<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764</id><updated>2011-12-08T00:52:33.436-08:00</updated><category term='Nerves..'/><category term='Past Thoughts'/><category term='Thoughts'/><category term='Stupidity in the would be good old days...'/><category term='Exams...'/><category term='Stupidity in the good old days...'/><category term='emotions'/><category term='Birthday'/><category term='(?)'/><category term='Of tortoises and Chocolate'/><category term='Deep thinking'/><category term='Weird me'/><title type='text'>Around the Merry-go-round</title><subtitle type='html'>The world around you keeps changing, and you just keep turning as you wonder about it...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-1810834171411368420</id><published>2010-04-08T03:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T03:34:47.464-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emotions'/><title type='text'>Laments of a Social Fly</title><content type='html'>Is love meant to be an Anchor?&lt;br /&gt;When did it become a Social Sin?&lt;br /&gt;It has been, and is, my life's&lt;br /&gt;Only possible philosophy,&lt;br /&gt;To love all, and even if,&lt;br /&gt;I could not succeed,&lt;br /&gt;To be decent and pleasant to Them.&lt;br /&gt;I find myself, sometimes,&lt;br /&gt;Surrounded by half-strangers,&lt;br /&gt;For my philosophy keeps me&lt;br /&gt;From edging closer.&lt;br /&gt;Some other times,&lt;br /&gt;Ifind myself surrounded,&lt;br /&gt;By familiar, loving, smiling Faces.&lt;br /&gt;Why must there be conflicts,&lt;br /&gt;That hurt so?&lt;br /&gt;Often enough - nay,&lt;br /&gt;More than I understand,&lt;br /&gt;Conflict breaks out around me;&lt;br /&gt;Left, Right, Front, Back,&lt;br /&gt;North, South, East, West.&lt;br /&gt;Then, that triggers the Gun,&lt;br /&gt;The center of me,&lt;br /&gt;And I explode with an outbursting&lt;br /&gt;Of emotions,&lt;br /&gt;Shot from within,&lt;br /&gt;Caught in an unwelcome crossfire.&lt;br /&gt;Shot from within.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know where to begin to understand,&lt;br /&gt;I know not why I should be made so to comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;Why am I put in these hateful situations?&lt;br /&gt;I try to put on a brave face,&lt;br /&gt;try to joke about it,&lt;br /&gt;But some jokes are no laughing matter.&lt;br /&gt;If I loved more people,&lt;br /&gt;I would be hurt more, wouldn't I?&lt;br /&gt;Experiences of a Social Butterfly,&lt;br /&gt;Seep into my lacking life,&lt;br /&gt;Life of a Social Fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;There I go joking again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Through my tears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-1810834171411368420?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/1810834171411368420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=1810834171411368420' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1810834171411368420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1810834171411368420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2010/04/laments-of-social-fly.html' title='Laments of a Social Fly'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-2981803279010472239</id><published>2010-04-04T17:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-04T18:23:16.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Blogging and Sucking</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I shall make this short, but clear:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today, I shall blog about How Much I SUCK at Blogging.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I haven't blogged in... I don't know... 7 to 8 months? maybe? 20 years? And when I &lt;em&gt;do&lt;/em&gt; blog, I go and rant about lame things, like how I cannot commit to blogging at all. I'm not sure I've ever blogged about something remotely constructive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This just shows how totally useless I am at making up my mind anout one thing, and keeping to it...How am I going to get through life?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On the up-side, I've finally updated... That's one good thing. Isn't it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-2981803279010472239?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/2981803279010472239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=2981803279010472239' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/2981803279010472239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/2981803279010472239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2010/04/of-blogging-and-sucking.html' title='Of Blogging and Sucking'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-3672977307103892656</id><published>2009-09-22T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T20:06:08.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Catching The Sunrise</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;AHHHH&lt;/span&gt;!! Am finally updating!! Gosh, it's been too long. *pats self on the head*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note to Dalia:&lt;br /&gt;Here it is, Dal. the one you've been asking me to post. Enjoy! =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Note to other readers or whoever this may concern (a.k.a. readers), I wrote this way back when I was going through a "beach craze", and couldn't refrain from sifting through my memories of the many beaches I had visited, the last one being when I was..er...in Primary 4, I think? I kept bugging my mum - yes, I'm admitting it - to arrange a holiday for us, but to no avail. So, I HAD to come up with another way to satisfy my frustrated yearnings. Thus, I give thee The Poem...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Catching the Sunrise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;That one day when I awoke&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;In a chalet near the beach,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Waves one by one on the great rocks broke,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yet, the calmness could not be breached.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;While everyone was still safely wrapped&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Within the deep realms of slumber,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was carefully putting on my jacket&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So as to become a hunter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I crept out of doors and put on my slippers,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;A little gingerly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I would hunt for peace and seashells,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Along the deep, green sea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Like little plains of powdered silk,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The sand was cool and soft.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I left my slippers back behind,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Deciding on a walk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;On and through the welcoming grey sand,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;that I could feel over my feet,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I stepped into the gentle sea,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And the sky began to lit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Streaks of gold was smeared a cross&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The dim but light blue sky,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;While purple, pink, orange, and red,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seemed to be just passing by.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Each and every cloud around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The birth of this new morn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Was stained with this wonderful coloured blush,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;that foretold of this one dawn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Such majesty, mystery, beauty and wonder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seen in so close a sky,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seems to embody that which we&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Cannot achieve though we may try.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seeing this in mortal land,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Where life ends and first began,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I cannot help but try to imagine and ponder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The greater possibilities of Heaven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; of March, 2009&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;I hope whoever reads it like it, but it does seem to be asking for a little too much. It's funny, you know. The way one thinks one's done a good job, but then feel that light touch of embarassment when others read it, I mean. And it gets worse when someone actually LIKES IT. *whimper*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-3672977307103892656?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/3672977307103892656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=3672977307103892656' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3672977307103892656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3672977307103892656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/09/catching-sunrise.html' title='Catching The Sunrise'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-8969010740543019686</id><published>2009-07-21T23:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T01:20:46.559-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Stupidity in the would be good old days...'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weird me'/><title type='text'>Responding to Teresa's Tag From Last Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I kneeeooowww! Lame right? She tagged me on the 11th of July last year, ad I'm only responding now? Well, I just remembered in my time of need. (Note: need = get un-bored). Good excuse, huh? Well, here goes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;1. What's the relationship of you and her/him?&lt;/div&gt;: Friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Your 5 impressions towards her/him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Confident (her cup of confidence is always overflowing...)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Loud and laughy (^^)&lt;/div&gt;: Smart (Tooo smart...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Cool, but slightly panicky (Sometimes... :P)&lt;/div&gt;: Uniquely unique :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;3. The most memorable things she/he have said to you:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Oh. let me see....hmmm... it's a tie between "I am so Pregnant right now", and "I will never mock pregnant women again", I think. Or maybe "You are a ditcher". &lt;em&gt;Or&lt;/em&gt;, "Listen to me!" (which is her catchphrase...only she doesn't know it. Hee :D&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;4. The most memorable things she/he had done for you:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Called me a ditcher, thus expanding my vocabulary by that little bit. Asked about L.I.E. class for me. Being my friend. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;5. If she/he became your lover, you will&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: see oranges give birth to pigs. Oh, and laugh. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;6. If she/he become your enemy, you will&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: watch my pinky grow a head. Oh, and cry for the day when I was forewarned by an ominous tag on blogger. Of course, we'll have to wait till I see that head growing out of my pinky first.. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. If she/he become your lover, she/he has to improve on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: rethinking her reasons for not liking guys anymore, and bequething me with a bouquet of guilt for being the cause of it all... sad, I know. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. If she/he become your enemy, the reason is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Teardrops started falling on my guitar. (Note: I am practically tone deaf and thus do not own a guitar. Or any other instrument. Not likely to start now this late in life, am I?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*moving on with dignity*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. The most desirable thing to do on for him/her is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Brainwash her so that she will no longer be Robsessive, and will not tattoo R.P.'s name on her own body!!! Oh, and pray that her headache is now in the past.