She seemed tall and svelt, to someone as small as me, with a good head on her shoulders. Every movement she made had substance, meaning behind it. When she moved, I thought I was looking at a well trained classical dancer, an apsara, and when she spoke, I thought I heard an apsara singing and birds chirping along with her. What could I say? I was smittened by her grace, by the fact I was standing by her side, and she spoke to me like I was her long lost pal.

It was obvious to me, she came from a wealthy family, a family of education, a family influenced by westerners. I knew then she was alone, or at least, without a dad -- that was the outcome for most families who had gone through the Khmer Rouge ordeal the last four years or so. That thought saddened me. My compassion had forced itself to the surface, to show her I was empathising with her, that I knew her plights, that I understood her soul, that her soul was like mine; in essence, she was a female version of me.

We bonded immediately like two old souls reconnected after a long desparation and separation. Perhaps we lost touch many lives ago, when we were great lovers to one another, when we walked hand in hand through a path less traveled, when we took turns watching birds through a binocular borrowed from a friend, when we signed a marriage certificate inside a chapel overlooking an ocean, in a foreign land, when Cambodia was peacful, clean and free, when the Cambodian king's grandparents were just babies; not too many generations ago -- she and I were wife and husband.

We held hands, read books, took trips to far away places when we found time to spend together; our employments kept us apart most of our day; wealth wasn't an issue, we were well to do, we had servants, we ate in the finest restaurants and treated in the best hospitals.

If we needed another vacation home in a country she fonded, we would leisurely buy one without much discussion or input. It was only money and we had plenty streaming into our multiple checking and saving accounts, from different revenue producing sources. I was wise with the money I earned from my military career, invested in all the right instruments with low risks to ensure my principals would be protected.

The investments worked out so well; if I had to quit the military to be with her upon her request, our life style wouldn't have changed that much; it was reassuring to her, and I was quite enjoyful of that fact, and the fact that I brought forth something she truly appreciated.

Because I had to be out and perform my military duties, she didn't want to be home alone so she found herself a well-paying job she loved, to pass the time.

We longed for each other throughout the day while we were apart. Because our bond was quite strong; I constantly felt her next to me and I spoke to her like I was somene who had just escaped the insane asylum.  If I was crazy, I was crazy about her. I had no doubt about that.

If I wasn't her husband, I wouldn't know what to think about; I had no interest in other things. I would just waste my day away on mindless tasks pertaining to military duties. My life would be meaningless despite the medals on my chest. There wouldn't be a reason for my existence. I'd rather cease to exist than be without her.

She was my reason for being born and will be the reason again, because the universe always keeps two compatible souls intertwined -- its way of keep track of all the lovers.

For our future's sake, I knew I had to be financially stable before asking for her hand in marriage.  One thing I didn't want was for our financial burdens to tear our marriage into small unmanagable parts that just floating about, waving at us, shouting at us, screaming for our attention, but we chose to ignore them because it was an easy until it started to spiral down into the abyss and ended up with a nasty divorce.

I wanted her to live a life of possilities; wealth was important to me.  Anything she yearned for would be made possible to acquire in as little time as permitted, quick and easy, almost on demand. If there was a career she wanted to pursue, she would have the means to do so, and I would not under any circumstance stand in the way of her ambition. She had the freedom to do what she pleased even when it was displeasing to me; my main corncern was her happiness.

I wouldn't be happy unless she was, and I was an extremely happy husband.  I was the envy among men in my circle, influential men, men of high standard and virtue.

My life was perfect, and hers was, too.  We were two peas in the same pod.

We gave each other spaces, breaks and forgiveness -- we were always ready to forgive and forget; we never went to bed angry -- that's the secret to a successful marriage.  We read each other's mind.  We glanced at each other; we smiled.

Our communication consisted of glances and smiles.  We reduced our lives to its simplest form; nothing was complicated for us.  It was our way to remain in a perpetual bliss together and forever.

She was my true love -- true love existed once for me, for us; it could exist again; I believe in this possibility wholeheartedly.

Life worths living when there's something to look forward to.

I had prepared a great life for her and I according to my understand of the living standard of those days. If she was unhappy, she knew she was free to leave without owing me any explanation or apology; I wouldn't ask for one; I wouldn't do anything that would pressure her, give her a sense of obligation to offer me one; she could leave the same manner as she came into my life. Whatever her reason was for wanting to leave; I was sure it was valid. Whatever she told her friends and family members about her unhappiness with me, I was certain it was the accurate and truthful.

