<?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-3121756511405965197</id><updated>2011-07-07T14:36:13.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Realm</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></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-3121756511405965197.post-2749511792612057458</id><published>2009-11-15T19:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T20:39:07.558-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a Voice to Calm a Storm, a Voice of Reminiscience</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="courier new"&gt;It's Monday morning... but with 6 minutes till noon, the term 'morning' is just semantics. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;Such indifference... the 6 minutes between morning and noon isn't world apart, there's no twilight like dawn and dusk, and especially under such gloomy sky, the indifference is even more apparent and at the same time more subtle.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;I woke up earlier than usual, maybe it's because I was informed the night earlier that I won't have my own car to use for the day, and the laziness trait that runs inherently within my family is too big a concern for me to actually not to ignore. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;Still, the term 'earlier' translates to clocking in at work with 1 minute left to spare before I have to start preparing some troublesome formal explanation for being late. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;Sitting under the artificial, neon lights during day time like how it was for me for the past 1 year, every trip to the restroom or the pantry, passing through the only access to sunlight is worth treasuring. Normally, when the sun is strong in the middle of the day, the light seeping through the curtains is good enough a relief for me.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;... yet today I am met with indifference, but I would rather be outside than in here. It almost seemed like there's a storm brewing behind the gloomy sky outside, but at the same time it's just drizzling, if not, very light rain at best. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;... but when you're standing from 30-40 paces from the glass panel, when you can't see the rooftops of the surrounding terrace house, it almost seems like there's an ocean outside, and you're in a giant ship.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;... and my mood today has been abnormally foul. Maybe it was because I had to run up the stairs with to clock in on time, maybe it was because of the weather or even maybe it's because of the kind of work I had to submit to the other departments that has nothing to do with my actual work other than telling them what is it that I have done, or that I will do. Maybe it's all of them put together, or maybe it's all a bit of each and every one of them.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;I had to find some means of escape from this form of slow and melancholic destruction of my mind. I've just sync 2 songs into my iPhone yesterday night, thinking that I might need them for today. What I have prophecised came true, I needed those 2 just to feel that the world is a sorry place to live in, but it's alright.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;I've been looping my favourite song of the 2 for the past 2 and 1/2 hours, Ikue Asazaki's Toku no Shima Setsu. Don't ask me what is it about, because I have no idea. It's just the perfect song for me right now. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;Her voice is raspy, precisely how the other reviewer has pointed it out, but at the same time it's unnaturally haunting. I don't know how it is soothing the rage in me, but it's doing a damn fine job. Why am I raging? I don't know. At least, I know it's being contained.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;The song brings a hint of sorrow behind its tunes; singing of hardship of the early days... like days without your 2000 bucks portable computer or wireless internet, or public phone booth for that matter, though the lyrics may be singing otherwise. The accompanying piano and the voice of the other singer; that other mysterious woman, make this piece complete.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;I looked at my colleagues with contempt, and it's not their fault but mine. I looked at them today, and I felt that I needed to stay away from them, for my sake and for theirs'. I was in a selfish emotion, that I was right, that everything else that offended me needed to disappear. And this voice of her's advises me of humility and selflessness, but I'm sure as hell she's not singing about nobility, or being noble, or being chivalrous... or other saint like ideals.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;She's just singing about stuffs I don't understand, but I could relate... and the resilience she showed in the face of such repeated hardships. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;Her voice reminded me of someone who was close, but never lived long enough. Her voice taught wisdom; empathy. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;From rage I'm slowly sinking away to something else. Pity, alot of pity for this sorry world, and from there I had a world of respect for the woman who owns this voice I'm listening to... to the perseverance she's singing of, n&lt;/font&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;ot of triumph, not of glory, but the adaptation of a difficult life.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;font face="Courier New"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-2749511792612057458?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/2749511792612057458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2749511792612057458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2749511792612057458'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-2035220612267127196</id><published>2009-10-13T00:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T00:33:40.600-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramble Ramble Ramb Ramble...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had nothing much to do at work now... not that there's literally nothing, but those things can wait. I need to utilise my leisure browsing time slot now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Listening to my iPhone (God bless Apple now that it's working fine again) and playing pool on it isn't gonna kill time fast enough than I'd like it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, while I was doing my leisure browsing, I stumbled upon this random blog entry about a girl waking up to a cockroach crawling over her... and as expectedly and rightfully so...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(woohoo just won another pool on my iPhone, okay back to writing.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;she freaked out (what's new? Girl + Cockroach = Panic+Hysteria). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Which led me to reminisce those days when my room... and my house aren't as clean as it is now (it's still dirty but not dirty enough to hold cockroach infestation it seems), there were organised hunts. Yep, you've guessed it right, hunts for them disgusting roaches. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm pretty sure I've written something similar to what I'm bout to write somewhere, sometime before this. No matter, nothing's gonna stop me from reproducing the wonderful experience all those times back then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You see, back then when my two younger brothers were still young, they're easily disturbed by the mere sight of a cockroach. They look at it and responded to it as though the cockroaches are aliens from space, possessing with them awesome technology from other civilisation that gives them the ability to shoot rays and lasers from their antennae that melts your brain. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I took it upon myself to train those little disgrace into proper 'boys' (they're still kids back then, and no guys should freak out like a little girl in front of a cockroach!). I started organising hunts, yep, hunts... like people used to do with bows and arrows few centuries back, and still doing it with rifles and bullets. The only difference is we're hunting a very agile little shitling that can crawl, hide and sometimes fly into your face... armed with only rolled newspapers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A hunt begins when a cockroach is sighted, usually in our room or in the kitchen.  Once sighted, the signal will be given and all officers on duty will scramble to equip themselves with the necessary gears (read: old newspapers.). Naturally, when it all began, it was my younger brother and I doing the hunt while my youngest brother stand guard at the door, being the only exit the little creature has in order to successfully evade execution.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We would form a perimeter where the cockroach was sighted, like a triangle of some sort and would try to disturb the surroundings so we can force it out from places like under the bed (they can hide for a long, long time). Hunts have a 95% success rate, meaning that only in very rare occasion that a cockroach has successfully evaded execution (we didn't have the patience waiting for it to come out, for instance). After my younger brother finally got the hang of things, my youngest brother start going in, replacing me as field agent while I'm on door duty, holding the exit in case they failed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I must say, once my brothers got used to it all, and with their improved reflexes through active participations in all the hunts, the hunts improved to a 100% success kill rate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I remember there's this one time, when my dad wasn't around and my mom's the only adult in the house, she'd deal with cockroaches with aerosol spray. That took forever, from chasing it and spraying all the way, until it finally gives up, rolls over and dies. I've learnt from the mistake, that using household pesticides against cockroaches are extremely time consuming and cost ineffective. It was rarely used although they are officially in our arsenal. The only time we'd consider using it would be to smoke the roaches out from where they're hiding.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;... but that's just about us growing up in a modern world trying to get rid of ours fears of roaches. The hunts are fun, and my younger brother are still making remarks like "damn... it's been a while since our last roach kill." from time to time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Have you ever seen a true roach killer in action? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Let me explain then. Cockroaches are extremely agile creatures, and they are fast for their size. For beginners, it's not easy trying to hit them with your rolled up newspapers. You've gotta be fast and precise or you'll find yourself hitting air all the time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;All three of us still couldn't score on first shot. On average we need to try hitting that thing for about three times.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;... but a master doesn't. A master doesn't even have the need to use a weapon apart from his hands. My dad is one of them. He can catch a roach with one swift swipe. The method of execution is very simple yet extremely effective and clean. Once caught, he would throw the cockroach to the wall or the floor with force. The cockroach would die from the impact, while retaining all those disgusting fluid within his body as the impact from the throw wouldn't have caused a structural breach on the roach.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;With all that said, I kinda secretly wish that sometimes I get to kill roaches like I use to, but I appreciate the fact that my house is still relatively clean in general.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I still wouldn't touch a cockroach with my hand, but I'm damn good at aiming the roaches with my foot. 90% accuracy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-2035220612267127196?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/2035220612267127196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=2035220612267127196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2035220612267127196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2035220612267127196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/10/ramble-ramble-ramb-ramble.html' title='Ramble Ramble Ramb Ramble...'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-2263154211864179741</id><published>2009-10-12T21:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T21:58:43.680-07:00</updated><title type='text'>15 Minutes!