<?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-23868831</id><updated>2011-04-21T21:52:34.083-07:00</updated><title type='text'>W.H.Y?</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23868831.post-115718000563372846</id><published>2006-09-01T23:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T23:53:25.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Official declaration</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I OFFICIALLY DECLARE I HAVE NO LIFE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;woah ppl, brace yourself man. Prelims are coming in 1 week's time. Study hard!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;                          and Good Luck everyone :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-115718000563372846?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115718000563372846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115718000563372846' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115718000563372846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115718000563372846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/09/official-declaration.html' title='Official declaration'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115656872025315361</id><published>2006-08-25T21:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-25T22:11:41.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you know you are made of space?</title><content type='html'>It's a few more days to my General Paper prelims and here I am, innocently thinking that by reading more and more and more and more and more articles and issues I can do better. This is just the system we are borned into, driven by self motivated interests, hoping to be rewarded under our beautiful capitalist system. I was just browsing past where I caught this article called "The Code Of The Universe" written by James A. Haught, an investigate journalist. The main crux of the essay lies in how science and religion used to be seperate dichotomies but now ironically, science has led people like Haught to discover a new form of religion-the cosmic religion of science.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I was bored about scientific details (yes even worse than my bio syllabus) about how the universe is governed by laws that can be known by us but are independent of our thoughts and feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However one paragraph caught my attention and sent chills down my spine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It gets even worse when you read quantum physics. The more I studied, the more I developed an eerie sense that the world we think we inhabit and all existing things are some sort of fiction. For example, take steel. It can be a one-hundred-foot bridge girder or it can be the coil of a bass piano string, a long wire spiraled into a hard spring. All the curves of that spring are composed of iron atoms locked rigidly to each other in a strong crystal lattice that is nearly unbreakable."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(alamak, if u take sec2 science before, or you gt common sense, he is just illustrating how hard iron is lah..but let's move on.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And yet, those atoms are an illusion of emptiness. They are a void of unknowable electrical charges. They are virtually a vacuum. They are as empty as the solar system. If you look at the night sky and see how remote the planets are, that's how remote the parts of an atom are from each other."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(and the final analogy to illustrate his point drove deep into my heart causing panic waves)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If an atom were the size of a fourteen-story building, the nucleus would be a grain of salt in the middle of the seventh floor, too tiny to be seen. Therefore, heavy rigid steel doesnt exist the way we think it does. It's 99.9999999 percent vacuum-as empty as the night sky"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scary isn't it? My first response was really? It just dawned back on me how illusionary everything around me is. I panicked for a moment before thinking of whether I should look for Mohan for a logical explanation, after all he takes 3S papers while I have none. So there I was in the school library thinking about how empty I was when my classmate Yuan Zhi asked whether I was daydreaming. I showed her the same lines and watched the same shocking reponse she had, and all I did in response was to grin back at her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/vortex1_med.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-115656872025315361?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115656872025315361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115656872025315361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115656872025315361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115656872025315361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/08/do-you-know-you-are-made-of-space.html' title='Do you know you are made of space?'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115314991733125504</id><published>2006-07-17T07:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T08:48:24.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>YOU CAN TRY TO TAME MY EMOMOMO</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Disclaimer: Lum and Ashish pls refrain frm reading this post, it might instigate emotional choke-ups.