@_samyg: As first timers in Vietnam 🤙🏽🇻🇳 #Saigon #HoChiMinh #DaNang #hoiAn

Sam YG

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Friday 02 May 2025 02:09:06 GMT

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jeff :

Panalo jan ang babait pa ng mga tao

2025-05-28 06:15:16

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Once upon a time, in a quiet little farmyard, there was a pig named Clover. Unlike the other pigs, Clover always stared at the sky. He watched the sparrows dart, the crows caw, and the hawks circle high above. “If only I could join them,” he whispered each morning, his snout tipped toward the clouds. One day, Clover discovered an old barn filled with strange contraptions—rusty fans, tattered sheets, and broken bicycle wheels. With determination, he tied the sheets to his back like wings and strapped the wheels to his sides. It looked ridiculous, but Clover didn’t care. He wanted to fly. When the wind picked up, Clover climbed the tallest haystack and leapt. At first, he tumbled, squealing in panic—but then, miraculously, the sheets caught the breeze. He soared! The farm animals gasped as Clover drifted above the barn, his shadow gliding across the ground. For a moment, he wasn’t just a pig; he was a dreamer who had defied the earth. But the wind grew fierce, stronger than Clover’s makeshift wings could handle. The sheets tore, the wheels rattled loose, and the pig plummeted. He crashed into the cornfield with a heavy thud. By the time the farmer found him, Clover’s body was still, his eyes closed, but there was a small smile on his snout. Though his flight was brief, Clover was remembered as the pig who touched the sky, even if it cost him his life. The other animals never forgot that sometimes, chasing an impossible dream—even for a moment—was worth everything

Once upon a time, in a quiet little farmyard, there was a pig named Clover. Unlike the other pigs, Clover always stared at the sky. He watched the sparrows dart, the crows caw, and the hawks circle high above. “If only I could join them,” he whispered each morning, his snout tipped toward the clouds. One day, Clover discovered an old barn filled with strange contraptions—rusty fans, tattered sheets, and broken bicycle wheels. With determination, he tied the sheets to his back like wings and strapped the wheels to his sides. It looked ridiculous, but Clover didn’t care. He wanted to fly. When the wind picked up, Clover climbed the tallest haystack and leapt. At first, he tumbled, squealing in panic—but then, miraculously, the sheets caught the breeze. He soared! The farm animals gasped as Clover drifted above the barn, his shadow gliding across the ground. For a moment, he wasn’t just a pig; he was a dreamer who had defied the earth. But the wind grew fierce, stronger than Clover’s makeshift wings could handle. The sheets tore, the wheels rattled loose, and the pig plummeted. He crashed into the cornfield with a heavy thud. By the time the farmer found him, Clover’s body was still, his eyes closed, but there was a small smile on his snout. Though his flight was brief, Clover was remembered as the pig who touched the sky, even if it cost him his life. The other animals never forgot that sometimes, chasing an impossible dream—even for a moment—was worth everything

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