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Let me see what the hell can I come up with in a mere 15 minutes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;First and foremost, to those who cares, I've passed the possibly biggest exam in my entire life. With that said, I'll just stop here because I don't want to be seen as cashing in on other people's misery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In other news, there're probably someone out there who's celebrating their first month 'anniversary' (is that even an anniversary? I thought it's supposed to be an annual thing...) with their girlfriends. If anything, I think it's just a show of how happy the guy is finally to have found a girlfriend and to desperately show his appreciation for the girl who has just relieved him of his life long draught. "Hurray mom, I got a girlfriend, and I love her." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then, we'll have people who goes around saying things like "do you remember that we got together an hour/a day/a week ago?"... or those who keeps track of time so meticulously it's as though he's counting sands "We have been together for 1 year 3 months 4 days 15hours 34 minutes and 2seconds as of now."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;They're giving the rest of the guys a really bad name and a crazy standard bar to live up to. Girls who's never fell in love before, and subsequently fell out of love with a man like that would probably expect the same from her next other-half. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Who gives a crap? I know I don't. My lack of keeping track of time doesn't make me less committed or less romantic...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;well, to be continued later...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-2263154211864179741?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/2263154211864179741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=2263154211864179741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2263154211864179741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2263154211864179741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/10/15-minutes.html' title='15 Minutes!'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-1948496194203628266</id><published>2009-09-13T21:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T00:15:06.217-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Creator</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator is a mysterious figure. Nobody knows who he is, where he comes from, where he is, or what he is. Why is he called the Creator? The answer is simple, because as obscure as he is, his task is known to all; to create... and his creations will fill in the gaps in the limitless void.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What does it take to create, and how? To us mortals, creation is a widely misconceived truth, even the idea of procreation itself is not genuine creation. We mortals 'create' by molding some materials into something else with different 'uses' or 'functions'. That is not creation, that is to modify an item's properties to another that corresponds to the purpose of that modification. We mortals 'create' at the expense of something else, and with limited resources, our numbers of 'creations' are finite.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As for the Creator, creation is his nature. He can create a thing out of nothing... for there is nothing out there in the void. He can create anything at his whim; with a thought of his will his creation will take shape and form. It is his sole purpose to create, his sole authority.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator does not create without purpose, as it would be meaningless if he does so. He creates so that there will be order in nothingness. The 'life' that he creates is a byproduct of of the result of his actions. Well, it probably is not his plan to give his creation a sentient mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator creates with one rule to observe; that his creations must return to the void whence they came from... that nothing lasts forever. To us mortals, that is how 'time' begins, a byproduct of his creations. Life coincides with time because time dictates when life should end. Time is the ultimate rule that all life must obey, and time is different to each different life i.e. our lifetime is but a fleeting moment compared to that of a burning star.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator however, is neither bound be the rules of time nor will he suffer from the ravages of time. The Creator's existence is tied with the void; he will continue to create as the void continues to expand, an expansion that knows no end. Even if the void stops expanding, the Creator will still remain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator and the Void regards each other as equals, as partners. Of course, the Creator often wonders who came first, or who is superior? That question was soon set aside as they know they would not exist without one and the other, that the Void would not have a cause or meaning in absolute nothingness, and it was the Creator's creation in the Void gave the Void a meaning. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator observes a self imposed rule after realising that lesser sentient beings are brought into existence as a result of his creations, that he will never interfere with their affairs unless it is necessary; and that necessity is an option he hope that he will never have to use. Several times he was forced to interfere, and his interferences are absolute; the destruction and reconstruction of that particular creation. Several times that life has ventured too far beyond their permitted boundaries, by acting in defiance against the weave of time, prolonging, stalling, manipulating or even traversing in the fabric of time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Such knowledge are deemed to be too powerful to be wielded by mortals as it allows life to circumvent itself from reaching the their intended destination, the Void, the aversion of the rule that all creation should observe. Yet, the Creator knows that with the existence of life and time, the discovery of such knowldege is an eventuallity that can only be avoided by his interference. It pains the Creator to destory something that he has created, and that their demise are determined prematurely by their own progress. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Creator appeals to the Void, hoping that the Void might provide a viable solution to this meaningless cycles that are seeming to loop in perpetuity. He knows the irony runs deep, but despite his own personal agendas, to save his other creations from his own quick and definite interferences, he realises that the Void is also aware that order and balance must be maintained... that the rule of time is definite, and certain boundaries are not meant to be crossed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-1948496194203628266?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/1948496194203628266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=1948496194203628266' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1948496194203628266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1948496194203628266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/09/creator.html' title='The Creator'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-6036116720179201154</id><published>2009-08-07T20:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T21:00:23.248-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Boys... we're fucked."</title><content type='html'>It's Saturday, again. Damn... I wonder how many Saturdays I've lived through all these years, but I'm convinced that it's gonna be a hell of a calculation so we'll just leave it at that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yea, It's Saturday... what's the big deal about Saturdays? Apart from the fact that I've got a semi important dinner to attend later, my Saturday (this Saturday, and like all other working Saturday) is insignificant, if not worthless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm in a state of irony that I could comprehend but couldn't express them. I suppose, that the fact that I am here in the office working full day from Nine to fucking Six on a Saturday (the theme of the entry, c'mon people pay attention) when I could be doing something else such as getting a good night sleep without having the alarm telling me when to wake up over and over again, is making my Saturdays worthless but at the same time the value (my personal evaluation) for my free Saturdays is off the charts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I guess this is what people would call the agony of corporate hell. Woohoo, and I am smacked right in the middle of it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Speaking of agony, although I do not know if there is anything else that could be more agonising than working on a Saturday where you simply don't have much to do (or you could be at home trying to fix your cabinet and have a nail pop your eye via nailgun freak accident), ... I really don't have much to say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;To sum it up, this fucking sucks. This is suckage majeur, hands down... God damn it if feet down makes any sense (referring to the earlier expression 'hands down') I'd gladly use it over and over just to prove a point, even though I've already done so quite successfully.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;... Not to mention I was just reminded by myself (thank you very much, brain) that I am getting shit pay. Shit is shit, there is simply no other way about it, nor around it. I am a confirmed staff (confirmed after I am here working for a full 3 months with, as my boss would say, satisfactory performance) and my salary was not reviewed at all in these 11 months of working. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"... but you get to receive the bonus for October!" ... *middle finger majeur maximus*. 100 bucks for 11 months is not enough to steer me away from whining, or griping, or hate this shit of a crap they call 'system', as well as this job with an extremely fiery and burning passion. I'd go as far as to call this pure and raw emotion of mine 'vengeance'. RAWR!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After all the whining and griping tho, I'm stuck. Stuck because the path I chose requires a certification of some sort (and the system for the certification sucks balls), stuck in this rat race with no real qualification because I lack the former, and will continue to be a nobody until I can get away from this... this job of mine, this system that confines me so far down the executive level.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Corporate life doesn't interest me one bit, but isn't that what MOST parents have in mind for their children? If the waves of economic tidalwaves didn't open their eyes to the fact that even with the best education (unless you're a doctor or ... I don't know... some other really useful stuffs), there is no such thing as 'security' and 'success', with the latter being even MORE far fetched because working below, or for someone else will never make you any near successful. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;How do you define the term 'success' is up to you. For most, it's probably something like this:-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;1) work your ass off, fighting for promotions, or jumping to other companies that gives you better offer, with five figure monthly salary as your aim which would probably take about 15 years or so of your life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;2) during the progress of item 1 in the above, somewhere in between, build a family with your other half. Poor family planning leads to the incurrence of a 'few' (hopefully just one) non-satisfiable financial liabilities (but that's okay, I mean it could be worse, that kid could be of a different colour and you didn't have a pre-nup signed)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;3) finally you have reached the top (read: your top), rushing off to meetings daily, coming home late at night, You are at your corporate prime. You are a corporate beast. People cower in fear when they deal with you as much as they respect your corporate prowess. *FEAR!*... but you come home to a crying son, a troubled daughter and a lonely wife whom you suspect is spending too much time with the neighbour's husband, or the brother, or whoever (if she's spending time with a she then you're probably in luck! DO NOT COMPLAIN)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;4) Recession hits the globe and you, for the first time in your entire life and with a huge ass mortgage (not the kids) on your shoulder, are afraid that you may be retrenched. So what now? You did everything your parents wanted you to do, you were earning fat salary before this (or that) and you barely settled a quarter of the bill for the house that you just bought. What could possibly go worse? Maybe your wife wants a divorce (although at this stage it's probably good news unless you gotta pay for the legal fees).