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, I was looking through photos of the past. Photos of those ncc days and i realised how much things have changed. From wearing our beret in funny ways to pointing the gun at one another, busteding each other frm day to day, things have changed. In fact things have changed so much sometimes i barely recognise myself anymore. I realised this is indeed a transition point to adulthood. A big jump and leap to a new stage and I really don't know whether I am prepared to give up so much of those years. Well, at one point people get sentimental about things and we all know in life nothing is constant. I think I'm pretty much living in the past. Subconciously, I guess i am aware one day i have to leave my friends behind and move on in life and the reason why i love hanging out with them so much could be due to the subconcious reluctance to let go of them. I have simply no idea whether they think the same, but now with all the Uni applications sifting through my mind, friends never really did cross my mind until i started looking at those photos. Reality hit me that maybe next yr when i get enrolled in army, chances of seeing my friends may drop from numbers to decimals. (yes and zhilei's cynicism encrusted mind puts me to a hell lot of embarressment in baring my heart right now)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The disparity between VJ and TK is a hell lot BIG. In VJ, i matured and learned to be a more gentlemanly person with your Ps and Qs intact. I learnt to refrain from vulgarities ranging from the favourite f word to the typical ahbeng's KPKB. In a nutshell, its a very adult-ish environment compared to TK. People are typically more matured and refrain from playing a game of hyprocrisy with you. &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;(YEA! GOIN THRU 2 ADHOCS I FELT LIKE I GREW ALOT YA LUM?)&lt;/span&gt; (dig dig dig at me :P)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the otherhand, TK's like a peterpan land (whatever you call it) where we never grew up and forever caught in our perpetual lameness. Contrasting them both, TK was alot more fun as compared to VJ and this fun exuded a sense of freedom in it. I felt so much more like a child in freedom and liberty, with my guards down and uninhibited lameness overflowing everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;Could this be linked to the fact that we were a neighbourhood school, never bothered with the prestige and scholarly air the elites had to uphold in their school spirit? In an ironic sense, the emptyness of living in a elite environment could have restricted the mind from letting loose and having real dirty fun. Well, this is just a guess and I have simply no idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me stupid or whatever, I think NCC really brought us group of friends closer than we ever thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="289" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00638.3.jpg" width="458" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 292px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 252px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="263" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00635.3.jpg" width="372" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 246px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="263" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00610.jpg" width="366" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 261px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="269" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00716.2.jpg" width="376" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Super ultra hornified TTWQ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 298px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="282" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00663.jpg" width="368" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 308px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="271" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00793.2.jpg" width="376" border="0" /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;(GRILL THE BLOODY BERT!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 324px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="246" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00799.1.jpg" width="359" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Tracy WU gets caught in the act!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 314px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="256" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00828.0.jpg" width="398" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 314px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="245" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00846.jpg" width="335" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Standard&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="244" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00847.jpg" width="360" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Sub-standard&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="243" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/DSC00848.jpg" width="349" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;No standards!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;(Sob sob..emo man's tears are filling the buckets..)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;and Ashish, this shows that NCC is more than just pointing the middle finger at your ASM.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-115314991733125504?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115314991733125504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115314991733125504' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115314991733125504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115314991733125504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/07/you-can-try-to-tame-my-emomomo.html' title='YOU CAN TRY TO TAME MY EMOMOMO'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115201842650424682</id><published>2006-07-04T05:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-06T07:35:22.953-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's EMO time!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"&gt;THIS IS A SPECIAL DEDICATION TO ASHISH KAMANI.