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;10. The overall impression of him/her is...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Confident and quirky (...mostly). Domineering (...a bit). Endearing (...yes). Bright (...?... XD). She and Sam seem to have this ray of sunlight following them when they're together. You know, like they're sunflowers or something... :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. How do you think the people around you feel about you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: weirded off? annoyed? happy? sad? I can't say cause I'm not them. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. The character of you for yourself is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: eh? what does this question mean? EXPLANATION PLEASE! Of course, in case I'm right in thinking out its meaning, my character of me for myself is a nerd who isn't a nerd but is one nontheless. Oh, and confusing to myself sometimes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;13. On contrary, the character you hate of yourself is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Oh, seems my interpretation was wrong. Go back and redo it? Nah! Okay, the character...characters...I hate of myself is...are...being lazy, and being indecisive. And being so freely and totally frank. On second thoughts, the feeling doesn't actually extend to hate, but is more of a degree of dislike.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;14. The most ideal person that you wanna be is?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: a tree. No, I'm kidding. I want to be the real and true Me, all the time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;15. For the people who care about you and like you, say something about them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;: They are caring. And they too are likeable people. I love them!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;16. Ten people to tag:&lt;br /&gt;1. Dalia&lt;br /&gt;2. Teresa C.&lt;br /&gt;3. Teresa T. (I'm re-tagging you! ^^)&lt;br /&gt;4. Jacklyn&lt;br /&gt;5. Cindy&lt;br /&gt;6. Lau Xin Wen&lt;br /&gt;7. Marcella&lt;br /&gt;8. Angelina&lt;br /&gt;9. Felicia&lt;br /&gt;10. Sam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Who is no.2 having a relationship with? [Teresa C.]&lt;br /&gt;: Her family members (she shall be in a life-long relationship with them), her friends (friendly relationships), her leaders (leader-follower relationships), her crushes, So-and-so...so-and-so...(some sort of relationship) in her mind (?). :D&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;18. Is no.3 a male or female? [Teresa T.]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Female. But, you know, sometimes I wonder, what with all her masculine energy... haha.. just joking. She is definitely &lt;strong&gt;female&lt;/strong&gt;. And might I mention, one with many 'admirers'.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;19. How will no.9 react if he/she found out that his/her cell phone is lost? [Felicia]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Don't actually know that she owns a cell phone even, so the question is as yet unanswerable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;20. If no.7 and no.10 were together, would it be a good thing? [Marcella and Sam]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: I guess. Both are good friends of Teresa, and if she can interact happily with them, I suppose they would be able to interact just as happily with each other if they got together as friends. So, it's a good thing. Right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;21. How about no.5 and no.8? [Cindy and Angelina]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: I think so, as friends of course. Both of them are small people (I should talk), and they both like to laugh. So there you have two similarities already!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;22. What is no.1 studying about? [Dalia]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: PiLi MIT, and cute guys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;23. Is no.4 single? [Jacklyn]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: Think so.... Jac, any news with *ahem* yet? (Note: just putting that because don't know who she currently likes, to save face. And my stupid side types this down. Yep. Saving face. -.-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;24. Say something about no.6 [Lau Xin Wen]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;: She loves CSI, like me. CSI New York, to be exact. She is one good friend, and I love her laugh. She is goofy and adorable in character. And her discs are still with me. She is Strawberry and the Nutcracker Princess.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-8969010740543019686?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/8969010740543019686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=8969010740543019686' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/8969010740543019686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/8969010740543019686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/07/responding-to-teresas-tag-from-last.html' title='Responding to Teresa&apos;s Tag From Last Year'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-5483916235091386000</id><published>2009-06-18T00:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T18:30:02.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Profile Photo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There! I have finally given up on trying (unsuccessfully), to remain an anonymous blogger.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;*Please Look To Your Left, Ladies and (I think, no) Gentlemen*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Although, I'm not sure I look altogether like me in this photo, meaning that I look more like a "Prince of The Earth", than the 'pure-blooded' Chinese that I am. (Although, this doesn't mean that I look Chinese as well. I am fully aware of my out-of-place looks.) But this photo would also mean that those who know me, but are strangers to my blog, would probably think twice before deciding that the blogger was , indeed, &lt;strong&gt;without a doubt&lt;/strong&gt;, me. If, they do stumble upon my blog, that is. Plus, I am missing something essential to my usual appearance in it (I won't say what, in case I give the game away). Maybe I can keep this up, after all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It was taken sometime ago...this is how I look like when I'm thinking solemnly and seriously about something, I guess...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Note:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I really want to blog extensively about something more &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;earth-shattering&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; like my Sabah trip, or E.R. 09, or even the Marian Food and Fun Fair (which is way back in the past, by the way), but I can't do it now. Maybe, hopefully, next time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Oh, and &lt;strong&gt;CONGRATS&lt;/strong&gt; to all those involved in our Choral-speaking Team. Second Place is a massive achievement for first-timers, not to mention the youngest group in the competition. Keep it up!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-5483916235091386000?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/5483916235091386000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=5483916235091386000' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/5483916235091386000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/5483916235091386000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/06/new-profile-photo.html' title='New Profile Photo'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-3623982187826158207</id><published>2009-06-17T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T00:09:28.807-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quotes From Yesterday... (or was it the-day-before-yesterday??)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;The people around you can sometimes say very interesting things, if you pay enough attention:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;Teresa T. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc33;"&gt;(suffering from quite severe stomach crams):&lt;/span&gt; I feel so pregnant right now. I shall never mock pregnant women again. I am so pregnant. (each sentence was said at different times, and referred, I conclude, to the labour-like pains in her abdominal region - this sounds so professional, doesn't it?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;Phoebe &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;(saw a paper stuck under the row of windows in a classroom):&lt;/span&gt; That paper says, "Do not throw the windows". (Phoebe proceeds to laugh herself silly.... she later found out it said 'touch' and not 'throw')&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Scott (coming into class ahead of our substitute teacher): &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Guess who sit in us? (she meant: Guess who is coming as substitute to Mrs. Wong (who was absent at the time). Teresa C., Phoebe, and I, laughed hard at this, and then sobered up and said, "Jesus." and "God." among other good, and possible answers to the question. If God lives in us, He must sit down once in awhile, right?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Madam Lee (coming in after Scott, being the one assaigned by the school to "sit in us"): &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;This is four-es-one, right? (teresa C. immediately started laughing again. We, Phoebe and I, did not get the joke at first. When she repeated four-es-one to me, I thought, &lt;em&gt;"Four As One". &lt;strong&gt;So??&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; It turns out, she was thinking "Four Ass 1". She patiently explained to us slow-on-the-uptakers, saying, "You know, ass, as in arse...Now we know what the teachers call us in the staffroom." Referring, of course, to the teachers' possible ill-feeling towards us, after that incidence when something, went wrong between us, or with the teachers. Something so big, and bad, yet mysterious enough for most of us members of the class to still wonder about what really happened. Then, Phoebe and I laughed, and Phoebe, my dearest Grasshopper and Catch-No-Ball, asked about 4Science2. So, I said, thinking that since we were already "four ass 1", they might be "four ass too".)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Madam Sally (quoting from someone or somewhere during english Class): &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;There's a saying: Marriage starts when you sink into his arms, and ends with your arms in his sink.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;And thus ends my report of this fateful day, when I learned that being alert in class sometimes pays off. XP&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-3623982187826158207?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/3623982187826158207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=3623982187826158207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3623982187826158207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3623982187826158207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/06/quotes-from-yesterday-or-was-it-day.html' title='Quotes From Yesterday... (or was it the-day-before-yesterday??)'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-3748863124197313550</id><published>2009-06-02T05:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T06:43:44.563-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ufferfish...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;I have been utting off osting anything for quite awhile now, trying to savour the whole holiday mood, but then, when I finally get around to trying to ost something, my keyboard decides to have this horrible lis. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;INCONVENIENT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;!! I cant do question marks or anything else from the random right side of it either. that whole art is aralysed, like my comuter had a stroke or something... &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Now I sound funny&lt;/span&gt;!! (T.T} Like I have this weird head cold or something.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Bear with me and try your best to understand what Im saying, okay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;*sigh*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Well, exams are over, and seeing as we are now in the midst of our holidays, I shall not dwell on it for too long. Finally managed to ass my Add. Maths. with a borderline score of 4ty &lt;&gt; so I am hay. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Still&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt; failed overall, though. Life goes on... B.M. was terrible, because I lost my head during the exam, and wrote almost nothing but cra, as any other headless chicken would, so I understand that I deserved exactly what I got. Got about the same marks for Chemistry, and am still waiting for Bio. to be given back last... kidding... hysics will be the death of me one day, so I might dro it in the coming year to fulfill the 1en subject ruling. No, I havent gotten back my aer yet, but its in these instances that I am inclined to trust my amazing sychic owers that hardly ever work. *stos tying to register exactly how stuid this ost will be to those reading it, even though I am maintaining as well as I can a dignified sirit as I write this* I reortedly got the highest in gym class &lt; .J.K. just looks weird, and .E. even more so, so forgive me for using an inaccurate term &gt; which is sort of useless to me, excet in the case that it can ull u my grade oint average. Now, why cant this be so for my hysics or my Add. Maths. &lt;&gt; English was Okay, I guess. Am still raying &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;HARD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;for my being right in those two questions, and I actually got 83 out of 85 for my aer 2, which is retty good, considering the lack of time, and me having to rush through it, resulting in a coule of small, but stuid, mistakes. raying for good results in English Lit. and B.K.. Not enough time for English Lit., Mrs. Michael!!! So just know that I tried my best.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;E.R. was a blast!!! Jude Antoine was a wonderful seaker *haha, just realised what I wrote, and imagined him on a broomstick, ala Harry otter* and the concert was definitely syokingmenoking! I actually brought myself to jum on the last day... which was exhilarating, until the crams resented themselves and I had to sto. *my sentence is wrong because of the missing youknowwhats, so you can ignore it* I found the meaning &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;of  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;TRUE JOY &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;there, and realised, with hel, that it is Gods ultimate wish for us to be joyful in Him. Joy is not just an emotion or a feeling, but rather, a decision. Which reminds me, I still have Cindys hotos to email to her....* Joan waits a moment for Cindy to ounce on her from behind*, and her ost on the E.R. to read. I will, after E.R.&lt;zero&gt;9, henceforth, try to withhold my overwhelmig selfity, and try to make something out of my sometimes athetic erson..and there I go again with the selfity...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Going backwards just a little more, I arrive at the Methodist Girls School scholarshi thing. This was a bummer. After rearing my resume and worrying about whether to go with my arents unsung whishes for me to go, in the case of my being acceted, or own u to the fact that I am everything but indeendant and not to go, also in the case of my being acceted, we are told that it was a mistake on the schools bahalf, and cannot aly at all. We, the Form 4s, being overaged. I feel old all of a sudden. On the uside, I dont have to worry anymore. My arents were ushing me to decide to go if I was acceted, which they thought was likely as I had certain things going in my favour. Even though my Mum was keeing this sad, straight face evrytime I brought u my indecisiveness, and told me that I could decide on my own and she would resect my decision, you could see the silent, yet &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;LOUD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt; urging to accet in the case that their hoes of finally being able to evict me from the house came to fruition. I am just joking. Ha. Ha. And although Dad was the ^quiet suorter of my decision^, the moment I told him I would try my luck, he took out this aer he had reared to guide me in the making of my AWESOME resume, that would surely earn me a ticket straight out of their house... I mean to Singaore. I was joking. Again. Ha. Ha. But really! When I told him triumhantly, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I KNEW IT!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;He merely smiled and agreed that I had been correct in my susicions, and my arents had indeed been like swimming ducks = calm on the surface, but working vigorously underneath the water. His words, not mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;FREEE THIS WHOLE WEEK. Almost. Gawai was cool. If cool means eating until you can eat no more, and you look like a regnant Sim. The latter was Judy. Seriously, how come ALL the good food only aears during festive seasons &lt;&gt; I was so bloated, I had to miss lunch, dinner, &lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt; suer. I only managed to eat some rice around 1 in the morning. I know what some of you are thinking. &lt;em&gt;SHE &lt;/em&gt;actually slet after 1 &lt;&gt; Hey, its the holidays, buddy, and I can do as I lease...... At least, at my Grandmas house I can. And being bloated, and hot &lt;&gt;, one can easily get cranky, and stressed. Kind of like Mrs. uff in Songebob. Who is a ufferfish.. haha... &lt;&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;I have my Moral rojects to do, the School hotograghs to sort through, Mrs. Wongs School Web. Assaignment to work out how to do so I can do it, within this week, because I will be away most of next week. I just found out two days ago that I will be leaving on the 1enth, and will be coming back in the evening of the 14th. &lt;em&gt;I know!&lt;/em&gt; You didnt know when you were leaving until then &lt;&gt; You dont deserve to go to the foreign yet local land of Sabah! Bad luck, then al, coz I am going! *Joan is imagining the cool air and wonderful scenery from Mt. Kinabalu*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Going to Dalias then Cynthias for a ersonal Movie Day tomorrow. Cant wait, hoe Sasha is coming, she being our celebrated movie sulier. Just thought of Britains Got Talent. Diversity won! Am so hay, because I like them. Sorry, Susan, but on the bright side, you have a fantastic career ahead of you. Disaointed with amazing self taught dancer, Aidan. He did his best though, and thats what counts, right &lt;&gt; American Idol. Hmmm... the consiracy theory might be true, but I think Kris deserved his win based on the finale. Adam was too fake at times, as if he was acting out feeling an emotion, instead of actually feeling it. lus, I still think his arents are actually hired actors, who cant really manage to act as the loving and roud arents of a guy who sounds barely human when he sings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Um.. I had more to blog about but have, in the sur of the moment, forgotten most of those interesting &lt;&gt; toics to blog about. Sorry, but was too lazy to uload any ictures or videos today. Maybe tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;Things Joan has learned when tying this ost = 1} She will never tye a dominantly green ost again. It reminds her too much of icky cartoon mucus and hlegm. She is starting to feel quesy. 2} She loves her missing letters whose absence caused her to lis on this ost and more than unlikely, caused her readers to either laugh at her, or to stare at her ost with stuified exressions on their faces 3} she loves her question marks the most, and would thus, like to thank those kind eole good enough to rovide her with some of their sares. Oh, and 4} it sometimes feels good to feel like a ufferfish, even if she cant at the moment even get the word right. &lt;insert smiling emoticon here&lt;/em&gt; &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-3748863124197313550?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/3748863124197313550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=3748863124197313550' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3748863124197313550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3748863124197313550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/06/ufferfish-ugh.html' title='ufferfish...'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-1388648451743334143</id><published>2009-05-15T04:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T22:30:41.656-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Deep thinking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weird me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thoughts'/><title type='text'>Bored in The Land of The Lonely</title><content type='html'>She was a Loner,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Who sat in the class&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;With her head bent low over her words.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She was silent,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So quiet that none befriended her,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And they had since given up on noticing her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She was strange,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The oddball and weirdo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;To the others who had cliques.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She was different,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For despite her apparent hostility,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her eyes were filled with untouched dreams.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She would float.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In her own world, she was usual,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And not a casualty of commonness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yet, who am I to say that?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I who have not seen her from afar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have tried to see her from within, but still...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Who knows her better - me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;No, though I am she.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30/04/2009&lt;br /&gt;(B.M. Tuition - 8:07p.m.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You know, I can spend two whole years in a place without speaking to anyone? I did that in Sunday School and also in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PBK&lt;/span&gt;. That's why no one remembers me, but I do them, because I spent all that time observing them in their snug circle of friends. Okay, I'm being unfair. I also have ZERO social capabilities - too often, I wish I knew why - which naturally contributed to my being weird and friendless at these places. You have to admit, though, that's quite an achievement. This might be a talent...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Will blog about more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;substantial&lt;/span&gt; stuff in the near future... :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-1388648451743334143?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/1388648451743334143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=1388648451743334143' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1388648451743334143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1388648451743334143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/05/bored-in-land-of-lonely.html' title='Bored in The Land of The Lonely'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-6943065292582612366</id><published>2009-05-04T23:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T01:09:26.878-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lalala...</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;First off, this post has a title that is pure nonsense because I couldn't think of one in such a shortspace of time. I. Am. Supposed. To. Be. Studying. But my self-motivation is running lower than ever so I'll study in I think 5 minutes time... I'll try&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Now what should I blog about, seeeing as I am so short of ideas at the moment? Oh yeah, there's that drama script I'm supposed to be re-writing because I tried to be smart by altering the original structure of the script given by the teachers... I feel like bashing something together right now because I really thought I'd washed my hands off the whole thing... I blame the brain that told me I could actually try to act smart and succeed at the same time. &lt;em&gt;Wait.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;strong&gt;That's me!&lt;/strong&gt; I can see why I really get tired of myself sometimes. &gt;.&lt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Oh, and then there's the photography workshop thing coming June the 13th... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Iwannagoiwannagoiwannagoiwannago!