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I kid, I joke, I joke a little bit more, I kid even further. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don't know if whatever I just wrote is plausible. I really don't. I mean it could, I just don't want it to happen to me... but I have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling that it all starts with a fool like me, sitting here in an office, without much to do on a Saturday (YES THE SATURDAY FUCKING SUCKS) keeps telling himself "It'll all be fine. It'll all be better, it has to be." for the rest of the following miserable ten corporate years (as well as the unbearable Saturdays) to come. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On the up side of things, with a shirt, a tie, slacks and leather shoes, we look fuckin smart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-6036116720179201154?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/6036116720179201154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=6036116720179201154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6036116720179201154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6036116720179201154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/08/boys-were-fucked.html' title='&quot;Boys... we&apos;re fucked.&quot;'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-6408507881692228915</id><published>2009-07-02T08:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T09:00:49.770-07:00</updated><title type='text'>D-Day, July 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Nothing much left to write. All seems hopeless and I am surprisingly optimistic. Yes, I am surprised myself. With what I have now, there is no way I can handle the coming exams. The only thing I keep telling myself that all will be alright is because I have 1 week left to wrap up all the crap I have left out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at the papers, I look at the things written on it, and I honestly do not know what am I looking for. Maybe I am looking for some clues, some answers, some miracles even... because whatever that is written on those revision papers are definitely not knowledge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What good is knowledge when you can't use them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... yet the pages beckons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-6408507881692228915?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/6408507881692228915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=6408507881692228915' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6408507881692228915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6408507881692228915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/07/d-day-july-2009.html' title='D-Day, July 2009'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-3018293516571045405</id><published>2009-05-03T19:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T20:17:11.071-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where has it gone?</title><content type='html'>I didn't remember the first 3 years of my life after I was born. No, not even a single image that exists in my head that I can confirm. Starting from the age of four, things started to get a little clearerl; there are certain events I can recall from actually being a toddler. Even so, I suspect some of these memories are pieces of what's left of my toddler days. I think that there are some two to three year old events I have mistakenly thought they have happened at the age of four. Oh well, where's the line that distinguishes between age when we're kids that young except for birthday cakes and the numbers of candles on it? When I was a kid, everything seemed huge and everywhere with a space big enough for me to fit in is a playground. Time was indefinite, that is... until my first social duty kicks in; School.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember there was this once I still didn't know how to count, I was probably four (kids nowadays can do division at six, talk about what the f**k.) I was trying to make sense out of the ritual of tearing off calender pages at every 'month'. I didn't know what month and year was, but I was sure as hell trying to crack my head just to figure out the difference. That was just a one off experience when I was in my dad's old car on the way to pick up my mom from her work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good old days, when I'm still a good kid listening to whatever he says. I just remembered that I will always say yes to going out with my parents, or even just with one of them whenever the situation arise. I was almost too eager to say yes to begin with. The night drives when in his car was fun, it was a journey to look forward to. To see my mom for the first time in the day (it was at night though...), and then to go home together. I would look for things to do, because I sure as hell couldn't appreciate musics playing in the car radio back then. That was also the first time my fascination for the world beyond the sky grew. Stars were so captivating, and whatever that remains out there. You see, back then in the 1980s, KL wasn't half as bright as it is now during night time. You could still see the stars clearly, and the sky is filled with them. Almost too beautiful. My stupidity kicked in when I blurted out to my dad in the car "WHY IS THE MOON FOLLOWING US?!" I never get to find out why until many years later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In retrospect, I regret the day I learn to say no. Saying no to him when he said he's going out to pick up my mom, to go to places. I thought saying that would mean I was growing up, at least, to be not as dependent on my parents. What a fool, I clearly misinterpreted things back then. I'm not sure now that the first time I said that, I may have caused some hurt. Was I not filial? I sure hope not. I'm pretty sure now that if I had not say no, I'd have more fond memories of them now, especially my mother's. Y'know the days when Subang Parade was all the hype back then? I wish it still is now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two decades later, I'm an adult now, and my family has been through much. Almost too much. The past few years came and passed too fast, as compared to the days when I was four, a month seemed like a year. Right now a month seemed like a week. I guess it's because we simply have too much on our plate, too many things to do, too many things to think, to plan about... and we hardly have anytime ourselves, to do things we want to do. I remember reading this somewhere, that time is a mischievous little kid; when we are having fun, when we are enjoying ourselves, it would run away from us, steal our time away, but when we are having a hard time, being bored, it would not go away, and it seemed like these time would linger on forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come to think of it now, I didn't realise how much I love my younger brothers. Oh well, I gotta stop ranting now. Time to work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-3018293516571045405?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/3018293516571045405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=3018293516571045405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3018293516571045405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3018293516571045405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/05/where-has-it-gone.html' title='Where has it gone?'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-5600854348160899728</id><published>2009-04-11T00:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T00:55:24.366-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Saturday after Good Friday.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Bitter Employee's Log:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.20 PM: Just started on my work and it's half done. Boy, if that isn't efficiency I don't know what is. Wasting time and being inefficient are completely different. At least they are in my books. If I were to complete the work the moment I step into the office, I'd have the piles of papers/documents/files on my desk as my pillow. Shush.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Earlier, I was browsing around. I must admit, I'm a rather curious person. Apart from Wikipedia and mangas, I've been stumbling upon blogs (I use the word 'stumbling' because I literally did stumble upon the blogs without the intention of me looking for it in the first place... that's what stumble is, right?) of people I know, or knew. The line is shoddy nowadays, but pay no heed to it, for I do not really give a damn. They provide good entertainment to pass time, as well as a method of catching up. What? What are you talking about? Invasion of privacy? It's a blog. I'm such a gossip? It's a blog! I read whatever the hell they wrote!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Still, after reading the latest blog I found, I'm somewhat depressed. What's with people constantly wallowing themselves in pity and sorrow (read: Emo). I know life sucks, your lover left you for a wealthier dude, or your lover turns out to be a homo (okay the last one really do suck), but is there not a point to it? Life is such, no? I mean I doubt 'life' itself personally see to it that you are supposed to be a born loser... if you are a loser then it's because you really are one. Not because of what others did to you or what they didn't do for you, it's you who failed to act when you should have acted, and the proper course of action that was ought to be taken.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm by no means a better person. I'm probably condemned right now for being so generic about losers (and emos). Tho I must admit (shamelessly and rightfully so) that I am a much happier person than the average person. Yes! Happier-than-thou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a tip, if you can't get what you want, then maybe you ought to set the standard bar somewhat lower. You could just scrape through by living your life in a lie. No harm done hey. Or... you could keep up with the rate you're going and attempt suicide by stabbing yourself with the pen (or pencils or any such other sharp objects) and at the same time hope you really do kill yourself, that... or your selfless (read: selfish) and honorable (read: not-so) act of self mutilation would warrant a surge of emotion by your aspiring (read: sarcasm) and prospective (read: sarcasm &amp;amp; I hope not) lover / soulmate for life strong enough for him/her to want to care for you and all your stab wounds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have little to no respect to those who would use their own lives to threaten someone else into giving in into their demands. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Similarly, to those who likes to drown themselves with sorrow and get high on anti-depressants, for whatever reasons (disclaimer: except those who, for some exceptional case really deserves to be fed with such medical remedies recommended by certified/license practitioners, and regardless of the fact that I am still somewhat reserved and sceptical to the same.) , or just because, you're not too far away from those "I-WILL-SHOOT-MYSELF-IN-THE-BALLS-IF-YOU-DON'T-GO-OUT-WITH-ME!" people. I almost forgot about those people who have good looks, good health (read: not ugly, not dying tho the latter is actually a matter of time/latency) but constantly whines about how life is unfair and a bitch... and those who weighs 120pounds but claims to be fat and overweight, please buy a nailgun and shoot yourself repeatedly in the face ( Warning! Sarcasm! Please, it's a joke, don't take it seriously although if you do happen to be one of those people as mentioned, it would be recommended that you actually do it, I do hope no one dies from reading this.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In contrast, to those who do not have the financial luxury to afford themselves with 'medicines', but who are in a better position to consume such 'medicines' aka people who are disabled, but doing their very best to have a positive outlook in life, and constantly wearing a genuine smile on their face and to be able to come to terms with their loss, they are epic and worthy to be emulated. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"I have alot of sad memories, I'm miserable to live this life/ spend this night alone, yadda yadda yadda"... and you're full of shit too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-5600854348160899728?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/5600854348160899728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=5600854348160899728' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/5600854348160899728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/5600854348160899728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/04/saturday-after-good-friday.html' title='The Saturday after Good Friday.'