Surprisingly, she never expressed her disappointment with me or confined to anyone in her circle; she was quite happy to having me revolve around her world; and I would do anything to protect that world of hers, and I wouldn't do anything to shatter it.

And I would want to see her conitnuing to live a sheltered life; no one deserved such a life more than my ex-wife.

As for me, my life would continue as usual. No moping, no weeping, no sob stories, no rebound romances; I wouldn't put up with anything seemed negative to me.  I would just enjoy her well being from my place of comfort.  I could live in the comfort of knowing she had moved to a better life.  If I could be of any help to her during time of transition, I would be more than glad to assist her.  She didn't have to ask.  She just had to indicate she wanted help, and I would run to her, not as a lost puppy or a jilted man but as a gentleman.

Helping a woman, any woman, to his capacity is gentlemanly.

Besides, she was my wife, and my life was devoted to her. She was not God, a goddess, or an angel; she was just exquisite in every possible way, an enchantress, and I was enchanted by her, her elegant, her looks, mostly her intelligence. She thought for herself, charted her own course, never cared what others thought of her, designed her life in ways that brought her more happiness while allowing me the freedom to create my future that was accomendating to both me and her.

We were compatible on every level.

Then came that dreadful day that drastically changed our lives forever.

I was a high ranking army officer, well respected and admired, until a bullet from a foe during a nasty war struck me in the neck as I charged the enemies in a trench in a land far from home and another bullet pierced through my right arm. I dropped to my knees, choked on my own blood and died a few minutes later. It wasn't as agonizing as I had imagined; I knew as soon I was aware of my wound in the neck that I was leaving my wife, that she would have to be home alone, that I could no longer hold her hand or take a long walk along her side, that she had to brave the world on her own; I was sorry that I left her suddenly; I knew she could cope with my loss and move on with her life; she was a courageous women, caring and loving; she would have been a wonderful mom to our many kids, but it wasn't meant to be.

Death came, shook my hand, and I went with it; it wasn't such a big deal to me because I had accepted it as a part of my life, not necessary the end of my life. It was brief a meeting, a hello, goodbye situation then death went on its way, probably to welcome the next soul. If it could wave, it'd probably wave me goodbye; maybe it did, and I just didn't see it. It seemed lost and confused; it was not ferocious like Cujo as I previously thought, I didn't feel infuriated by it. It was not intimidating to me. 

I actually felt sorry for death; it probably loathes its assigned duty.

It seemed like death had been humbled by God.

Ask Christ, be Christ's disciple and you'd understand what I meant.

Death is like negative matter that is invisible to the human's eyes. You can only feel its energy and interact with it accordingly. When you offer your hand for a handshake, you feel its energy lightly gripping your hand as if it is shy and insecure, feel like cold air circulating around your palm and fingers, and that energy will physically move your hand up and down, at least, it'll give you that sensation. When that happens, you know for a fact you're shaking hands with death, not with a ghost, because death does not, will not shake hands with the livings, only ghosts do.

To me, personally, death was that enemy on the battlefield that was shooting at me with an AK47 and vise versa, but when we cornered and captured him, I shook his hand then released him because the war had been declared over; he won; we immediately surrendered to him.  He was kind and gentle; he just wanted to go home to his family; he hated being a soldier. He became one due to the requirement by his government for men his age to spend a certain amount of time in the army. He released us, wished us a good life and dropped his rifle to the ankle high grass.

"Hey!," I shouted to him.

He turned to look at me like I was about to shoot him.

"I'm sorry I killed your friends," I shouted again. 

He nodded, acknowledging my apology and went on his way. He was not in a mood for a conversation. He never looked back.

We parted as friends.

"You had killed people?," my wife once asked me. I was taken aback. There was no dancing around this question. 

"Yes," I replied after a moment of opining, making sure I wouldn't sound abrasive on such a sensitive subject. She didn't take the reply too well but she knew she had to accept the fact and overlooked it. She never asked me another question regarding my military duties and responsibilities.

I realized in that instant she truly loved me, unconditionally.

It's this love and the ability to readily forgive keep a marriage healthy despite the mistakes that are bound to happen; there's no such thing as a perfect mate.