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;This Sunday (technically it's Monday) is a day of extreme significance, it's D-Day for France and Italy as these two nations will be battling out for their chance to lift the world cup. Coincidentally, it's the birthday of Ashish Kamani, my good friend and classmate who is a fervent supporter of France. So well, Ashish, it's EMO TIME~! Ever since we have been classmates, Ashish (with Lum) had given me a myriad of nicknames that I'm pretty much confused which nickname belongs to me. Well, for starters, there had been COUNCILLOR YEE. This is very much a lovely nickname especially the dragging enunciation of my surname. Well, lately spanning over this half year, it had been EMO MAN. This nick is pretty much special, originating from my blog entries and the EMO-like titles I gave them. Man, I gotta admit I'm pretty much an emotional dude, sensitive and deeply in touch with my spiritual and emotional side that this's gonna be a special entry to&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;honour&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; you, my friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;How shall I begin? Should I take the conventional and start with tearjerkers to dilate your appetite for emotional cusines like going lup and right or should I just cut the crap and come straight to reminiscing the past? Knowing your phobia for emotional issues, and that none of your other friends could be as EMO as me, I guess i should just take the lead and try to make you cry hard. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;Please stop your indulgence in nigger music, and turn to Elton John like me. It's time to turn on those lovely symbols like &lt;3 and ^____^ or plaster those msn emoticons on your screen. Pepper your words with zzz to give an emotional touch to them. You know why you never surpass Zhilei in GP? It's precisely these words you need. Not that Zhilei had been especially emotional, just that he connects to GP teachers in a baffling cynically emotional manner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;It's really irritating that ever since France got into the World Cup, msn nicks had been popping up with homogeneous phrases like "GO FRANCEEEEEE". Woah, and they had to drag the E along when it's an utter disgrace to France. Well, defying all odds and making it to the finals, I'm proud to announce that I'm newly baptised into the faith of French Soccer. I guess its really more than a coincidence the finals are taking place on your birthday and well, if they win it will be a double joy for you. For once,&lt;strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;get emotional&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;dude. Its your Birthday and the World Cup Finals, tissues and hankies will be fully sponsered by me, emo man. Hope to see a shade of red in your eyes on Monday, if you ever do come school. &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Happy Birthday Kamani!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-115201842650424682?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115201842650424682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115201842650424682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115201842650424682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115201842650424682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/07/its-emo-time.html' title='It&apos;s EMO time!'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115140586204246560</id><published>2006-06-27T03:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-29T06:41:17.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Little Men In Green</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;This is my proud dedication to my NCC friends, if you guys happened to read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;A sharp eye seeks&lt;br /&gt;Gullible and nubile faces&lt;br /&gt;Fabricated stories up his sleeves&lt;br /&gt;Of airborne and tank rides&lt;br /&gt;He approaches me&lt;br /&gt;And before I knew it&lt;br /&gt;My name lands on the board&lt;br /&gt;Fifth name in the class of 1J&lt;br /&gt;Fourth one to make it&lt;br /&gt;Third weekend push and pull ups&lt;br /&gt;Second time I tried so hard&lt;br /&gt;First month of the year these took place&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;On the very first Saturday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;At the Affirmation Ceremony&lt;br /&gt;The Commander lifts the veil&lt;br /&gt;Signing of four year contracts&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green glees&lt;br /&gt;Their parents beamed in pride&lt;br /&gt;The nation awaits these little ones&lt;br /&gt;And on every Saturday&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green goes&lt;br /&gt;Lup Right Lup Right Lup Right Lup&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Foreign faces breathing down their necks&lt;br /&gt;Scoldings to make and break&lt;br /&gt;Voices of unimaginable amplitudes&lt;br /&gt;There the little ones try&lt;br /&gt;Their swollen kuckles cry&lt;br /&gt;But their spirit rises&lt;br /&gt;Bonding of brotherhood&lt;br /&gt;Unity in conformity?&lt;br /&gt;Discipline in sweat and blood&lt;br /&gt;All for that cotten rank&lt;br /&gt;And the pride that comes with it&lt;br /&gt;And on every Saturday&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green goes&lt;br /&gt;Lup Right Lup Right Lup Right Lup&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;As hormonal charges fill the blood&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"&gt;Down the assembly plaza the boys march&lt;br /&gt;In full view of girls in green&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"&gt;When the black and white flashes&lt;br /&gt;Hornified voices of 'zhao geng' fills the air&lt;br /&gt;And the quick snap of the sergent&lt;br /&gt;Switches the heads back&lt;br /&gt;But the mind's still stuck where the eye was&lt;br /&gt;Relationships come and go &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Some lasted for days&lt;br /&gt;While some got past the anniversaries&lt;br /&gt;All in the name of love and bgr&lt;br /&gt;The life of the little man in green&lt;br /&gt;Dedicated to guns and sweat&lt;br /&gt;Small small boys&lt;br /&gt;Carrying the loads of big big men&lt;br /&gt;As the Parts upgrade &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(Mind you, I don't mean the privates, they refer to Part A,B,C etc)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"&gt;The friendship turned kinship&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"&gt;And on every Saturday&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green goes&lt;br /&gt;Lup Right Lup Right Lup Right Lup&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;There was one instance&lt;br /&gt;The little men turned&lt;br /&gt;Friendship into a nightmare&lt;br /&gt;Degradation of a delicacy&lt;br /&gt;And backstabbing reigned&lt;br /&gt;Did friendship turned into hypocrisy&lt;br /&gt;Or hyprocrisy befriended friendship?