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-7618760302063282015</id><published>2009-04-09T19:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T20:55:13.145-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Friday. TFGIFF</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;First, SCREW YOU FRIDAY! Not only I have to work tomorrow, but knowing that for some others in other parts of this world are having today off AS OF RIGHT seriously makes me rants at the injustice of it all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Second, Dom, my colleague is in one of those days where he seems wackier than usual. Come to think of it, wacky isn't such a good term. He reminds me of patients in a mental health institution, I mean, when someone says "People fear me as much as they fear diarrhea.", you know something is wrong somewhere. Probably some screws are loose, but knowing him for about half a year, I'd say he doesn't have much screws to keep his mind sane in the first place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He is no doubt a fun person, that and he subsequently wished for a diarrhea.&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 I have just received news yesterday that the CLP schedule is out and payment for the examination is due. The D-day is set on 13th July. That literally translates to "You're screwed". No exaggeration here. I wonder what sort of interference is in store for me to deter me from taking the exam this year. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On other news, it seems that streamyx has finally repaired the connection to international sites such as Hong Kong and the USA, either they did or someone else. The details matters little, as far as I am concerned. I'm just glad youtube and my WoW connection isn't moving like a brittle-boned 90 year old woman.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now, I'm at work, trying to finish up my work. At least, for the more important parts of it, I'm a quarter away before I can hand them up. For the less significant ones, screw it, they can wait a little more while I am dealing with this big one. Lunch time is two hours away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Speaking of which, what am I gonna have for lunch? That question never fails to provide some little humour and entertainment in my department. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Since I am working tomorrow when no one else in the department is, I'll be studying for the exam of my life (and hopefully I can clear it so I can say baibai to my current hostile working environment, somewhat). Why I say so is because while your safety in the office is pretty much safe, your mental health is significantly at risk. (Please refer to my statements in the above; my colleague).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Before fast forwarding to tomorrow, chaffeur duty awaits right after work. I sure hope she gets back to her office before I reach or I'm gonna flip. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Only in Asia they make you wake up at 5, reach work at 6 and releases you from work at 7 when it is expressly stipulated in the letter of offer aka 'sell-your-soul-to-the-devil contract', that you're supposed to work from 8:30 to 5:30, on Fridays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the readers out there (highly unlikely) who possess a decent IR/Employment law knowledge (even more unlikely), can the employer make an employee stay behind for more work against his or her will without any considerations? As far as I know, executive status employees are not elligible for overtime payments. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then again, what is there to argue? I'd think if this matter is to be brought up to the Industrial Courts, it would still be a no brainer case i.e. the employee would win the suit. Boss wants their staff to be punctual on meetings, or to come into office on time for that matter, but wouldn't let them go home on time. Lousy double standards. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Much to my dismay nonetheless, Malaysians in general, are very timid people. Most of the working class are I think. Heck, I am one too since I'm still dependent on the payroll however meagre it is. No one would be bothered enough to stand up and fight for their rights if it means trouble despite however bright the possibility of them winning their fight. The braver ones become policitians. The even braver ones starts robbing people under the broad daylight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What gives? srsly.&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;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-7618760302063282015?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/7618760302063282015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=7618760302063282015' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/7618760302063282015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/7618760302063282015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/04/good-friday-tfgiff.html' title='Good Friday. TFGIFF'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-5148462108096039928</id><published>2009-03-17T23:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T00:27:24.078-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the roads we walk</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Tonight I lack the strength to even move, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When you walked, now watch me die..."&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;News of how the recent economic crisis is comparable, if not worse than the 1930s Great Depression is worrying, especially towards those who have faced such difficult times may find a dreadful sense of familarity multiplied by a few times over. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For us rookies earning at the minimum wage scale, it probably didn't matter as much. The root cause for this episode of turmoil is credit abuse, arguably the very same reason for the Great Depression some 7-8 decades back. I'm no economic guru, but it does occur to me that if we have failed to learn from back then, when will we ever learn? Or we did learn, but the transitions between the generations (save for the turbulent era marred by the world wars) have effectively diminished the need to learn from the lessons that we ought to have learned and preserved?&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;"For I know this is harder for you, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For love has let you down..."&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;Further news on the economy, a country went bankrupt, and governments around the world are announcing stimulant packages and bailout plans, injecting billions of dollars into the economy with the objective to 'stimulate' the economy and to save corporates from crashing down. This move is greeted with little enthusiasm, probably with as much enthusiasm of a cleaner looking forward to cleaning toilets, and with even less optimism. Nevertheless, private corporate entities saved by the government throughout the said means are now effectively state owned. &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;"yeah C'mon &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am not alone..."&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;Economic wise, I'm sure the world will change, for the better or worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"The road ahead is lined with broken dreams, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So walk, yeah walk on by &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And I failed to give you everything you need, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For the fears, behind your eyes..."&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;Professional doomsayer has 'prophesised' that this world is doomed beyond salvation thanks to global warming. The time for us to act has passed and now we can only hope to mitigate the damage by taking drastic actions, and even that is not very hopeful. From the looks of things, chances are we will probably be doing more to help us save our pockets than to chop less trees and burn less fuel.&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;"When I cant feel you, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm not alright, I'm not alright, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When I cant feel you, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm not alright, I'm not alright, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When I cant feel you ..."&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;I think we're pretty much screwed, and damned our future generations to burn in this beautiful but soon to be dead home. I walk around in the mall and look at the newborn babies being brought about by their parents. They are such cute stuffs, innocent and beautiful. Yet at the back of my head I can't help but to think "oh you're so screwed 20 years down the road."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What's in store for us? For my family, my beloved and I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Jesus as you throw me on the rocks, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For love I left your side &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;'cus I believed in love and beautys wiles, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Where heaven shone from your eyes..."&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;Then I thought to myself how much I'm in love, the rest of the world didn't matter. The world can be non-existant as long as we're together. That's a premature way of saying things, and a very selfish one. Not that I'm not conscious as to what's going on with the rest of the world apart from the two of us. The truth is, I'm always aware; the truth is, the truth is far from what I had believed in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm not willing to give up on my home, this country, this world. Despite my best intentions, and the fact that I have not yet thought of a viable course of action to help contribute to the cause of putting this world back on track, my only saving grace left, my hope of things will be alright is with her, and my family.&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;"Chained to your tree &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wanted you to say &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wanted you to say &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wanted to believe &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Chained to your tree &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wanted you to say &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wanted you to say..."&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;If only things are easier said than done, or things are easier to save than to destroy, or to be pious is easier than to be corrupt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If only malice is as restrained as kindness we have for each other...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This world we have, would've been a better place, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Tell me that it wasnt all for naught, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Its such a waste now, Its such a waste now cmon &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I know your scared but baby dont you hide, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Its such a waste, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You'll stand alone now, you'll make it somehow "&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;... my wager is risky, for I'm betting that at the end of the day, the devastation wouldn't consume me. My hope and faith is strong, strong as a well fortified fortress, I'm confident that it would weather whatever oncoming onslaught.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;... but all that would be lost if I were to pull this through alone, even if I could make it somehow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*title of song: Alright,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;by: Pilot Speed*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-5148462108096039928?