The khnowledge that I had killed people could have enraged her to the point of screaming and shouting at each other, there would be a war in my own house, but the love she had for me assuaged her would be anger. Instead she leaned toward me and kissed me on the lips then said, "I forgive you."  How liberating it was to hear those words from a wife. She did plenty of forgiving throughout of our marriage. I was a man who was still learning about love, life and her; I was human, I made some mistakes; some were at her expense.

Every forgiveness she gave me humbled me a bit, and my love for her grew a bit more.

Mistakes are God's ways of pointing man to the right path. God had been very patient with me.

All I gave her in return was my life; a short moment of it.

When I came into this world, it was like I came into a subdued party, I partied with the people I loved, and when the party was over, it was time for me to leave, and I left with without any regrets; during the party, I might have bumped into some people, made some mad while losing myselt in a dance but nothing was serious or criminally wrong; I never went to prison in my entire life. Of course, some would feel a bit empty inside that I had to depart, a few would shed some tears because well I provided a great company, I brightened up a good number of people, my wife included, and they appreciated me for having partied with them.

That's life and death in a nutshell.

And when sh*t happens, don't step into it; avoid it, ignore it, walk away from it.

It's better to keep the peace than being ended up dead.

Life is not that complex or complicated when love is your knight in a shiny armor.

"Subdued party" because I lived a quiet life; my life encompassed my wife, my military career and hers and a few trusted friends. Althought we had great means financially, we lived a modest life, the way my wife wanted.  She and I weren't hopping bars, clubs or restaurants at night; everything we needed we had in our home.  If we wished upon a sumptuous dinner on a special night, it would be prepared for us almost immediately.

While we waited for our dinner, we glanced at each others and smiled.  When our eyes met, very often I might add, there would be a splash of magic bursting, sparks would be flying between us, and I would get the come hither looks from her.  We would behave like two teenagers in love during those magical moments.  We could create those moments wherever we found ourselves -- that was the special connection she and I shared, truly special.

My wife was my party; she was my everything.  I became what I was through her wisdom and kindness.

My wife cried for months after she was informed of my death by the trench, and that my body was lost among the deads. My subordinates tried to retrieve my corpse, but the fighting prevented them from being successful; the fighting intensified after I left. It was too risky; too many lives would have been lost. They knew I wouldn't want that on my conscious, and they were spot on.

They knew me well. I taught them well.

It was true.

I had make them aware early on that I did not want any of my soldiers to die on my account. I'd rather die for them than having them risk their lives to save mine. Let me die for your sake I often said to them  then proceeded to teach them to become leaders, to take charge, to take the initiative for the sake of our country.

Always take the initiative, especially when it is dealing with a signigicant other. 

My marriage headed into troubles on occasions when I waited for my wife to finish a certain chores. These chores could have been done in advance on her behalf if I had taken the intiative and would have been rewarded for it instead of waiting for her to get to them or being asked to do so.

It's best to take the intiavtive; waiting can get you in trouble.

Because of my position in the military and my stance, I often imagined how I would die, how I would be the first to put my life on the line for the sake of my subordinates. The moment I signed on to become a soldier, I knew I would die on a battlefield but didn't know how; I just knew I wanted to die gloriously and bravely. I wanted to die for my country, for my king and for my people. I wanted my name to be inscribed somewhere in a Cambodian history book; I failed at this endeavor.

I shall try again.

I never had a proper burial or a cremation; I had no clue as to what happened to my corpse, yet, I was at peace; my world was in zen. I felt complete, quite content, not a worry was swimming in my head, as if I belonged in the afterlife. 

Even though my life was cut short, I didn't feel cheated or angry. I was just wondering where I was at then answers rushed to me and I had no more questions.

Everything was done instantly.

There was no sense of emptiness or lonliness usually associate with death. I was present, not as a tree or a rock, I was conscious of my being, I was standing and observing, but absent of all other emotions except love, love for all life and all things as if my all senses had been disconnected from my nervous system -- this must be nirvana.

This must be what Buddha felt when he reached enlightenment after he detached himself from all things and all livings. There was not a want or a need; there was no suffering of any kind; there was only love; love had conquered all.

A great victory for mankind; well, for God's children living in this realm.

In some ways, I was extremely happy that I had passed away abruptly; no, it's not odd at all for saying; it's a fact.