&lt;br /&gt;As denigration took place&lt;br /&gt;Pain and hurt were shouldered alone&lt;br /&gt;His strengths and virtues assassinated&lt;br /&gt;As laughter and joy piggy-backed the rest&lt;br /&gt;Visual humilation dispatched like hotcakes&lt;br /&gt;The world issues a sad note&lt;br /&gt;No apologies came&lt;br /&gt;And hypocrisy diluted their sweat&lt;br /&gt;Which flows down their necks&lt;br /&gt;And on every Saturday&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green goes&lt;br /&gt;Lup Right Lup Right Lup Right Lup&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The last Saturday came&lt;br /&gt;And the little men bid farewell&lt;br /&gt;To the green walls that hosted them&lt;br /&gt;Which saw them through the years&lt;br /&gt;The countless pumpings&lt;br /&gt;And scoldings that finalised the years&lt;br /&gt;Came to an abrupt halt&lt;br /&gt;Sentimental remarks made&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Photographs of the old days exchanged&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And heavy feelings felt&lt;br /&gt;Boys always be boys&lt;br /&gt;Not a tear to be dropped&lt;br /&gt;Nor a note to say you miss the rest&lt;br /&gt;Take it like a man&lt;br /&gt;Shoulder the breakup with nonchalance&lt;br /&gt;Tighten up the laces of brotherhood&lt;br /&gt;And soccerball here we come&lt;br /&gt;Friday nights of kfc&lt;br /&gt;Crap till our mouths say no&lt;br /&gt;Seemed like yesterday never did come&lt;br /&gt;Nor will it ever leave&lt;br /&gt;And on this last Saturday&lt;br /&gt;The little men in green goes&lt;br /&gt;For the very last time&lt;br /&gt;Lup Right Lup Right Lup Right Lup&lt;/span&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/23868831-115140586204246560?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115140586204246560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115140586204246560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115140586204246560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115140586204246560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/06/little-men-in-green.html' title='The Little Men In Green'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115121744476795604</id><published>2006-06-24T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-24T23:37:24.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>your face says everything</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow's my economics common test and dead from scrutinizing how countries fight demand deficient unemployment and imported inflation, my mind wandered off and decided to come up with a new post. I think this is gonna be a wacky one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ever wondered how you look at a person's face &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(just the face, not anywhere else)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; , and you instantly recognise the sex of the person. Alright, you may not be deadly accurate and make a slip due to some androgenous looking peeps who masquerade between both sexes. Well, yesterday I was on the bus when I saw this girl and a strange thought came into my mind. How do I know she was a girl just by looking at her face? Was it because of her long hair? Was it because she performed accordingly to social norms? (meaning she performed girlish actions) or could it be due to hormonal signals (if there's such a thing) or it's just the natural attraction between unlike objects? &lt;em&gt;Aiyah, dunno lah, &lt;/em&gt;maybe it's just because she's &lt;em&gt;chio.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-115121744476795604?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115121744476795604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115121744476795604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115121744476795604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115121744476795604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/06/your-face-says-everything.html' title='your face says everything'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-115034707196053322</id><published>2006-06-14T21:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-15T23:12:49.506-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What is love?</title><content type='html'>So, i am back in a 3rd post. But before moving on to my next post, i think i got to explain for my absence in updating. Well, firstly i found it haed to cont'd with the last post. I guess it's because i'm not ready for it. Next, with the influx of studies and stress this blog kinda got left out. A recent reminder and a brush with inspiration got me hungering for a next post. So yea here i'am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;For as long as I can remember, back into the early days of my childhood, I have always regarded love as a figment of my imagination. Born into a country helmed by a pragmatic government, and social practicalities basically stifling me since I was borned, that was my impression. Does it come as shock to most people? I doubt so. With all familiar phrases like ''eh boy ah, better study hard if not you cannot earn big money and sit big car, people will look down on you noe" and "eh that scholarship so prestigious noe", or the WOOS AND WAHS in response to 'eh that's the president of so and so club." The competition that comes with life has somehow placed utmost emphasis on these practicalities like wealth, prestige and power that love seems to find its way to the end of the list. The impractical reality of love thus paints a surreal and unrealistic, what people call "airy-fairy" picture of it. The ONLY importance it serves is to fulfill your longing for the much coveted girlfriend/boyfriend. Not to mention our sex culture, where women are portrayed as objects of desire rather than human beings, such that looks and figures are prioritised over many other qualities. Has societal culture changed us or we've been changed by culture? This silly relationship just hints a strong form of deception that perforates the minds of many, such that altruistic love( unconditional love) seems more like a ostracised outcast than a widely coverted quality.