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/5148462108096039928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=5148462108096039928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/5148462108096039928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/5148462108096039928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/03/roads-that-we-walk.html' title='the roads we walk'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-6119982931821278853</id><published>2009-01-17T00:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T01:15:44.355-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Try</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Grandma was sitting on her rocking chair, a chair they owned so long ago. Like any other vibrant and bubbly teen, she told Grandma she was going out for the day. Grandma said nothing, but nodded her head with a smile in consent, constantly rocking back and forth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her home was old; zinc roof, make shift pipelines, without a door sign... a squatter's home. As much as she tries, the grill would always shriek loudly, yet it was not loud enough for the accustomed ears. Grandma was not bothered with the shrieking grill, to her it was nothing more than a silence; the silence of the neighbourhood they are in. Thus begins her routine walk to the bus stand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Two hundred paces, exactly two hundred paces" she thought. She stopped in her tracks after hearing the voice of an angry adult yelling and scolding over some menial problems. Two hundred paces was the number of steps she was counting a year ago, the number she remembers until she lost count, interupted by the yelling of this very same man.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She paused in her tracks, staring into the house, and like every house in the neighbourhood and her's, there is only a grill. A little boy came into her sight, pouting his lips followed by who is presumably the little boy's sister, sobbing incessantly. She never understood why that man is so full of angst, and as a teen in this neighbourhood, she probably never bothered to try to care.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her little trip took her to a park, a small park constructed for the children nearby the government's low cost flats to play. Despite her instinct to shy away from the unforgiving sun, she could not help to look at a couple of children running around in the park, braving the heat. She was probably getting a little nostalgic, and vowed to come back to the park later that day, a vow she makes almost too hastily, and a vow she never fulfill.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her trip to the local mall was fun, so fun she did not realise the passing of time. It was not too late, but for a teen like her with a semi-strict mother, 5 o'clock is her Cinderella's 12 midnight. After getting off from the very same bus stand she was earlier in the afternoon, she began her dull journey back to her home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She paused at the same park again... not that she remembers her vow. She saw the same boy, and his sister running around in the park, except this time they were constantly smiling, laughing,  sometimes looking excited when one is chasing the other in the game of tag. "What a bunch of mischiefs" she thought. Yet the sight has undoubtedly made her chuckle a little inside, she smiled at the sight of such happiness, and the memory of her earlier encounter with them was cast far away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Without much thought, she approached the children, offering some sweets she bought from her trip to the mall earlier. They accepted her gift, after all she is not a stranger to them, but a neighbour who lives some two hundred paces away. "Xie xie jie jie!" said the children in unison, and loudly too before running away resuming their game of tag. She found an empty swing, and with her nostalgic thoughts of being a little girl again getting stronger by the minutes, she quickly occupies it, not wanting to let another have it. There she sat, swinging forth and back slowly, recounting her life not too long ago, of thoughts where she was barely half her height, but swinging almost 90 degrees on the very same thing she is sitting on now, having more courage than what she has now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Childhood..." she chuckled again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She looked to her sides, saw the little boy earlier swinging very high up, a perfect fit of the image she recounted earlier while she was swimming in the pool of her childhood memories, she could see herself in the place of the little boy. Looking forward, she saw the boy's sister, giving her a look that says "can I use the swing now, please?". &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Looking from not too far away, looking at the two children she barely knows swinging high up in the park, laughing loudly, she find herself rooted to the place. She was rooted deeper after seeing the overall sight, a park full of children, running around screaming in joy, or some of those who are crying after falling down and being consoled by caring mothers or maids. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For the first time in her life, she ceased lamenting on her life,  about being born in a poor family, living in a less-than-the-rest neighbourhood. "How very intangible" she thought, slowly acknowledging that happiness in fact, can be found simply anywhere, but one must know where to look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The grill shrieks again as she opens it, making her way through. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Sitt fann lo (time to eat in &lt;em&gt;hakka&lt;/em&gt;)" said Grandma&lt;em&gt;.&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/3121756511405965197-6119982931821278853?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/6119982931821278853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=6119982931821278853' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6119982931821278853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6119982931821278853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2009/01/try.html' title='Try'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-1980731741469565660</id><published>2008-11-24T19:08:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T19:31:17.834-08:00</updated><title type='text'>of spites and spikes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Nearly 3 full months of hiatus. Workless days at work certainly did me in, at least enough for me to start typing random musings (some of which, will be not-so-random) at work hour.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My life isn't interesting enough for me to write about, especially on the net. No one gives a damn anyway. Those who does give a damn probably knows what I have been up to, and those who gives less damns would just settle if they know I'm doing alright.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yet, I do need to whine, incessantly. For instance, day yesterday was awful. Minus having nothing to do and browsing the web the whole day (SURE, why the thought of being paid for doing nothing sounds awesome some may think), I went home with a crappy stomach who decide it was a good day to give me shit (no pun intended, but literally that's how it kinda ended up; two trips to and fro, whalla, happy stomach, painful shit hole). Then, my external harddisk, my sweet... sweet external harddisk took a crap so huge, it decides to commit suicide. I'm still not done with the resuscitation process yet tho. Apart from my save game datas (READ: NEVERFUCKINGWINTER NIGHTS OMFG and etc, etc), I am bracing myself for the impact of the loss of my not so huge collection but nevertheless wonderful and awesome mp3 files. The degree of reliability that technology provides is baffling at times. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Why, when I get something new, I'm amazed. Astonished at the wonderful reanimation of what the 3D tech today is capable of. Yet, when they decide to prematurely retire (They get to retire when my wallet can afford their replacements), these costly mthrfkrs just go to hell like that. *Puff*, gone with the wind, or dust. Not this time, I'm literally going to go to hell and drag their sorry asses back, er... referring to my hdd, make it vomit all my files back THEN they get to retire. I'd hammer the cover open (can't find those stupid screwdrivers they use for the screws), piss on the discs, breka them apart and toss it into a burning pyre.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, now my boss ain't around, great. No sarcasm there, it is actually great to work in a stress free surrounding once in a while (Read: A LONG LONG WHILE). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now I have a few agreements to run through, and of course, come up with a scheme to deter those ladies from other departments from being such (please insert derogatory remarks here). I have always been wanting to come up with something like that, but too lazy to and always not bothered to when the moment (when they piss me off) passes. Most of the time, I just dislike them, but when it does boil down to it, when they drag their hairy asses over, I wish their face would get hit by a cement truck. No, didn't mean for them to die, just the pain... oh the pain...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;At any rate, stomach is acting up again. Roadside mamaks can kiss my ass until my tummy builds up an impenetrable, solid, impervous defense against any type of onslaught that would lead to ... unfavourable and unwanted effort to maintain and manage excess body waste... It still feels like pandemonium in there, I think Genesis is happening in there, er... whatever the event is where the Angels battles in heaven and God finally casts whoever down to hell. Right now, it is hell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Argh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-1980731741469565660?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/1980731741469565660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=1980731741469565660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1980731741469565660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1980731741469565660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/11/of-spites-and-spikes.html' title='of spites and spikes.'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-1869527144263087523</id><published>2008-09-06T02:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T02:20:11.562-07:00</updated><title type='text'>1... 2... Caption!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Digicams&lt;/span&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;Well, not a big deal but since &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; bored at my desk might as well utilize it to do stuffs i never usually do, aka blogging. &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;Either way, i find it how &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ordinairily&lt;/span&gt; fascinating to see how &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Digicam&lt;/span&gt; works nowadays, and how it has becoming more and more important in our lives. Just like cellphones we've created something and it became a habit... next thing we know it's a necessity.&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;Of course, those who doesn't own a cellphone yet, they can pass this off as bullshit, but for those who did own a cellphone, and is somewhat reliant on it, and for some reason or another doesn't have it anymore, they'll know what i mean.&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;Similarly i think the use of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Digicam&lt;/span&gt; has become so widespread (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;btw&lt;/span&gt; just for clarification when i use the word &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Digicam&lt;/span&gt; i do mean the cameras &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;that're&lt;/span&gt; capable of capturing photographs which would include cellphone with that function). Photographs was never made so easier and with new features being thrown into the package, it could be fun.&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;Then, digitally stored pictures now have a name of their own, aka captions. I don't remember the last time i bothered tagging captions to those old school photos (yep, those you can touch, not those you see through your monitor). not saying that those are obsolete, just it's less conventional now if one is a user for leisure. With sites like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;friendsters&lt;/span&gt; who needs a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;photoalbum&lt;/span&gt; anymore eh?