sunscreen
    Mary Schmich

    Wear sunscreen.
    If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen
    would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved
    by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more
    reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this
    advice now.
    Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You
    will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until
    they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at
    photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much
    possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You
    are not as fat as you imagine.
    Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying
    is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
    bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things
    that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you
    at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
    Do one thing every day that scares you.
    Sing.
    Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with
    people who are reckless with yours.
    Floss.
    Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead,
    sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s
    only with yourself.
    Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you
    succeed in doing this, tell me how.
    Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank
    statements.
    Stretch.
    Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with
    your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22
    what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most
    interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.
    Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them
    when they’re gone.
    Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children,
    maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the
    funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do,
    don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either.
    Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.
    Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it
    or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument
    you’ll ever own.
    Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living
    room.
    Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
    Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel
    ugly.
    Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone
    for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your
    past and the people most likely to stick with you in the
    future.
    Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you
    should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
    lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people
    who knew you when you were young.
    Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.
    Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you
    soft. Travel.
    Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians
    will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll
    fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable,
    politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
    Respect your elders.
    Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust
    fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when
    either one might run out.
    Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it
    will look 85.
    Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who
    supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of
    fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over
    the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.
    But trust me on the sunscreen.

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