I was overwhelmed by the amount of love I felt hugging me snuggly. There weren't many splashes of colors. I didn't look far enough, from what I could see was whiteness; this whiteness was not a color but was some form of an energy, a thing, a living thing, alert, aware of its surrounding and recognized faces but couldn't communicate, its behavior and demeanor was like that of a puppy's if that puppy was a vast  universe; it didn't make a sound because it couldn't make sound.

It could have God's pet; yes, it was God's pet that had been looking at me, measuring me up, questioning about me as if it hadn't seen someone like me before.

It felt like I was in a room, one endless room voided of all walls. I was in the care of God's pet; it was keeping meentertained. I was amused by it. I giggled then laughed;

I must admit I had a great time playing with God's pet. Who knew God had such a wonderful pet?

"Am I in the house of God's pet?," I threw out a thought.

"Yes." came the answer faster than the speed of light.

"Am I in heaven?," I threw out another thought.

"You're in God's front yard." was the reply.

Now I felt like I was God's guest and had arrived early, and God was busy shaving His beard or in the middle of getting dressed.

The afterlife would be a party if there were music, but this place was absent of all sounds, ears weren't necessary since everyone was communicating telepathically.  Actually, no one was communicating at all, they could if they wished to use their vocal chord; there was no restriction of any sort.

We knew everything there was to know, no question was left unanswered. There was no need for communication.

Communication as we know it became obsolete after you died.  You became a spirit, an energy, you became a part of God's love.

You are where God spreads his love; you are doing what God had intended for you that you couldn't do while on earth, which is to spread his unconditional love.

For those who enjoy the silence; this realm is for you.

We were like God but not Gods. We could bicker with God if that was our perogative and there wouldn't be any conquesences because God so loves the world.

I was at a place where God resides.

God extended a cordial welcome to me as I approached what I could only say His front door.  Suddenly, I was in the presence of God; God is love -- to be more specific -- unconditional love. 

The kind of love that lasts forever. God is forever.

We could curse and spit at God, and God would still love us -- that's unconditionally love.

One who does not believe in God is telling the world that s/he is more knowledgable than God; more capable of loving than God's unconditional love offered to man. I can testify right now that there is no such kind of love; it does not exist -- there is no love beyond unconditional love.

I knew then that only God could complete me, and no one, not a possession of high value, not even my amazing wife could hold a light to God.

However, I credited my wife for bringing me to this point, to this understanding; she brought me to God. She would probably detest the idea of me admitting, stating this; as far as she knew she was just being a loving, devoted wife.

I had no reason whatsoever to return to earth, I could be forever happy being with God, but the urge to see my wife once more danced before my eyes; suddenly, I felt obligated to find her, my one and only, as if she had telepathically sent me a message asking me to return to her.

I heard her message, now I had to run back to her. Any husband would if he truly loved her.

God understood and granted me the wish to search for her.  He knew the love I had for her was unconditional, it can never subside or die. For that reason, God gave me the free will in the pursuit of her.

Whatever happened to me, it happened for a reason.  It happened because there was more to life, and life wanted me to experience all it had to offer, and it offered me unless possibilities, meaning anything could happen unexpectedly. All I had to do was be ready to receive its miracles.

Any moment that life happens is a moment of miracle. A miracle happens every second of everyday -- life is that amazing.

And it happens the moment you sit down.

And when it happens, think of it as that first explosion that created the universe. Let those explosions create your life, too; it will be unexpected but your life will be enriched moment by moment, your mind will expand continuously, once expaned, it can not be contracted.

Soon enough, you will come to understand Buddha, and you will be able to comprehend the Bible, God will be speaking to you, calling you by your first name, and you will get the complete meaning of life from Him, not from man.

God limited man to ten percent usage of his mind for a reason, never question it, don't try to comprehend it; if you do, you will lose your mind over it. You will end up on the streets talking to yourself.

I wanted contentment throuhgout my life just like everybody else did, and my wife came through for me during the time I was with her and after I left her; this contentment went with me to my death or should I say I took it with me to my death. It was the only thing I had of my wife.  I held on to it; I treasured it.

The love of a wife can never really vanish or subside; it is the same love that parents share with their children. It's always there lingering like a teenager on a street that is awestruck by an outfit displayed inside a a high fashion boutique, shunned by most parents. That outfit is more than the parents can afford but the teenager sure knows how to strump the strings of the parents' hearts. They know the likihood of their child giving up on that outfit is zero to none so they all stand face to face until time comes to a slow end.

Tags: I Survived Mindeyes19 And His NSA Friends V

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