The names Samantha. Nicknames: Sammi, Sam, Mantha, Sammich. Call me whatever floats your boat. I'm Vietna-namese. I'm sick of my last name.
I swing. I sing. I write. I bake. I psycho-analyze you. I love you.
I'm a beta reader, so if there's any piece of writing that you want me to proofread before sending off for publication, just shoot me a PM and I'd be happy to help you!
:] <3 If you don't know me, get to know me. You'll have me for life.
i will never set foot in one again. tonight, i was reminded why i hate buffets.
so, my parents wanted to eat at hometown buffet tonight. why, i will never know. but we went, and the second i set foot in that restaurant, i was just overcome with a wave of sadness and despair. xO when i was little, hometown buffet was a place full of laughter and warmth and families coming together to eat. today, it was a lifeless place, full of people who did not look happy, and was just trying to shuffle as much food as possible into their empty stomachs before their next meal. i saw one family coming in with multiple children, counting out their money to pay at the counter. they put down all their cash, and the lady asked them, “do you have 75 cents?” and the two adults were in such a frenzy, patting their pockets and wallets. they scrummaged 75 cents and when they made it through the paying process, they looked relieved & rushed. their children ran to the food before they even made it to a table. it simply broke my heart.
but what warmed my heart at this buffet tonight. was a little girl named Amanda, suffering from down syndrome. i was up getting some water, and i heard a distressed voice somewhere behind me saying “sweetheart, please you have to eat. you haven’t eaten in two days.” i turn around, and there at a lone table for two, was a father, and his mentally ill daughter. he was trying to shovel some spaghetti into her mouth, but she refused to eat. she was wearing a bib, and noodles and spaghetti sauce were just dripping down her bib and mouth. and the father started to cry. and people were just standing and staring, like idiots, whispering in hushed tones, and looking at the pair as if they had an infectious disease. i put down my water and walked over to the table and bent down to the girl’s level. I asked the father how old she was, and what her name was.
He replied, “My baby girl. Her name is Amanda. She’s eight years old. As you can see…she has down syndrome. She won’t eat. She’s sad.”
I didn’t want to pry, so I just nodded sympathetically. And the emotional man just kept talking. “Her mother left us a few days ago. And now she refuses to eat.” I mumbled my apologies and looked at Amanda. I picked up a napkin and started wiping away at her mouth and cleaning her bib, the father just watched, an emotional wreck. And then, with permission from my parents who were walking back to the dinner table with their food, I stayed there with Amanda and her dad for a few minutes. First, I just chattered away into Amanda’s ear, talking about how pretty she was, and how I liked her bib and her nice red pants. And I just kept talking, and Amanda just kept looking at me, with the same stare. I hoped that somewhere inside of her, she was listening and understanding me. I could see why her father was such an emotional wreck now. I was about to cry myself. With permission from her dad, I took a small forkful of noodles, and tried to feed Amanda. Of course, she didn’t eat. The dad made some sort of squeaking noise with his throat. I put the fork down, and started talking some more, trying to be as exuberant as I could, moving my hands, and using different voices. Anything to entertain the girl. I tried feeding her again. And she refused over and over again. And each time, I would patiently put the fork down, and start story telling again.
Finally, after ten minutes, she took a bite. And her dad started crying even more. I gave Amanda a hug, and a smile to her father, and got my cup of water, and walked back to my table.
” A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.” — Winnie the Pooh.
“You can’t always sit in your corner of the forest and wait for people to come to you… you have to go to them sometimes.” — Winnie the Pooh
<3 samantha
i just re-read every single one of my comment conversations with people from the past. And i've decided to make a mission.
Find kaylovely, my missing wife. this girl used to be so important to me, and we just lost contact. so my goal is to get back into contact with her. problem is, i donn't think she goes on The O anymore.
SO HELP ME.
Does anybody still keep in touch with her? Anybody?
Please help me. I just miss her. ): We never even properly said good bye.
&& kay, on the off chance that you're reading this; i haven't forgotten you. at all. every word i ever said to you, i meant. you just popped randomly into my head a few days ago, and now you won't pop back out. i regret not exchanging cell phone numbers. you have no idea how much i regret it. i miss you. please come back.
So many conflicts nowadays between what is morally correct and what works for us. A great example = Obama’s healthcare plan. It sounds like a great thing- free health care for families who otherwise couldn’t afford to have it. No doubt, it would bring great relief to those families- being able to go see a doctor when they were sick, being able to have medicine. It’s sounds so nice. But then, who’s paying for it? We are; through taxes. And the second people hear that we are paying for it; then oh no, denied. Can today’s people really afford to pay extra taxes right now? Will it just create a cycle? People who haven’t already filed for bankruptcy or asked for government help are barely meetings ends right now; and the addition of extra taxes might tip them over. but at least you get free healthcare!
If I put together all the change I’ve given to street men over my life time so far, I’ve probably doled out about $100. I give out quarters man, no pennies and nickels here. And I remember seeing the hands extended out of the car windows, holding out dollar bills and change for the man or woman silently begging for help. These men and women are still there; maybe even children? And the hands have stopped coming out of the car windows.
It breaks my heart, when I see a family staying at the same park, everyday, all day, kids playing, parents just sitting and watching. Then at night, they shuffle off to a church for a warm place to sleep at night. These people are our fellow human beings; is it not in our DNA to help each other when help is needed? We say “times are hard for us. They’re hard for us? What about them? If we’re too busy watching our own backs, does that mean we’ve become the hard, selfish, callous people that we’ve always criticized?
“I would never ever be like that.”
We already are. :(
of being everybody's psychiatrist, shrink, therapist, "vomit vase."
After years of not needing help or advice from anybody except for the occasional rare case of "what should i eat/wear/say?"
I. Need. Help.
Holy shizit do I need help.
This is something. Where I don't even know how to react.
I need help. How deep is your love? Please help me you guys.
Anybody feel up to tutoring me? -_-
I swear to you that I'm not stupid. I understand it perfectly.
But anybody feel up to tutoring me on how to deal with my teacher?
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RELAY FOR LIFE next week! (: i'm so excited. After september has been so stressful & dramatic...This is a chance to unwind, relax, and spend a day with friends AND helping the cancer community. Am I a multitasker or what.
TUMBLR.COM
call me obsessed. because i am. its an everyday blogging site. but its so minimalistic. I like very much.