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;So, what is love after all? Is it merely just a psychological tool? Is love an intangible emotive force, a product of human thinking after evolution and social revolution, or is it a real tangible force that really does exist? Well, who is to prove that? In the days of my atheism, Christians used to bother me with touchy phrases like "God loves you" and " Jesus died for all of us". Believing only in intellectual truth, I chided such phrases as being non-rational and illogical. A further probe over certain scientific issues never fail to put a stop to all their preaching, and when it doesn't, the trump card of evolution always does the work. However, a touch by God around last year drastically tore down the old picture I had of love and renewed my values and thinking, putting a sudden halt to all the rubbish thinking I had amassed over the years. Believe it or not, God in His wisdom knew that even by convincing me with intellectual truth over His existence, I would'nt be genuinely a follower. To put it simply, the spiritual side triumphed over my intellect. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;What we often focus is the outside, soiled by society and cultural values. We see the rebellion or failure, the bizarre lifestyle or proud attitude, and we often overlook the real value that's on the inside-where each one of us are gems of incalculable worth, having the potential to love and be loved. Does that sound naive? If every person on Earth were to carry this ''other-person thinking'' into his/her relationships, career, studies or every aspect of life, wouldn't the utopia ideology be achieved easily? On the micro-level, selfish behaviours like backstabbing would stop while on the macro-level, wars would cease and countries be in peace. I hear you sniggering at the other end of the computer, saying ''it's easier said than done''. Well, I fully agree with that and it is hard to achieve but I do hope I've got you thinking. From viewing people as tools for advancement in your life to viewing them as special individuals, this is indeed what I feel society needs to change. Whether you agree or not, I leave it for you to judge and all comments are welcomed.&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/23868831-115034707196053322?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/115034707196053322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=115034707196053322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115034707196053322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/115034707196053322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/06/what-is-love.html' title='What is love?'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-114259603478661778</id><published>2006-03-17T03:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T03:47:14.800-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Girl With The Red Rose</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#336666;"&gt;(Disclaimer: this is a long entry, be prepared to read for quite awhile)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;This is a supposedly true story that took place in World War 2. During that period, everywhere was in chaos as the Allies waged war against the Soviets. The year was 1941 and a young British soldier received his orders to be mobilised to Germany to fight against the Nazi party led by Hitler. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;Before leaving his country, Great Britain, the young soldier went to a second-hand bookstore near his place to purchase some books to read in his leisure time. One of the books that caught his eye was this book titled "Friends and Relationships". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;Soon, this young soldier found himself in Hamburg,Germany, fighting a tough war with the Germans. Days and nights were spent out in the battlefield and this was a traumatic period of time for him. He witnessed the deaths of many of his friends and he went through many brushes with death. However, the only thing that brought comfort to him during this period of hell was the book "Friends and Relationships". At the first page of the book was what was written by the book's ex-owner : "Dear reader, this book is probably the most important book you have ever laid your hands on. I feel that this book should not be kept by me alone and should be shared among many others. Sometimes the most important stories are the ones not spoken. " At the end of it was the owner's name and address. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;Deeply touched by this preface, the young soldier began exchanging letters of friendship with the owner. He found out that the owner was a girl with a lively personality and through these letters, a strong and deep friendship was established. Countless nights under the Hamburg night sky littered with stars he took out her letters to read and they never fail to put a smile on his face. He always wanted to know how she looked like, so he requested for her to send him a photograph of herself. However, she rejected his request. Despite being disappointed ,nevertheless he was respectful towards her decision. They continued exchanging letters through the years of World War 2. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;One day, his commander announced to their whole battalion that the war was coming to an end and they were allowed to return to Britain soon. Overwhelming joy flooded the heart of this young soldier as he was anticipating to meet this lovely girl that he had a keen interest in. Immediately he set out to write a letter for her, "Dear friend, I am returning to Britain this coming friday. My train will arrive at the London railway at 2.00pm sharp. It would be my honour if I could invite you to a dinner at the nearby restaurant. I will be carrying the book that had started off this friendship and you will be holding a red rose in your right hand. I will see you then." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;Time flew and it soon was friday. Stepping down from the train, he was tired and dreary after living in harsh conditions for several years. As he stood below the "Arrival" billboard glancing around for the red rose, a lovely and beautiful girl in a light green dress walked past him. She was really beautiful as in beautiful! He stared at her hard but she wasnt holding a red rose. In his mind, he kept on praying hard his friend would be as beautiful as her. As she walked on, standing a few metres of him was an old and frail woman in a old grey blouse and unfashionable long skirt. In her right hand was the red rose and she was staring down at the floor. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;A mental battle began taking place in the young man's mind. He was thoroughly disappointed with what he saw and all the fantasies he had over the years came jamming to a stop. Should I go ahead and acknowledge her or pretend I never knew her? With sweat dripping down his neck, he went ahead and gently held her arm and said :" Hi, I'm Warren, the one who bought your book. Do i have the honour to invite you to dinner?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;Slowly, the old woman lifted her head up and gave him a very funny look. "Hey young man, look, I have no idea what's going on but I was just told by this lady in light green dress to hold this red rose in my right hand until a young lad comes up to me saying "Do i have the honour to invite you to dinner?" and when he does that, I am supposed to say " You have passed the test of friendship, I am waiting for you in the restaurant nearby". Tears of joy began streaming down the eyes of the young man..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/1600/fighters.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3060/2471/320/fighters.2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Take a minute to reflect on this story. Would you believe me if i told you that the entire world had been deceived? I will address that in the next entry..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-114259603478661778?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/114259603478661778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=114259603478661778' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/114259603478661778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/114259603478661778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/03/girl-with-red-rose_17.html' title='The Girl With The Red Rose'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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-23868831.post-114208891732265146</id><published>2006-03-11T06:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-20T07:03:50.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A prisoner's life</title><content type='html'>Alright man, this is my new blog. My blog is probably one out of billions of trillons blogs in the blogsphere, chances are people would probably just regard this blog as another of 'that' blog that attempts to publish daily events of a blogger's life. Before you click "next blog" with that damned perspective, spare a minute to read through this first entry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;(yeah in hot pink)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;This is a letter addressed to a prisoner. This prisoner has been living life in a strange place where within walls lie snow mountains, rivers and sunsets . Beautiful isn't it? This place contains rare birds, rare diseases, mini-dramas, maxi-dramas, melodramas and the latest dvds. This prison has no name. But over the years its inmates came up with one and it stuck. They call if life. They thought that life just came about naturally and that's that, come on live life man, chill lah, lac in one corner lah. No one gets out for good behaviour, and in this prison everyone's sentenced to death. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;As such, it is with utmost urgency that you finished reading this letter. This prison is inhabited by you and me, hence the name of this blog ' stuck in this place'. Our prison's history is littered with legends of escape attempts and rife with advice from escape experts, but prison life has proceeded pretty much unchanged for several thousand years. Hence, these prisoners don't even know they exist in such a place. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;However, one day one prisoner actually discovered a crack in the prison door that allowed a shaft of sunlight to shine through. Now, do you believe in what i have wrote here for the past paragraphs? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'&lt;br /&gt;Your prison is walking through this world all alone" &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;from the song Desperado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Recently, i got into an arguement with some of my friends, friends for 6 years in the same cca. I debated with them over the existence of this light that shines into our prison. Probably the overwhelming darkness of this prison has engulfed us so much that I could'nt make sense what each other were talking about. They concluded that I thought too much and this was pure nonsense. Do i think too much?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;' I think, therefore I am' , a philopsophical statement by &lt;a title="René Descartes" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RenÃ©_Descartes"&gt;René Descartes&lt;/a&gt;, meaning i think therefore i exist. Do you even exist? If i cut open your cells one by one in a literal sense, can i even find you? or your essence? what proof do you have of your existence? Sadly, i doubt so.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23868831-114208891732265146?l=stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/feeds/114208891732265146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23868831&amp;postID=114208891732265146' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/114208891732265146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23868831/posts/default/114208891732265146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stuckinthisplace.blogspot.com/2006/03/prisoners-life.html' title='A prisoner&apos;s life'/><author><name>passerby</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00243949014186566858</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>