&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;And I can't! You know why? Because I will more than likely be on an island off the coast of Sabah when the whole program commences! Why-why-why??!! Of all the workshops that have been offered to me, the one that I would most like to participate in - I hope that Sam will never read my blog otherwise she will breathe down my neck again, or wave that dratted keychain of hers in my face... Sam, I am NOT a quitter! I just lack the ability to speak on what I don't myself believe in... Actually, it's the whole speaking thing that just doesn't work out - this HAD to be THE one that I really, reeeaaalllyyy COULDN'T attend! Someone is making fun of me somewhere because this is clearly not working in my favour. Aagh! And after being picked off a list of around s...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Moving on... before I break down... the debate competition at Swinburne really seemed interesting. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret not going because a person lacking in tuition really can't afford that much time out of school, besides the fact that I get headaches if I sleep so much as a minute after 10 at night. No one has to comment on this, as I have already been laughed at for still having a curfew (which is at 9 by the way...), and I'm still not sure that anyone bother's to read anything I put here anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;And I made a startling discovery when I found out just how small a world this is. You see, Teresa when at Swinburne went all out Friendly and began making friends with everyone that so much as breathed until... *thunder sounds and lightning strikes* ... Friendship began showing an ugly side to it. What's more...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;(Further details have been withheld and shall remain so until I make sure that I will not cross any lines and Teresa will not skin me...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Then, there was the shock the other day of watching Adam Lambert in the bottom 2 od American Idol. The shock was a bit like the one I experienced when I saw the crown of the last season going to a pair of hands I thought (and do still think) were undeserving of any glory after an absymal performance in the finale. Like Simon said, the guy with fans that call themselves Cookies and the possessor of the name "&lt;em&gt;David Chu-Chiak",&lt;/em&gt; given generously by Dalia's Mum and so aptly suits him, had been knocked out cold by the strong and amazing voice of one-vocal-corded "&lt;em&gt;David Eh-Chu&lt;/em&gt;", also given by Dalia's Mum, and I take to mean "David Short-guy", but I could be wrong... what with my command of the Hokkien Language. I have the unique power of speaking in tongues when I open my mouth to speak this common local language. I swear, there is only God who understands what I say at these times. Anyway, where was I? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;*eyes skim top of current paragragh* &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Ah, yes. The shock. Well, seeing as this whole competition should be based on talents and not on the eccentricities the contestants possess...*quietly remembers one Sanjaya Malakar's performances with sad shake of head*... I really think Adam should win. Whether he is straight, gay, bisexual, transexual or of a totally new sexual disposition, it doesn't really apply much to the context of the competition. I mean, Americans are pretty much the most open minded people on this planet. He is rather...odd, as well, with his style and not always pleasant surprises...*now remembers 'Ring of Fire' with a shudder* ... one can hardly deny his singing abbility. I'm not personally in favour of what is not straight, *twiddles thumbs*, but  I am in no position to critic peple on that really. It's just that some should learn from the incident in the Bible that God can do great, and terrible things when ticked off by fickle human nature. Adam is really good actually, and his ego seems to have deflated a little bit over the past weeks, though I deem his choosing of group in the results show a bad, BAD, &lt;strong&gt;BAD&lt;/strong&gt; move. But then again, I'm not American. Maybe they like change (note President Barack Obama) and approve of this turn from goody-two-shoes sitting in the middle of the stage so as not to gain the evil eye from the fans of other contestants so that when those leave, they will remember the love he or she showed their fallen hero/heroine and vote for him/her instead. It's a matter of psychology, I guess. ..(OH my gosh, I did not just type that! clearly, Teresa's many discussions of &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; new  *hem hem* favourite topic is starting to rub off on me). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;The shock wasn't as great as when "the Loser was declared the Victor" though, because I didn't catch his performance that night, as I was prepping for a ballet class. Which reminds me, I am free for  a whole week!! To study of course. *remembering guiltily my plan on logging off after 5 minutes* I had to base everthing on his previous performances and the other Teresa's most likely biased review of it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Gee, blogging can really drain the strenghth from your fingers, huh? Espeacially if you specialise in typing with two fingers only. I'm really, really beat! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Well&lt;/em&gt;, I think I'm ending this post on quite a note here, seeing as I have once again discovered something new, so the title wasn't really that random, was it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;Oh yeah, saw this on Dalia's shirt yesterday:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;Only Boring People Get Bored&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;So I guess we live in a pur-ree-tee boring world. Yeah?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-6943065292582612366?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/6943065292582612366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=6943065292582612366' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/6943065292582612366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/6943065292582612366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/05/lalala.html' title='Lalala...'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-1667270509357326323</id><published>2009-03-27T00:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T00:43:56.887-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Deep thinking'/><title type='text'>the mind ponders</title><content type='html'>i am like a page in an unopened notebook; i am completely blank except for some lines... as yet, i do not know what they are for; what purpose do i have in this life? what am i but a mere folicle on this wide, and uneven plain? i have done my work, yet what it comes to is yet to be seen. i know that i have so much to give ans share, talents and gifts, love and happiness, but if only others could see it too, how wonderful that would be! to be aknowledged and appreciated is the greatest honour that can be bestowed upon a person; if only i could have that honour! i lie in wait for the day when an eye will be caught by the sight of me, and i will be raised up and praised, and i will become finally full... for now, , i am just an empty page among other empty pages in an as yet unopened notebook. i have some lines, though... can someone appreciate their existence and fill them...?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-1667270509357326323?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/1667270509357326323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=1667270509357326323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1667270509357326323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1667270509357326323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/03/mind-ponders.html' title='the mind ponders'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-4506109150217103922</id><published>2009-03-24T00:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T01:31:43.983-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Stupidity in the would be good old days...'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='(?)'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Birthday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Exams...'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Of tortoises and Chocolate'/><title type='text'>My 1st Camera!!!! N my 16th B'day!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am SIXTEEN, and just that bit farther away from arriving in adulthood. And my Mum keeps saying that I should go for drving lessons next year. Me? Seriously? I who sometimes am too scared to even cross the road because I think the cars are going too fast and will make road-kill out of me. Me?? I might have to think this idea through just a bit more. Let's say, 10 years. Then, I'll really decide.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mind, I was over the moon the last couple of days, but then I got back my results, and just as I predicted....must I say more? S&lt;em&gt;o malulah&lt;/em&gt;!!! I so failed my Add. Maths.. At least I got okay results in everything else though. I'll just have to work harder from now on. Anyway, I got a new camera in the past week! It's a Nikon. And it's not my birthday present. My parents owed it to me, and it actually costs way out of their budget, but according to my Mum, I deserve it for getting my set of straight A's, so I am now the proud owner of a new camera with a battery that I ran flat only two days after getting it and charging it for 8 whole hours. It has been re-charged and I can now use it (play with it) again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Here is the 1st official picture that I took with it:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUCwkdDdI/AAAAAAAAAGk/W2vd1THCoy8/s1600-h/DSCN0018%5B1%5D"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316662135229320658" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUCwkdDdI/AAAAAAAAAGk/W2vd1THCoy8/s320/DSCN0018%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Took this a couple of days before my birthday. Actually wanted to take a pic. of my ruined glasses that I wore last year and had 'fixed' with rubberbands (as opposed to Harry Potter's cellotape mending method - my Uncle is so much more creative with cool mending methods than him) and got laughed at for wearing, and which the workers at the optometrist's further broke by super-bending it beyond repair. I believe that this was their scheme to make me buy a new one... I'm just kidding. I would've bought a new one anyway. So, this is Chocolate Factory...or Charlie....(I can't tell which). What do their names make up? You do the math.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Then, we made sushi at my grandma's.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUDoRtHBI/AAAAAAAAAGs/6Zv8KdyW9p0/s1600-h/DSCN0040%5B1%5D"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316662150183066642" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUDoRtHBI/AAAAAAAAAGs/6Zv8KdyW9p0/s320/DSCN0040%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Aren't they just beautiful? Used sausages, cucumbers, fried eggs, crabsticks, &lt;em&gt;real&lt;/em&gt; sushi rice, and large pieces of seaweed, because we are poor people and can't aford any better. Still, &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;am so proud of myself!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Then, I took some pretty wacky pictures. Guess what this is...??&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUDooHT_I/AAAAAAAAAG0/5QCQpLRu6t4/s1600-h/DSCN0057%5B1%5D"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316662150277058546" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUDooHT_I/AAAAAAAAAG0/5QCQpLRu6t4/s320/DSCN0057%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Lost?? It's actually the rear-end of...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUD9D4jxI/AAAAAAAAAG8/M-91MQAPhvw/s1600-h/DSCN0058%5B1%5D"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316662155762241298" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUD9D4jxI/AAAAAAAAAG8/M-91MQAPhvw/s320/DSCN0058%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;A fruit like this!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;It's called the Buddha's Palm, and I must say, if Buddha's palm &lt;em&gt;reeally&lt;/em&gt; looked like this, he has one ugly pair of hands... No offence meant.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Then, on Saturday, we went out to dinner. I mean my family and I. And I took this picture:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUEOuFJMI/AAAAAAAAAHE/dLNRGp_Qcb0/s1600-h/DSCN0086%5B1%5D"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316662160502629570" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUEOuFJMI/AAAAAAAAAHE/dLNRGp_Qcb0/s320/DSCN0086%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Daddy is pouring me tea! Isn't it pretty?