&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;Seriously, if someone do come across this needless entry, well i do have to ask since when blogging was made necessary? I thought it'd be at least enjoyable for me to rant when &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; sitting here bored. Can you imagine yourself without a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;digicam&lt;/span&gt;? I can... I won't be bothered most likely. &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;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;FFXI&lt;/span&gt; News:&lt;br /&gt;September update is going to be so fun. I just hope they don't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;nerf&lt;/span&gt; samurais. Speaking of which my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Linkshell&lt;/span&gt; (Guild) should be doing more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Nyzul&lt;/span&gt; Isle Assault runs just for the new Relics. So far levelling my Alchemy means &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; gonna have a steady Gil income in the long run, i hope i delved into the right synthesis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all the new additions, i can't wait. Then again at the same time it'll suck, since &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;workign&lt;/span&gt; right now the time i can spend on it is less than minimal. So Fred says he'll be on when &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; around, so i can go farm more to support my exorbitant daily expenses.&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;Also, that'd mean i get to hang out with aibbie more. I'ma drag her to farm tonight, and maybe get the Uleguerand Range map quest done, just for the sake of doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't feel nice when that dark knight has it and i don't. &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/3121756511405965197-1869527144263087523?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/1869527144263087523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=1869527144263087523' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1869527144263087523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1869527144263087523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/09/1-2-caption.html' title='1... 2... Caption!'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-446331388394854097</id><published>2008-09-04T06:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T07:52:31.742-07:00</updated><title type='text'>between</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Time to whine! Working life sucks! 3 days into it and yes i am whining. Actually, it's just my luck. The other person sitting at the corner of the other department was reading newspapers for 4 straight hours while i crack my head trying to figure out how to say no to the amendments of the clauses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being away from the house naturally means i have less time to tend to my toon in ffxi, Dominus. Boy how i regret not getting more things done on him, instead of going AFK all the time clocking in those outrageously high play time. Well, perspective wise though, I have somewhat put some discipline into my 'life', sleeping early, waking up early, having less than 3 hrs per day to spend in front of the pc i like doing so much way back then. Now Dominus don't spend time in the game afk anymore, every moment he has, he's doing stuffs which i think... he should be doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those who are wondering, i am Dominus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why do i like playing games so much, which by the way that is the question my dad keeps asking me all the time. There are many types of games out there, from racing to simulation and crap. I don't like the conventional japanese RPG as much, compared to the computer RPGS. They're different, think of Dungeons and Dragons. As much as i like the idea of beat 'em up types, they get stale really fast compared to story typed games. Real time strategy, well, it depends on the title. If it has a good background story to it, even though the game play sucks, i'd at least complete the game once, for the story sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That much said, I guess i like playing games, not just any games, but games that allows me to be the central part of a story. Some, likes to know the story from reading, just like how my girl likes reading harry potter. Some, likes to watch them on TV, Drama, movies and the likes. Most drama nowadays bore me, i like fantasy typed setting. Modern is just too, familiar. I like being part of a story, the kind of story that i like. At least that's how the games i play appeals to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then came the concept of MMOG, abbreviation for mass multiplayer online games. Final fantasy XI came and become one of the best MMORPGs i have played. Why i liked it so much? It's not a single player's game. It's a game, driven by a story, in a setting that i liked, and i can play it with alot of other people. Think of it as a platform for people to be part of a society in a setting that is completely different from the everyday life. It gives fantasy a new meaning, one we can be part of, that I can be part of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My toon, or my avatar, character... it may just exist within the game, but the value of having one can only be appreciated by others who shares the same interests as me, and i'm definitely not alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-446331388394854097?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/446331388394854097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=446331388394854097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/446331388394854097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/446331388394854097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/09/between.html' title='between'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-3030408650184510480</id><published>2008-08-30T05:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T05:22:47.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>for everything... there is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;For every hero, there will be a hundred villains. Now, hundred is just an estimate and it is not necessarily restricted to villainy only, other less fortunate events such as natural disasters (or any disasters) and &lt;insertnameofhorriblethingshere&gt;. Even in politics, when the government is 'evil', our hero would be someone who fights for the citizens' rights. So I thought, the word hero is not often used, but when used it carries an overrated weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Save for incidents beyond our control (e.g. natural disasters), why is there a need for a hero to begin with in the first place? Since when do we need to save ourselves from each other? Yet, since the beginning of time, we have not stopped hurting each other, to the extent of killing each other for whatever reasons but always motivated selfish gains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Humanity itself is questionable. It is beautiful, yet it is flawed to the extent where I consider to be rotten. Compare it to a girl, who has the face likened to an angel, whose looks can be the definition of innocence itself yet she sells her body for fame and wealth. This is not to say that she is by all means is evil or 'bad'. Not trying to label myself as a champion of morality, but in short I just think it's a waste. but one has got to do what he has to do, or her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my thinking shifted to another train of thoughts, just like a train changing rails but more frequent. Then I thought why has our parents (probably mostly in Asia I don't know much about the west) keep on telling us when we are young and little (of course, vulnerable as well) that if we study hard (well now they say smart so I don't know) and get good grades our life is secured. My grades are not good, but they are not too bad either and I had to learn myself (through hearing stories from other people and how things are today) that being someone in life, not someone important or famous, just a person, is god damn difficult. Somehow books are the least important thing when it came to this. Why feed us with 'lies' when they know themselves how hard it is, when they could have told us what is it really like... yet, how could they? By the time they are done procrastinating, we are all grown up, stumble upon this cold hard truth ourselves and this vicious cycle goes on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost sounds like I am some guru, actually I have too much free time on my hands, nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a question, how much do you care for the people you think you care, and the stranger next to you, and yourself? How far would you go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-3030408650184510480?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/3030408650184510480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=3030408650184510480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3030408650184510480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3030408650184510480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/08/for-everything-there-is.html' title='for everything... there is...'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-3944715400219911680</id><published>2008-04-28T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T10:27:21.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fairy Tales</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt; Just thought how things would have been if all of them would go all the way like how our parents said it would be; study hard, get good results, and you'll be successful. Unfortunately, by now we all know that's just a fairy tale. Our seniors would probably agree that in order to be successful you gotta be really good at ass kissing, and of course be street smart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are things really that different from the versions we heard from our parents? Were they censoring certain details to prevent us from becoming what they are afraid we would, and that we already are, already did? That's pretty much no longer an issue, considering most of us have gone an entirely different paths we have hoped for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for me, as time goes by I realise how dark this world can be. Despite how the sun can burn so brightly illuminating every corner of the earth, bringing along warmth, it only lights up half of it. The other dark remains dim. Sometimes, the moon is shy showing up, almost like it's given up save for a few peeps. We, through technological manipulation and means managed to reproduce light, yet they're never bright enough in the night. Shadows lurking in the corners. That's only a faint description of things. The evil that we humans harbour has manifested itself that puts the shades of night to shame. It is as though the shadows we produce every time light shone at us are merely a compensating mechanism for who we are and what we have brought upon this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No longer the idea of courage, chivalry, honor are heralded in its former regards and glory, or has it ever been? Nowadays, to help another out of any of the higher echelons of morality would only associate one with stupidity and foolishness. Justice is a mouth service, when human lives are given a commercial value with varying worths. What about truth? Well, truth only matters as much as we humans matter to it, if not the next most significant importance would be how truth is invaluable to history. After all, what is truth to people who does not have interests or does not stand to gain?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are all lost? I truly doubt it, for every child is born, their face is only tainted with innocence, and all hope is poured on them that they will grow up to be everything we're not, or if you think you're good enough, for what you could've been; better, even when we realise that the prospect of it all ending the way we hope it would is slim bordering to none. We might have not have anticipated it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough rant, song of the moment: See U Again by ATB.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&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/3121756511405965197-3944715400219911680?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/3944715400219911680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=3944715400219911680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3944715400219911680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/3944715400219911680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/04/fairy-tales.html' title='Fairy Tales'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-435245234214420147</id><published>2008-04-08T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-08T07:29:52.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'>FFXI: Vunkerl's Trudge</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Here I am in Vunkerl Inlet, killing gnoles by the hundreds only to get a perfect claw. Why? All because of this stupid moblin (yeap, a different kind of goblin) wants it in exchange of an item that the Senator requested me to retrieve. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I swear these gnoles are an annoying bunch. They can cure themselves to full, (yep i had to pick the worst moon phase to fight them, Full Moon :1.9-1.99k Cure) things are starting to get boring. I might just head back and help Noillurie out, killing those beastmen and what not. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Vana'diel is not very interesting today, as you can tell from my earlier remarks. The Japanese are busy doing their end game stuffs (no i couldn't join, i don't understand what the frick they are spouting) and the Americans are still asleep. Europeans are weird, and Fred (European, too) wouldn't get his connection fixed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone's busy with something, and I'm busy with something boring. Here comes another Gnole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-435245234214420147?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/435245234214420147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=435245234214420147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/435245234214420147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/435245234214420147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/04/ffxi-vunkerls-trudge.html' title='FFXI: Vunkerl&apos;s Trudge'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-1107866636362424598</id><published>2008-04-06T03:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-06T04:05:30.077-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bolts and Thunderclap</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;To those who lives in the capital of Malaysia, this ain't something new. Especially since the past few days, thunderstorm became a norm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When lightning strikes and the thunder is heard immediately, you know it's near. Truly awe inspiring and at the same time devastating. Shock and awe (no pun intended) is aptly used to describe this frequent and destructive phenomenon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, this isn't a post on the dynamics one of the oldest weather activity on earth. It just occurred to me that I should talk bout it for a few since it's been going on for a while. It is a hassle whenever it happens because i gotta pull the god damn plug. Internet, games, music and all sorts of electronic and digital entertainment = nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minus the complaints and rants (i shouldn't be emo at 7pm of the day), I should probably spend the time to think of what to do next, because even as I'm updating the blog I'm feeling bored as hell. FFxi is lackluster at this hour because the Americans are asleep and they wouldn't wake up until 5 hours later (yeap they wake up at noon) and i can't play with Japanese simply because I don't understand the language they speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... Now I just reminded myself of the coming exams in July, my 'final' push in this life to allow myself to set foot in the working society, no i'm not very enthusiastic about it. I should probably be studying, 'should probably' here should have been 'must'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every year is the same shit, and I probably have to deal with more shit, and eventually to handle other people's shit (that'd be part of my career) until I decide to quit or I die. Now that isn't very nice. As my friend once said "i aim to retire by 30". God I hope I could too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend called me an alien after this new haircut (i only assumed it's the hair). Sweet, now i look out of this world.&lt;br /&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/3121756511405965197-1107866636362424598?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/1107866636362424598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=1107866636362424598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1107866636362424598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/1107866636362424598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/04/bolts-and-thunderclap.html' title='Bolts and Thunderclap'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-8047811313107122639</id><published>2008-04-05T05:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-05T05:53:25.107-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reviews and Rants</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Love how short goodbyes are, if you're wondering what i'm talking bout, refer to my previous post. I'm blogging from the very piece of technological device i loathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, just came back from BTS after watching this chinese movie, resurrection of the dragon, a spin off (sorta) of the famed Romance of the Three Kingdoms. I'm not gonna reveal any spoilers here, save that the movie isn't based on the literature piece at all. Certain events, yes but even those are downplayed. Most of them are made up. God knows why they'd want to ruin such a nice tale, that is beyond me. I know i felt kinda dumb for buying the ticket. Maggie Q didn't make it worth my time since i don't have hots for her, the only thing I feel glad would be the opening theme, which doesn't fit the Three Kingdom background at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Save for a few 'touching' scenes, the entire movie is crap. Every scene is rushing from one to the other. My, I'd think that if the viewers do not have certain basic grasp of the Three Kingdom storyline, they'd be lost somewhere in the show. This is basically an action war movie, yet the actions are a major disappointment. Choreography sucks, it's actually chaos and senseless blood spilling. I was half expecting flying limbs, severed head (sorry if this appears to be grotesque, I was only banking on the fact that at least the movie would stay true to the action scenes as pictured in the novel). Blood were spilling and i was wondering where is it from. Bodies are thrown all over but I seriously do not know why, just for the sake of flying bodies yep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've watched all the movies out there and want to spend whatever coin's left in your pocket, by all means go for it. I wouldn't recommend it, not after I've watched another better Chinese war movie, pseudo war actually. Assembly beats this movie hands down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They've ruined my favorite character from the Three Kingdoms series, I hate them.&lt;br /&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/3121756511405965197-8047811313107122639?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/8047811313107122639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=8047811313107122639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/8047811313107122639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/8047811313107122639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/04/reviews-and-rants.html' title='Reviews and Rants'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-2908288722999301014</id><published>2008-04-04T08:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T09:00:49.473-07:00</updated><title type='text'>O w n e d</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;*title* big time. Laptop decided it was a good time to go into shock, again. Several resuscitation attempt to revive it failed miserably. Had to call in the pro, the experts in this sorta dealings to help me look at it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Initially, it all seemed fine. The blue screen of death (first BSoD that is) appeared and I was kinda shocked. Previously, whenever my laptop displays any near death signs, or eventually died, I could bring it back to life simply by just giving it some time to breathe. When the death screen appeared, I quickly looked up the net for those DIY solutions, home made remedies. Somehow i came across what they call it, the Window's debugging tool, downloaded it and did whatever i was supposed to. Post the log of what took place to the pro, a friend of mine in the States who was kind enough to assist, and told me that it looked like some network driver problem. Fixed that, and went back to FFxi happily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that's the end of my laptop's death threats. No more crashes, freezes, all in all, end of most of my frustrations. So, as I was standing beside my latest favourite NPC, the relic GK wielding Elvaan, Noilurie, pounding on the wolves (she got wtfpwnt later by the boss tho), my laptop did it again. This time, it was conveniently after Noi's untimely yet expected demise to Anders, I was raised shortly after Anders beat me to within an inch of my cyber life. Ok, so it died, the same blue screen popped up. I waited for it to restart and then starts running the debug tool again, then it popped the death screen, restarting straight away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend told me I can do a recovery of the C drive with the internal partition by Alt + F10, that got my hopes up. I was disappointed when I found out that Acer did not supply me with a recovery CD for times like this, when I decide to go for a wipe and build things back from scratch. So I, with much anticipation, hit the power button and spam the two designated keyboard button, only to end up in ScanDisk. I thought this was normal procedure, so I let it scan and when it was done, I thought "ooo shit now i can finally say goodbye to all this crap", and I did. Only, not in the way I had hope it would be. Alt + F10 = Nada. Turns out, it's either they forgot to load it back for me the last time I sent it for repair (yea, major re-offender my laptop is), it's broken, or it's just a myth written in the User's Guide and therefore it is non existent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was the last straw, although I kept clinging on to whatever faith I have left, like an AIDS patient saying "I'M GONNA LIVE! I WON'T FKN DIE!" when the doctors starts shaking their head while looking at me, giving me the looks that says "nothing we can do for this loser now". Whatever faith that was left, has left me when my laptop is hell bent on dying. It reboots itself, and the screen goes blank. No words, no lights, no nothing. Tapped the few power button twice, the fan runs, I could hear electronics buzzing, but no light. It's like a brain dead person, the heart runs but the brain is out. This ain't the first time it became 'brain dead', but I suspect it would be the last time. As it turns out, I'm not too keen to use that piece of metal trash again, and my guts tells me that it would have wished for the same as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice knowing you, Acer Aspire 5673, my 4999 bucks, my 2 years of nothing that works right, broken fan, broken harddisk, dead pixels, broken wifi although i got most of those major organs rep'ed. Rest in peace, soon in pieces, and sleep with the fishes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/3121756511405965197-2908288722999301014?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/2908288722999301014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=2908288722999301014' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2908288722999301014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2908288722999301014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/04/o-w-n-e-d.html' title='O w n e d'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-2880228303626799468</id><published>2008-03-06T05:12:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-06T05:24:32.321-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Post!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Here's a new post to a blog that no one ever reads. I wonder why do I even bother at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any rate, the latest buzz in malaysia would be the coming election. To be honest i'm not really interested, so i'm gonna leave it there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just got my hands on Van Tomiko's latest album, pretty neat stuff actually. It saved me from the seasonal 'running out of music to listen' crap. So far, i'm only into track 5 (as I'm typing this, yes). Would i recommend it to anyone? No, not when you're not a jpop fan, but otherwise, yea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Final Fantasy 11 wise, i've been on Kujata server for a few years. Exactly how many years I don't know, but i have a 379 days play time recorded on the game. No, that doesn't mean i spend that much time on it. I just leave it on whenever i go out for class, sleep or whatever that is i do that is not related to the game. It's been fun, and it still is for me. Met all kinds of people, nice ones, sad ones, boastful ones, modest ones, stupid ones and smart ones. Why do I indulge in this is probably my fascination for a fantasy world. To be able to wield big mean looking machete and hacking it on a poor monster's face, be it cute or ugly. At the same time I dont' have to face the physical repercussions of being mauled to death horribly by... say a 3 storeys tall pelican.  