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Oh, and Happy Birthday, Daddy! I'm wishing you again on my blog, so you should be grateful. Not that I think anyone ever reads it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;For the record, my B'day is on the 23rd of March. And I was born in the year 1993.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Can't believe I'm now almost a day older than sixteen now...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Merciless Wheel of Time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-4506109150217103922?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/4506109150217103922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=4506109150217103922' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4506109150217103922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4506109150217103922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-1st-camera-n-my-16th-bday.html' title='My 1st Camera!!!! N my 16th B&apos;day!!!'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SciUCwkdDdI/AAAAAAAAAGk/W2vd1THCoy8/s72-c/DSCN0018%5B1%5D' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-8471142041010855089</id><published>2009-03-16T04:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T06:16:31.707-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Exams...'/><title type='text'>After the hurricane ends...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The hurricane has ended. Admittedly, it wasn't quite as bad as Hurricane Katrina, but, honestly, what is? (Besides the Tsunami). It was a trying time for many among us. There were flying papers everywhere, and fear was a common thing that prevailed within these hearts. What hurricane was this? It wasn't big enough to be on the news for sure, but then it was still &lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;big&lt;/span&gt;. I dub it the 'Hurricane First-Mid-Term-Exams'.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It seemed to come and bear upon me like a rough wind would an insignificant kite, so sudden and forceful, that I was almost thrown off my course of calmness. Almost. It was one week of intense studying, and I can tell you honestly that I kept my nose to the large grindstone and rubbed it raw. Okay, I sort of fell asleep at some points and drooled but so what? I bet lots of people do that. (Scratch the part where I admit to drooling mentally, please).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KTsOkv0I/AAAAAAAAAF8/9Okul1jI-G8/s1600-h/fell+asleep+studying.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313766312494022466" style="WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KTsOkv0I/AAAAAAAAAF8/9Okul1jI-G8/s320/fell+asleep+studying.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;And after going through all that, I am glad to say that I have not turned insane as is the obvious risk. Ah, there joy of learning! Like so:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KUqL7e4I/AAAAAAAAAGc/9k9A6nyOgNs/s1600-h/phil_joy-of-learning.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313766329125927810" style="WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KUqL7e4I/AAAAAAAAAGc/9k9A6nyOgNs/s320/phil_joy-of-learning.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;...CAN DRIVE YOU INSANE WITH HAPPINESS...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Throughout the past week, I offered up all my exams to Daddy-God, and was constantly praying for his help in doing well, and coincidentally, I chanced upon this cartoon on the net just now. It just clicked with me somehow.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KUbMDPrI/AAAAAAAAAGU/uEeS6fy06jg/s1600-h/lordsaveme.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313766325099904690" style="WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KUbMDPrI/AAAAAAAAAGU/uEeS6fy06jg/s320/lordsaveme.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;All those who have discovered Psalm 118:25, raise your hands. Yeah, join the club.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Well, all in all, I think I did OK.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;English, Bio., Chem., Phys., B.M., Moral - darn the government that plays with the rules of true morality, bending them beyond recognition, then saying that this meatloaf of a subject is actually good for us! If it's so good in helping our public morality, why are the crime rates still so high? I mean, this subject has existed for quite a number of years now, and most crimes nowadays (petty crimes are ALSO crimes no matter what you say), are still being commited by those in their twenties. And you can't say that they have no moral backbones because those backbones are all the heavy and useless and frustratingly repetitive and (did I mention) useless Moral textbooks you threw at us, Thank You Very Much! - Maths., and Sejarah were alright I guess.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Add. Maths. on the other hand... ha ha... I am laughing mirthlessly like a hermit crab torn of its shell. Do you know that people are calling the subject Additional Madness? Yes. Yet, some people at over at St. Teresa's still managed to score 98% for it! That is way freaky! Yes, freakiness in all it's splendour! Most of us are, I believe, already suffering damages caused by the subject. Enter our world--&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KTwldlTI/AAAAAAAAAGM/31TJto2-TQc/s1600-h/00630-funny-cartoons-math-brain.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313766313663763762" style="WIDTH: 273px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KTwldlTI/AAAAAAAAAGM/31TJto2-TQc/s320/00630-funny-cartoons-math-brain.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Yes, so if we don't do something about it now, the country will have leaders with imploded brains.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;But seriously, why do we have so many exams in the first place? Let me summarise my whole point into one simple cartoon.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KT8ANDsI/AAAAAAAAAGE/wKj4pva4FUM/s1600-h/how+true....jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313766316728716994" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KT8ANDsI/AAAAAAAAAGE/wKj4pva4FUM/s320/how+true....jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Yes, the awful truth.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-8471142041010855089?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/8471142041010855089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=8471142041010855089' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/8471142041010855089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/8471142041010855089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/03/after-hurricane-ends.html' title='After the hurricane ends...'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/Sb5KTsOkv0I/AAAAAAAAAF8/9Okul1jI-G8/s72-c/fell+asleep+studying.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-3035622679489500718</id><published>2009-03-04T03:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T01:09:50.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Done With</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The concert ended on Sunday and I am now done. I did such a big mistake but lots of people didn't notice so... Mummy Darling was there with Aunty Nan. For those who don't know and are inclined to misunderstand, Mummy Darling is my Godmum whom I love very much and whose name is actually Florence, and one of those who helped me get through a couple of difficult years for me health-wise. She is a very uplifting person, and I believe that God's Spirit truly manifests within her soul, because when you are near her, you are just drawn into her aura of peace. It was great to have her there to see me dance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;And I was reminded very kindly that same night by two different younger people just how very short I am. Thank you people, and I hope you keep growing and growing till you're so tall, I can't even see your faces cause they're hidden by the clouds... I didn't mean that, soo sorry. Scratch that in your mind. I would do it here, if I knew how.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I won't be upset over it though... I'm actually very cool with it now...I mean, short people rule, too. Take for instance...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Joan of Arc 4'11"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mother Teresa (died '97) 4'10"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;There isn't anyone else that I know of. &lt;em&gt;Darn!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-3035622679489500718?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/3035622679489500718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=3035622679489500718' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3035622679489500718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3035622679489500718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/03/done-with.html' title='Done With'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-62212429665568285</id><published>2009-02-28T19:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T20:34:44.624-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nerves..'/><title type='text'>AAAARGH.......!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Sorry, I just &lt;strong&gt;had&lt;/strong&gt; to scream - even if I have to do it silently because I'm now alone at home and I'm afraid that &lt;em&gt;'something'&lt;/em&gt; might return this desperate yell, plus, I have neighbours and I still suspect that some of my previous ones moved away just to get away from all the yelling I &lt;em&gt;'supposedly'&lt;/em&gt; do everyday - and release at least some of the tension I've been feeling lately. &lt;strong&gt;F-I-N-A-L-L-Y handed in my Commonwealth Essay!&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt;! By the way, it only took me this long because I'd written more than double past the word limit which was between 1200 to 1500. (I wrote something like 3800 plus words). I spent four days just to edit the whole thing! (And four days with Mum practically living in my ear so that she could nag and rant at me more conveniently). Now, it just looks weird. Glad that's over! I think I've learnt my lesson of writing without a proper draft beforehand...or maybe not. I just don't work that way. Plus, my unfinished MPH essay is (non)living proof. What's the word limit for that one? I think it's something between 2000 to 5000 words and I've already written...hehheh...4958 words. I have to cut again people! May the Lord help me!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Oh, and another vital reason for my yelling is the ballet concert last night. I thought I was going to faint. Honestly. Okay, I wasn't &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; nervous at first because I wasn't doing the part of police just yet, but then Angelina started going on about being nervous ("&lt;em&gt;Aah&lt;/em&gt;, so scared, so nervous, so nervous..." or something along those lines), and Leanne was bouncing around like, quote Angelina, 'a gummy bear', and she's good at that role while I'm not. Just goes to show how stressed out (&lt;strong&gt;understatement of the millennium&lt;/strong&gt;) I am now. I am so scared of mucking up, that I'm afraid I'll wet my pants. Good thing the toilet's so close. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I've sort of taken my forgetting-the-steps half way through the rehearsal yesterday as a very sad omen. I'm also afraid that I won't change on time. And I did some little mistake in almost every part yesterday...Teresa's coming to the show... I feel like crying...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Exams start this coming Friday. (Before I continue, I would just like to take this opportunity to ask &lt;em&gt;Why is my life like this?)&lt;/em&gt; I am way behind on a lot of my subjects, and I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; regretting my choice of not joining tuition classes earlier. I was doing fine at first... then, I was hit by the bombshell that was my prefect nomination and the duty schedule knocked me off my comfortable stool of Understanding. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Sejarah&lt;/span&gt; is surprisingly not hateful anymore. I just wish that I could remember more than a fraction of it. I love Maths and Add. Maths. but wish that I could remember the formulas better. Am really interested in Bio., Chem., and Phys., just wish that I knew more about them and that something would sink in. Wish B.M was easier for me and Moral wasn't fixed on the many Definitions, and English was the National Language. O Lord, help me through this coming exam as you did for my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;PMR&lt;/span&gt;, and I pray to you that I will be able to understand, comprehend, and remember what I am to be tested on, and I pray that I will be able to answer the questions well. Amen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;[Did I mention that I got 7, that is to say, straight A's for my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;PMR&lt;/span&gt;? Am still waiting for the next PC fair so that I can get my promised Camera. Thank you another &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Teresa for&lt;/span&gt; rubbing it in my face when you got yours.]