It's kinda  ironic. It's not as though i hate the real world or dislike it. in fact my life has been alright thus far. If you wanna lay it in terms of what a normal youth would've done in their early 20s then i'd probably fail by a million miles. I just happen to have a different likes and dislikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yea you're probably right, i'm just saying these to make myself feel better for who I am not and could've been. Then again, while someone's spouting all those negative remarks behind my back (if there's anyone at all, i don't think someone'd give a damn bout me living my life :P) I'm living comfortably in my own home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-2880228303626799468?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/2880228303626799468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=2880228303626799468' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2880228303626799468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/2880228303626799468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/03/new-post.html' title='New Post!'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-8052474906645034412</id><published>2008-02-11T19:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T20:36:54.678-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Censored</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So, being confronted with nudity on the big screen is disturbing, floating naked bodies are disturbing, rib cages are disturbing. They certainly don't affect me to say the least. A movie, is a movie, is a movie. When guys are discussing the actress' pubic hair and you feel uncomfortable, shame on you for eavesdropping. Would you like to know what your neighbour is up to at night as well? It would probably make me cringe as well. And guys, please learn to be discrete. I've not watched Babel btw. Movie nudity (soft porn?) is nothing new. Yet in many places it remains a taboo, pretty much like Pre-marital sex. Some of us thinks sex before marriage is a crime punishable by death, some of us indulged in the very same act, and enjoys it (woot!). It really depends on how the individual perceives things; to each his own. I'm not gonna argue for or against this, but if someone's gonna bring forth the argument of 'unwanted pregnancies', such tragedies do not belong exclusively for the unmarried couples. What of the children growing up in a dysfunctional family, say a divorced family? Does that make a child's growing up less tragic? It's an irony, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I personally think, that the Censorship Board is a joke, and my point will be proven when the latest Rambo movie gets aired somewhere in the local tv networks or in astro 6 months later. Quoting from Nik Shazwan's letter to the Star on 12 Feb 2008 "All nations rate movies to protect the public", I hate to break your bubbles, but that kinda protection only lasts until the tv networks are rich enough to air them, which may take 6months to a few years. I am not gonna cry or demand for an explanation for this to happen because i know whatever the answer is i'm gonna end up laughing, besides, i'm just pointing out what's happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ratings don't affect me, all the movies are all the same to me; a movie is a movie is a movie. Although i must admit sometimes there should be ratings like "Warning: Corny Love Scenes!" and should be limited to those who are hopelessly romantic. Those make me cringe, yet it doesn't make me cringe enough to scream "Wow that is just wrong we shouldn't have this". On a personal point of view, it's something i'd go "eew" and i know i don't speak for the majority or the person next to me. It's simple, really. If you fail to grasp the severity of the damage that occurs to me, just think of stuffs that'd make you go "Eew" say for example, someone got their guts ripped off and blood is oozing everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to think i have the autonomy of telling what's fake and what's real, no matter how close to being real the scene is, and also the autonomy over my brothers (who are age 13 and 16 respectively) to tell them what is and what is not. Should they point out something that relates to morality, I'll answer them according to my own morality. Rest assured, what i have to say will not send them running amok with machine guns blazing in one hand and explosives in the other crying for freedom or demanding valuables. As a matter of fact, I like to watch all the gory and bloody details in a movie, how real they can get. My response would be "Ouch, that is so real" and that's it. I have no intentions of trying it out on a living person. Similarly, it explains my disappointment over Sweeney Todd's blood, it's fake that is resembles wax. The censors is uncalled for in that movie, then again, so is most of the censorship done to most movies imho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's where you video game haters come in. No, Video games or computer games or whatever games for that matter, turns people into violent individuals. At least those are involved in those tragic US schools shoot outs aren't indulged in violent video games, but real life issues rather. I for one, admire the quality and the authenticity of what technology has to offer to date, to portray what is unreal into something as real as it can get. And to your blessings, I am still able to retain whatever sanity i have left to differentiate a game over reality. A game is where you can get shot by rockets and don't die, and reality is when you get shot by a rocket and you're lucky if they can find your head intact (you won't be alive, sad to say). To some extent, gaming is good, I drink less because i fill my time with it (:D), and i save myself from the unnecessary dramas of other's people's lives. My youngest brother likes to cheats so much in his game he became one of the fastest typer in his class at the age of 12 (school held some typing competition, yeah lame i know). At least i know he can type a letter faster and more accurately than most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So this guy plays game and has no life", yea nothing to see here move along. Couldn't care less if i come across as an antisocial, weirdo or whatever negative remarks i deserve. I am happy, my social life isn't upside down (not much to begin with), my family is good, a caring father who earns enough for his children to spend (so quit whining all you haters :D, and my mom died a few years back if you're wondering where is she). My girl loves me more than herself (i think)... i think i've made my point; that i'm alright with my life (not necessarily contented tho).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thing, reality tv is shit. If you want drama, look at your surrounding crowds, friends or within your family for that matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, i'm bout done typing. As much as a joke the censorship board i think it is, it is nevertheless necessary simply because we are humans, individuals; the perks of a democratic country. There is a need for balance, and in this case, i'm just a minority (one who appreciates the artistic nature and the effort put in to create the realistic effects of a movie) because my rights are outweighed by the majorities whom, the government believes that they need to protected because they have the capacity to be frightened, horrified and potentially emotionally scarred for the rest of their lives over some visuals shown in the big screen. If i hugged my little brother throughout a horror flick, which can be pretty horrifying to the young, I doubt he'd be as terrified because i'm doing my part at telling him "a movie, is a movie, is a movie." Don't try this though if you're gonna piss in your own pants being scared watching something like that even when you're 30 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, thank you because i cannot bring my brothers to watch Rambo (Seriously, there was one day [just a few days back] when i was browsing www.gsc.com.my for some movies to watch with my siblings, and the movies available are all 18SX,SG,PL or whatever it is and the only U was cuci [i think] and some other lame shit) unless i patronise the illegal  dvd peddlers for movie with craptastic video and audio that makes my subwoofer sounds like one of my home theatre surround sound satellites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-8052474906645034412?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/8052474906645034412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=8052474906645034412' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/8052474906645034412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/8052474906645034412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/02/so-being-confronted-with-nudity-on-big.html' title='Censored'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-6982290389097687697</id><published>2008-02-08T09:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-08T10:17:17.884-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Detached</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I found a really nice tune earlier today, and am looping it ever since. It's a good track, by a Mongolian band called Haya. Too bad they didn't feature the vocal as they did in the tv. She's awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the same track that got me into this writing mood, and various other things. It starts off slowly, calmly and harmoniously. It feels sad, and in the midst of all this sadness, there's an ordinairy mood to it. The track itself is extraordinairy though, it's just the environment it creates. It reminds me of life somewhat. When the pace starts to pick up, it doesn't stray from the main theme. This... tune is as if it is an unspoken story. It ends in the same way it began, with the same sense of simplicity, the faint sense of sadness, and always with the reminder that in the midst of such sadness, things are not all that bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://cn.streetvoice.com/collection/collection-list.asp?sd=486902"&gt;Try&lt;/a&gt; it out yourself. It's called "Snow Mountain" in Chinese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-6982290389097687697?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/6982290389097687697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=6982290389097687697' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6982290389097687697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/6982290389097687697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/02/detached.html' title='Detached'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121756511405965197.post-236412010056750953</id><published>2008-02-05T02:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T02:11:39.877-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stone Age</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;    Beginning to love that word alot, stone age hah. Been up to nothing lately, but what is new, i've been up to nothing for as long as i've lived. Whenever i'm up to something it's always out of obligation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Stupid laptop of mine died again and i'm gonna let things stay that way. Dad and brother are pressing me to go get it fixed, what's the point of fixing something that will break in a month? Of course, i have to pay for it on top of that and i doubt it'd last another month if i bring it back. The timeline would be something like "Send it to fix, 2 days for them to diagnose the problem, 3 weeks to fix the problem, return the laptop to me on the 4th week because i rushed them to do so since letting them own my laptop isn't gonna help curb the boredom, sent the laptop for repairs again on the second day after getting it back because it's still broken."&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;    Enough ranting, chinese new year is around the corner and i have a good idea of how much i'm gonna get for my ang pau this time. Since i didn't get any the previous round i think i should be entitled for some reimbursement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    In other news, newspapers are boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121756511405965197-236412010056750953?l=alternae.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/feeds/236412010056750953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121756511405965197&amp;postID=236412010056750953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/236412010056750953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121756511405965197/posts/default/236412010056750953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alternae.blogspot.com/2008/02/stone-age.html' title='Stone Age'/><author><name>Yang</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01058399416863884051</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