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Still nervous... *groan*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Really should get my work done...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Am still wondering if anyone reads this blog...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-62212429665568285?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/62212429665568285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=62212429665568285' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/62212429665568285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/62212429665568285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/aaaargh.html' title='AAAARGH.......!!'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-6459609995794482750</id><published>2009-02-20T17:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T17:51:28.516-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Deep thinking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weird me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='(?)'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Past Thoughts'/><title type='text'>The Emptiness Of A Dream</title><content type='html'>I'm walking through a warm, dark place&lt;br /&gt;That's clear and foggy in turns,&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to move forwards, to find a way&lt;br /&gt;But everything is empty.&lt;br /&gt;There is no air, no water, nor ground&lt;br /&gt;I'm wrapped in empty space.&lt;br /&gt;I cannot feel it, can't understand it,&lt;br /&gt;I'm lost in a vapour maze.&lt;br /&gt;An everlasting, burning lamp&lt;br /&gt;Is my only friend.&lt;br /&gt;It lends its flame and gives me light,&lt;br /&gt;Enough for me to Hope 'til I reach the end.&lt;br /&gt;Often the fog threatens my friend&lt;br /&gt;That it might die or lose its glow,&lt;br /&gt;Often when I lift it up,&lt;br /&gt;I see loss, but then no more.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes there are faces that stay,&lt;br /&gt;So merry and calm to behold.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes there is an ugliness that surrounds,&lt;br /&gt;But the spaces respond not to my call.&lt;br /&gt;I have found in time that nothing lasts&lt;br /&gt;Though solid, things may seem.&lt;br /&gt;It's a wonder that I care so much&lt;br /&gt;When time is just a dream.&lt;br /&gt;I cover myself with illusions and thoughts&lt;br /&gt;And make myself a life.&lt;br /&gt;I build a house and make a home;&lt;br /&gt;Everyday I toil and strive.&lt;br /&gt;Tears do plague me, joy exalts me,&lt;br /&gt;But emotions are a play.&lt;br /&gt;Often I listen to the outside world,&lt;br /&gt;And sometimes I give a say.&lt;br /&gt;But it's all just a warm, dark place&lt;br /&gt;That's clear and foggy in turns.&lt;br /&gt;I climb false ladders,&lt;br /&gt;I try to forget I know...&lt;br /&gt;That everything is empty...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-6459609995794482750?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/6459609995794482750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=6459609995794482750' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/6459609995794482750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/6459609995794482750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/emptiness-of-dream.html' title='The Emptiness Of A Dream'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-4016149912562541543</id><published>2009-02-20T05:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T06:30:16.716-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need To Prioritise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This is a new day, a new dawn, and a new beginning...so why is everything getting old already?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;School's just started, but my work load's inflating,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm so tired, and  I think my back is breaking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I keep joking when I really can't afford it,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I keep reading like my life depends upon it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Outside of school, I have no life or time,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And now let's see what made me think up this little rhyme:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Ballet classes four times a week,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(But then I'm quite sure that in this I do not reek),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tuition classes on two different days,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(Why can't they and I go our separate ways??),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On three other days, I stay back in school for extra classes,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To learn B.K., &lt;em&gt;Siviks&lt;/em&gt;, English Lit., (and thankfully no others),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The Girls' Brigade on every Saturday,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(I'd rather not go, honestly, but what can I say?),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And each and every Sunday, I go faithfully to Church,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(I like this one, and here I don't have to march!),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Two or three unfinished essays for some competitions,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(The result of my own procrastination),&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And, yeah, my own procrastination,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(That is giving me a lot of problems).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*sigh* Life is so full of burdens and...well, just stuff!! I really should get my priorities straight, and draw up a timetable or something. You know, &lt;em&gt;PRIORITISE&lt;/em&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-4016149912562541543?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/4016149912562541543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=4016149912562541543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4016149912562541543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4016149912562541543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-need-to-prioritise.html' title='I Need To Prioritise'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-520769299877096315</id><published>2009-02-18T01:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T02:37:19.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Have You heard Every Mom's Anthem??</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-3ded813546297057" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D3ded813546297057%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329933836%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D20C81A8F5B6E70372A9FA1979C407FBF1786638E.2A3FED947F788DB7B05BF7166E60CEA53B699867%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D3ded813546297057%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DzeOYlIITdU2BQ8meCKXA8qWiolI&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D3ded813546297057%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329933836%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D20C81A8F5B6E70372A9FA1979C407FBF1786638E.2A3FED947F788DB7B05BF7166E60CEA53B699867%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D3ded813546297057%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DzeOYlIITdU2BQ8meCKXA8qWiolI&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Sit back, relax, and listen carefully... you might remember something you forgot to do... After all, this is 'The Mom Song', and each and every mother's anthem. Ha..ha..ha... '~'...*~*...*^*... (;&lt;d&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-520769299877096315?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=3ded813546297057&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/520769299877096315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=520769299877096315' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/520769299877096315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/520769299877096315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/have-you-heard-every-moms-anthem.html' title='Have You heard Every Mom&apos;s Anthem??'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-5802403610601014034</id><published>2009-02-17T23:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T00:45:23.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Am Enduring Very, Very Quietly... &gt;:@(</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hi! It's me again! Well, recently, (Veerryyy recently), I quit debate, went for an Inter-Housee Essay Writing Competition, won it, and am so very proud of my sister. Okay, exactly how recent? Hmmm... what about yesterday and this morning? Yesterday, I faced Sam and told her that I was quitting, because I still think I am more of a writing person, and debate is just not for me. Surprisingly, she was very calm and pleasant. (I have this image of her in the eye of my mind whose mannerisms closely resemble that of an angry, fire-breathing dragon... I wonder how I could cross out my words). Alls well that ends well, eh? Only, now Teresa calls me a ditcher, and some doubt has crept into my head as to whether Sam's apparent calmness - or indifference (?) - is actually a good thing... ha...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Oh, and Judy won a similar essay writing competition for the Form 3's. Yay!! And to think some of the people around her were biased and chose only their friends and never thought of her and '&lt;em&gt;kua be kee' &lt;/em&gt;her and chose people with whom they didn't even have the courtesy to discuss their possible joinings first and then have the nerve to tell those people when they refused to go that they have to go because they had chosen them and then still never thinking of Judy and then becoming even meaner people who never bothered to congratulate her and apologise after she good-naturedly told the person who did not want to go that she didn't mind going in her stead and then WINNING for them, horrible, mean people...but I didn't say anything, am not saying anything, and will never say anything against them... I'll just quietly endure this injustice...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;[P/S. To aforesaid mean people, HA! In Your Faces!!]&lt;/p&gt;                                                     &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZvHjU99N2I/AAAAAAAAAE0/oRtN16lePto/s1600-h/open+your+eyes+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304052395896813410" style="WIDTH: 125px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZvHjU99N2I/AAAAAAAAAE0/oRtN16lePto/s320/open+your+eyes+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZvHjmx1n8I/AAAAAAAAAE8/-iDpRsufU5M/s1600-h/open+your+eyes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304052400677822402" style="WIDTH: 196px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZvHjmx1n8I/AAAAAAAAAE8/-iDpRsufU5M/s320/open+your+eyes.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still not saying anything...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-5802403610601014034?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/5802403610601014034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=5802403610601014034' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/5802403610601014034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/5802403610601014034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-enduring-very-quietly.html' title='I Am Enduring Very, Very Quietly... &gt;:@('/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZvHjU99N2I/AAAAAAAAAE0/oRtN16lePto/s72-c/open+your+eyes+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-1773535092422811622</id><published>2009-02-14T19:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T19:13:58.007-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Oh, and one of my grandma's cats, named Mulu, died over the last couple of days. My grandaunt threw her into the river as her final resting place. God bless her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-1773535092422811622?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/1773535092422811622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=1773535092422811622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1773535092422811622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1773535092422811622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/oh-and-one-of-my-grandmas-cats-named.html' title=''/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-1651450080192694644</id><published>2009-02-14T18:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T19:06:34.461-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yesterday...</title><content type='html'>I am really stressed out. My essays for a couple of essay competitions are due, and I just found out how much I really suck at debating at my first ever official debating competition yesterday in school, in front of three classes! And, I also suck at acting, which I will maybehave to do for my upcoming ballet concert, and I also apparently kind of suck at the dances. I feel sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teresa was really good, and (ha ha...) stylish. she just lit up the whole stage! Alex was really good as well, but I thought Teresa was going to take the prize for Best Speaker. Congrats Alex!! (If you ever read my blog...) Anyway, Teresa did well, and her internet has returned. It's just one good thing after another for her. Hopefully, her blessed streak lasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel really down right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-1651450080192694644?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/1651450080192694644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=1651450080192694644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1651450080192694644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/1651450080192694644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/yesterday.html' title='Yesterday...'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-644067370408089910</id><published>2009-02-11T00:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T00:55:24.305-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weird me'/><title type='text'>Shakings</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have this weird thing. When I'm excited or nervous, I shake, really uncontrollably. It happened to me once during a G-Math Competition last year, and it happened to me again just two days ago during a debate meeting. It's not because I'm scared, because I'm NOT during these occurances, I-Just-Shake. Must be psychological. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Oh, and I had my measurements taken today for my prefect ti - what tie! - I seriously think I'm losing my sanity - for my prefect blazer and skirt. Just found out how very, absolutely, F-A-T (!) I am. I am not happy. and I am still kind of suffering from the shock of discovering that I am to be a prefect. ME! What a bombshell. I can hardly speak in front of a crowd! I further shocked myself by taking up debate. *signal knocking head on table*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wonder why I did thatin the first place??? This world is full of mysteries...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-644067370408089910?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/644067370408089910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=644067370408089910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/644067370408089910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/644067370408089910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/shakings.html' title='Shakings'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-4835672791091767602</id><published>2009-02-11T00:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T00:57:21.722-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomness</title><content type='html'>[First of all, I shall start with emo-ness.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNyhL-IGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/4HYxjErb1xI/s1600-h/emochicken+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301455610410049634" style="WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNyhL-IGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/4HYxjErb1xI/s320/emochicken+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Sometimes, I just scare myself...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNyujy2BI/AAAAAAAAADI/0VdiuZGf9dM/s1600-h/emochicken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301455613999634450" style="WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNyujy2BI/AAAAAAAAADI/0VdiuZGf9dM/s320/emochicken.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Sometimes, I wonder why people kill, and why i'm here... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXHBn25I/AAAAAAAAACo/10h4CYhUqfU/s1600-h/EMO_Sponge_Bob_by_Dawe89.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301454040019229586" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXHBn25I/AAAAAAAAACo/10h4CYhUqfU/s320/EMO_Sponge_Bob_by_Dawe89.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I wonder how a sponge can live in a pineapple under the sea and wear box-like pants... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;[I like spongebob, but now he is just sooo out of it... Mooving on, it's tongue-twister time!!]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;How much wood can a woodchuck chuck,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;If a woodchuck would chuck wood?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKLWucknBI/AAAAAAAAACY/y3xr09Nawl4/s1600-h/Cat+in+a+hat-Dr.Sous-theDrinkRyhme.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301452933909748754" style="WIDTH: 375px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKLWucknBI/AAAAAAAAACY/y3xr09Nawl4/s320/Cat+in+a+hat-Dr.Sous-theDrinkRyhme.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Anyone remember Dr.Seuss? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNys-9pBI/AAAAAAAAADA/VRRliDH9qQc/s1600-h/triplecheeseburger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301455613576717330" style="WIDTH: 252px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNys-9pBI/AAAAAAAAADA/VRRliDH9qQc/s320/triplecheeseburger.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Me is having a slight suspicion that me is liking fastfood... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXEOtajI/AAAAAAAAACg/TZDS2tZH5dI/s1600-h/blue-panther.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301454039268813362" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 227px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXEOtajI/AAAAAAAAACg/TZDS2tZH5dI/s320/blue-panther.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Blue rules, pink drools!! [No, of course I don't mean that... pink is okay...]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Why are you calling me random?? you are sooo mean.... Bleug! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXSEk66I/AAAAAAAAACw/V6Cd_D9PKM0/s1600-h/Bluek.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301454042984410018" style="WIDTH: 111px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 103px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKMXSEk66I/AAAAAAAAACw/V6Cd_D9PKM0/s320/Bluek.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;Awww, come on, I was only kidding... Give me a smile...&lt;br /&gt;Like so:=&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNySK_HTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/NqVYj-dRIp8/s1600-h/smiling+dogs.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301455606379388210" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNySK_HTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/NqVYj-dRIp8/s320/smiling+dogs.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Just look at those &lt;em&gt;beautiful&lt;/em&gt; teeth!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;[This brings to mind an important quote (*ahem*): "As Teresa T. once - or several onces - wisely said, "You are so lame."]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-4835672791091767602?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/4835672791091767602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=4835672791091767602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4835672791091767602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4835672791091767602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2009/02/randomness.html' title='Randomness'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKNyhL-IGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/4HYxjErb1xI/s72-c/emochicken+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-3525987387625661735</id><published>2008-12-29T21:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T23:51:14.981-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Stupidity in the good old days...'/><title type='text'>1st Mention of Our Stupidity</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My friends and I have this odd tendency to act very stupidly sometimes. And by friends, I actually mean Dalia and Phoebe. I have a slight inkling that part of this is Judy's fault. It might just be a suspicion, but, she is after all the founder of Manly United and Ladypool....one of the weird founders anyway. (Her friends are super weird, too). Okay, so here's the deal: Manly United comprises of girls...as guys, and Ladypool comprises of guys...as girls. Makes sense? No? Well, maybe this might clear the fog:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;1st EXAMPLE:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Dalia&lt;strong&gt;----&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;David (of Manly United)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Gosh... She's David too? This world just can't get enough of us! Gosh..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz9upKMGI/AAAAAAAAABY/HRb3ZuYMEcU/s1600-h/images+david.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288057154304618594" style="WIDTH: 124px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 122px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz9upKMGI/AAAAAAAAABY/HRb3ZuYMEcU/s320/images+david.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;So she is known as David in Manly United&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;. Lucky her. I mean, it's one of her favourite guy names, and she just &lt;em&gt;might&lt;/em&gt; pass for a David... NOT to say that she looks like a guy of course.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;2nd EXAMPLE:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Phoebe&lt;strong&gt;----&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Phineas (also of Manly United)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Weee...!" I've never watched 'Phineas and Ferb' before, but I think that Phineas is the one with the orange-red hair. After all, Phoebe does love orange...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz-KNw5pI/AAAAAAAAABw/NPJSqejNGE4/s1600-h/phineas+and+ferb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288057161705907858" style="WIDTH: 118px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 110px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz-KNw5pI/AAAAAAAAABw/NPJSqejNGE4/s320/phineas+and+ferb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;I just L-O-V-E this one! Not half because it is such a weird name that sounds so sneery and old, but because they have succeessfully plastered an old and sneery name onto Phoebe. Who is not like that at all. At all. I really mean it. I mean, she is just like the perfect opposite of sneery and, of course, old. (Because if she's old, then I am too, and I'm not). Of course, the Phineas from 'Phineas and Ferb' isn't sneery or old... I was pretty much thinking along the lines of Phineas Nigellus from Harry Potter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;3rd EXAMPLE:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Darren&lt;strong&gt;----&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Daisy(of Ladypool)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Dainty little daisy, so pretty and so fair,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;How could you two ever be compared?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You are so white, and so lovely,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Whereas he just reminds me of Donald and Goofy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz97k2OwI/AAAAAAAAABo/U05Z2J89908/s1600-h/images+daisy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288057157776194306" style="WIDTH: 88px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz97k2OwI/AAAAAAAAABo/U05Z2J89908/s320/images+daisy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Yes, this Darren is a real, living, breathing and existing guy, and yes, &lt;em&gt;they &lt;/em&gt;renamed him. *sigh* Honestly, this one reallly just creeps me out, even though it's kind of fun to see when they taunt him. *note evil expression* I have only seen this guy twice before, and he is definitely NOT a daisy. The first time I saw him, he wasn't really that tall for a guy, had one of his arms in a sling (I forget which arm), and had this thing for kicking other people. The second time I saw him, he was still not that tall for a guy, and pretty much had not changed at all, except he was now (Darren minus sling)=(Slingless-Darren)=(Still-Not-A-Daisy). Truthfully, he reminds me a whole lot more of Donald duck and Goofy. I heard he's grown much taller since last we met, which only adds to the horror of imagining him in a dress....Ugh! *shudder*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;4th EXAMPLE:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Ben&lt;strong&gt;----&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;Barbie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...when life is plastic, it's fantastic.."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz9-dZLvI/AAAAAAAAABg/d9HlgC-em08/s1600-h/images+barbie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288057158550236914" style="WIDTH: 119px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 105px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz9-dZLvI/AAAAAAAAABg/d9HlgC-em08/s320/images+barbie.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Fantastic??? Wh&lt;em&gt;aat&lt;/em&gt;! Okay, so this is another guy I only practically know by sight. The only time I saw him, was at Cynthia's birthday party. He's of okay height, with dyed hair and glasses. At that time, he wore shuffle pants with those reflector things on them. Well, since Judy was there too, she and Cynthia decided to give him a name, and (ha, ha..) they decided on Barbie. Never have I seen a guy that can carry off the name Barbie, and he is one of those guys. Otherwise, it would be just too weird, not to mention oh, so sad... And funnily enough, on Cynthia's birthday cake was... a big image of &lt;strong&gt;Barbie&lt;/strong&gt;! (and on either side of the said Barbie was a small flower... &lt;em&gt;daisies&lt;/em&gt;, maybe?) one can only imagine how they laughed their heads off when thay saw this. And together, with tiny s'sword-for-cutting-cake' in hand, they proceeded to blind Barbie, decapitate her, and give her religion. Of course, all this was done to the Barbie on the cake. The other Barbie is still alive and well. As well as a guy who bears the name 'Barbie' can be anyway...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;5th EXAMPLE:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Joan&lt;strong&gt;----&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;John&lt;strong&gt;----&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josh (reluctantly of Manly United)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least, myself. The creative juices of my sister's brain seem to have pretty much eveporated by this time, and so, I received rather flat changes to my name...but, re-reading the above, I actually think that I have been blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Just so you know, my sister is also the person who thought up, created, and invented many a hilarious persona, such as the Korean, Pak Jik-Tau, which, of course, means 'basking in the sun' in Hokkien. *sigh of long suffering*]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho... my real purpose in writing this is to tell the tale of the Quat Clibe, and their valiant, hyperactive queen, Nonnen Quat. this all started when I told a story, which I do not plan to recount here. The point is, we started creating tribes and clans, and clibes...you get the picture. Even Darren was King of the One-armed Tribe for awhile, (while the sling lasted). well, we married Phoebe, a.k.a Nonnen Quat, off to Lord Farquat - the short, weird guy from the orignal Srek movie - and gave her a kingdom to rule over, complete with a tangy brother-in-law by the name of Kumquat. Yes, like the fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKGlNcJuoI/AAAAAAAAACQ/I5bVx-9sxVo/s1600-h/kumquat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301447685189515906" style="WIDTH: 89px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 82px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKGlNcJuoI/AAAAAAAAACQ/I5bVx-9sxVo/s320/kumquat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you see me laughing?? Ha ha ha... !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, there was Dalia, a.k.a Bappen Bafoonina Bappalappashamalamadingdong, (whom we all just used to call Bappen fo the sake of convenience), queen of the Tauhu Clan. She is the tyrant of her clan, having murdered her husband, King Toufu, hardly into the first day of their deadly union, by letting him slip from the second storey of our school to his doom. She is also famously known as &lt;em&gt;the &lt;/em&gt;Tauge, who enables the continuing existance of Tauhu. (Of course, the name only means 'bean sprout' in Hokkien).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not like what I am about to do right now... But I have to do it for the sake of retaining my friendships and not be called a chicken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKFD0b7OaI/AAAAAAAAACA/2WXmnNv9b7k/s1600-h/image002.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301446012030368162" style="WIDTH: 118px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 112px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKFD0b7OaI/AAAAAAAAACA/2WXmnNv9b7k/s320/image002.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKFDwcw6WI/AAAAAAAAAB4/uG9-__BHBVA/s1600-h/chicken-dance.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301446010960144738" style="WIDTH: 115px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKFDwcw6WI/AAAAAAAAAB4/uG9-__BHBVA/s320/chicken-dance.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I too have a tribe.... (T.T) - you see me crying Dalia??? It better be on your conscience otherwise you are sooo... &lt;em&gt;not-a-good-person!&lt;/em&gt; (I am hopping that you feel really bad) Going on with my self-proclaimed bravery, it is called... the tribe of the...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKGlN4JkzI/AAAAAAAAACI/rvJi6YEZI00/s1600-h/images+guinea+pig.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301447685306946354" style="WIDTH: 125px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 109px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SZKGlN4JkzI/AAAAAAAAACI/rvJi6YEZI00/s320/images+guinea+pig.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;On the upside, at least I'm cute.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-3525987387625661735?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/3525987387625661735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=3525987387625661735' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3525987387625661735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/3525987387625661735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2008/12/1st-mention-of-our-stupidity.html' title='1st Mention of Our Stupidity'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sPy8-JgZ8Fk/SWLz9upKMGI/AAAAAAAAABY/HRb3ZuYMEcU/s72-c/images+david.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1424572702479512764.post-4527301554227749744</id><published>2008-08-15T06:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T00:44:42.851-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thoughts'/><title type='text'>Just a BluSoul</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Life is unfair, and yet, surprisingly not so... Life is cruel, and at the same time, gentle... Life is demanding, but ironically, yielding... Life is surprising, but how many of us have really been surprised? Life is half empty, half full, a glass of Nothingness, that is overflowing as well... So what is it really?? Is it true that Life is what you make it??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That is what I want to know, although I know that only God has the answer. Curiosity is in one's nature...one that I, sadly, am helpless to. Having lived this long though, I think that I am prepared for whatever may hit me next in the face, both the good and the bad... but I am only fooling myself, and that is only how I would like to feel. The truth is, &lt;em&gt;I am weak.&lt;/em&gt; I need support, because though I may think that I am ready, how much of the outside world can I really take? A disappointment can have me on the floor in less than a second, crying my heart out inside, not strong enough to let the world know how I feel or to pick myself back up. Thankfully, though, I am learning...with the help of a very good friend - God - who knew me even before I knew myself. In fact, even before I knew that I existed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What do I mean by a BluSoul? Why do I call myself that? Well, maybe because I have a soul, one which I think is Blue. Weird? Not really. It makes perfect sense to me. Ever wondered what colours can do, or what they contain? For me, Blue is an embodiment of all kinds of feelings; it can be sad, peaceful, dull, glum, gentle, hard, calming, dazzling, confusing, happy, comforting, bright and even angry. it depends solely on the shade of Blue that one is looking at. Not all colours can be like this - so very much like a person. I mean, sure, Red can be angry and hard, and dazzling, happy and bright and dark, &lt;em&gt;but, &lt;/em&gt;can it be all the rest? I think not. It might be because I'm a lover of Blue, but I feel it to be the most endearing colour out of all of them. I mean, Life wouldn't &lt;em&gt;be &lt;/em&gt;the same without Blue...&lt;em&gt;at all.&lt;/em&gt; Just imagine Yellow seas, Green skies, and the list could go on and on without stopping. The point is, our world would be very odd and distorted without Blue. So many things would be thrown out of perspective that I cringe at the very thought of them. &lt;em&gt;The world just wouldn't be normal!&lt;/em&gt; Then again...why do I care? I mean things are NOT like that, and my Blue is still here. So all is well...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As much as I love Blue...the old saying goes," Too much of a good thing, no matter WHAT, is bad." You know what I mean. I am refering to my school - St. Mary's Secondary School. I do love my school, make no mistake of that, but the Blue-ness of everything is to the extent that it has come to bear a not-so-slight resemblance to a &lt;strong&gt;Police Station&lt;/strong&gt;. They might even be cousins by the looks of it, a misleading fact very far from reality of course, although both are under the same governmant.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;But I am side-tracking, a bad habit I picked up from two of my friends (who are affecting hugely my innocent 'naiivity', by the way). The reason for my loving Blue so much is that, for absolutely &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt; has a reason now, is that I have gone so deeply, or tried to go as deep as I could into it. One just can't come out of something like that and not be affected. Most of my friends love Blue as well, and it is because of them that I am coming out of the shell I have come to wear to 'protect' myself against others' opinions and learning to be more open with myself, thus, allowing myself to grow better. The process is slow, and I am doing this blindly perhaps, but surely, it is happening. And I have my &lt;strong&gt;BIGGEST&lt;/strong&gt; friend of all - God - to thank for it as well, for he has led me through a lot of situations and 'SETUFF'(health issues) and is still leading me through mysterious Life. I stress again that Blue is a colour very much like people (to me), and of course, other colours are too, (to other individuals), so if people can affect you, so can colours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Life is another thing... it is Dramatic and Beautiful, and it is a long Journey. Though hard times will come, God will never let one suffer more than one can stand - He will help you endure it, like He helped me. Remember, there is always a silver lining behind every cloud; the dawn will appear after the night; the rainbow will appear after the rain. Don't be afraid to live, like how I was once afraid. The canvas of Life, of your soul, is in front of you, paint it with whichever colour you want...if it's hard for you to decide, let Him guide your hand along the colours and the surface. I chose for my main colour to be Blue, and for the other colours to complement it occassionally...I am aiming to make it a master piece...my best work of all, with God as my mentor, always looking over my shoulder for the times that I stall and need his help. PIck up the brush if you haven't... What's your colour?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1424572702479512764-4527301554227749744?l=strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/feeds/4527301554227749744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1424572702479512764&amp;postID=4527301554227749744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4527301554227749744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1424572702479512764/posts/default/4527301554227749744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strokes-of-ink.blogspot.com/2008/08/just-blusoul.html' title='Just a BluSoul'/><author><name>I'mGettingWeirdlyPink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07433076902920282939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gNKDy2F0lKY/TuB2Kpor7KI/AAAAAAAAAM0/BpvaX26vyzE/s220/Photo%2Bon%2B2011-11-23%2Bat%2B18.43%2B%25233.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
