tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-210005752024-03-20T07:12:34.319+08:00lEft nothing behindSpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-2446773833864149062012-04-01T00:46:00.002+08:002012-04-01T01:05:21.760+08:00...watching an evolution like an old man and smirking at a good-bye
note...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85L2D1DDiYazl0vc7zHxlTwsxxl_8C0YAPtN_yX3Y2Vxg3TCaKGIPV8bHYM5Az3nnBXm7JUtu0NUw5_ZEBW2fV35gDcZz7f4cQ7LPiyTBVBLCBtj8UumfzQU3gEKh7Q6jx2FZLQ/s1600/LUV_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85L2D1DDiYazl0vc7zHxlTwsxxl_8C0YAPtN_yX3Y2Vxg3TCaKGIPV8bHYM5Az3nnBXm7JUtu0NUw5_ZEBW2fV35gDcZz7f4cQ7LPiyTBVBLCBtj8UumfzQU3gEKh7Q6jx2FZLQ/s400/LUV_1517.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
My habits of writing diary started since my secondary school.. owh well of course there were days when your teacher made 'writing dairy' as a homework over weekend, even since primary school but.. my really self-initiated 'diary days', started since, for whatever reason, form 4.<br />
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Then the habit ensued -- what changed was the way I write stuff, and the stuff that I write -- until Book #6, I guess, when 'Weblog' was introduced to my posting life.<br />
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My first post to my own blog, was titled 'One Quiet Afternoon', when I was typing it in a quiet afternoon, weekend, in my newly-joined workplace in KLCC.<br />
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Back then, my blog was simply an english-writing exercise for me. A place for me to brush up my 'Ah-Beng's-standard' english. I still kept writing my diary -- it became a place to write really deep stuff now. Deep, and secretive stuff, in my own mother tongue.<br />
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The drama went on. My blogging days started to get on track and my english was slightly improved and I could start to write 'deep' stuff in english. I started to find some sort of dominance or rather, an invasion, happened to my 'usual language' -- my diary started to be flooded by english words, in the middle of my mother-tongued chinese characters; I started to log more about my life on blog than in diary...<br />
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BUT I still managed to give a differentiator to classify which stuff to blog and what stuff to seal in my diary -- on my blog, some light toned stories hidden with deep and dark stuff, which were actually nakedly scribbled in my diary, but darker, heavier, up to the point that you don't want to read or write it further..<br />
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Try imagine this: my diary posting life, it's dark and deep and desperate -- all of the symptoms of a hopeless drug addict, full of jealousy over the shinny blog posts. Diary, when came to Book #7, started to die...<br />
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... as my posting life, officially switched to blogging.<br />
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I went crazy about posting in my blog, and alhamdulilah there were a few blog posts that received some attention from other bloggers and we started to make friends. My blog-posting life went on with more and more stylish posts, and virtual glamorous feeling kicking my head every time I received a compliments from my fellow readers.<br />
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"<i>It's all about sharing</i>".. I can even see me smirked at my dusty diary.<br />
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.. and with my head all overwhelmed by the power of 'sharing', I signed up Facebook.<br />
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Very well, you figured out what happened next.<br />
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While my 'typical blog posts' are normally full of suspense, hiden with quests and quizes, winding a storyline leading towards revelation of a final twist; Facebook asks a simple question "What's in your mind" and make sure the answer is under a limitation of word counts.<br />
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<i>A clash of Gen-Blog and Gen-FB</i>? Haha u think? I don't have the problem. I was happily actively keeping things straight-forward in posting my thoughts on Facebook, while using the power of Facebook as well, to share my long-winding blog post -- what a win-win, I think I'm a genuis.<br />
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...until one day, when I sat in front of my Mac and trying to post some thoughts on my blog, I ended up finishing my thought in only 1 sentence. <i>ONE damn sentence</i>.<i> Period. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Obviously Facebook had done something to me -- it's like there's a conspiracy going on, there's no win-win -- I'm loosing to Facebook, I mean, the blogging-me is loosing to the FB-me. Now my way of writing, of speaking, of expressing, and even of accepting thoughts, are all 'under a limitation of word coutns', <i>so you'd better be direct!</i><br />
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My oh my.<br />
<br />
My blog started to get abandoned, getting as dusty as my diary used to be. And when I tried to revive it, what happened was I ended up writing loooooong booooring stuff with zero suspense, zero quests and zero quizes, mouthful of fluffing with a big yawn at the ending.<br />
<br />
Defeated -- And thank God Facebook becomes a phenomena and a sensation, at least the blogging-me was not defeated by any Tom, Dick and Harry. Sigh. But the feeling of seeing this 'Karma' stuff going on, I started to see what will happen to the FB-me one day soon..<br />
<br />
...or not too soon. There comes 'Instagram'.<br />
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Haha. And now you start wondering when will I call it an end. The truth is, I don't think I will. :p<br />
<br />
Instagram shares pictures. So you see the trend now -- pen-held writing, cut-short to typing, cut-short to mini sentence posting, now cut short to word-less sharing. Fantastic. I feel like going through a timeline, hopping from generation to generation, watching an evolution taking place.<br />
<br />
...and if anyone of you had gone through what I ve been going through, you probably understand what I feel right now -- a clarity.<br />
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I just can't wait what will take over the 'Instagram' heat, what form of sharing and expressing can happened in future, what type of media will I be using to share stuff with my son -- I'm writing on behalf of him right now on his blog (www.isaachakimi.posterous.com) and I hope he'll take it over, and take flight from there, to continue sharing his life and his thoughts, using the media or sharing mode of their generation. . .. and Papa will meet you there.<br />
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.. and being in such a clarity mode, I'm terminating this blog, while pursuing a whole conglomerate of all these somewhere, somewhere to be announced. Thanks!SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-575879489223645572012-02-02T12:18:00.000+08:002012-02-02T12:18:47.905+08:00My augmented future.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
2 things recently crossed my life that made me felt the future can be so, so near:<br />
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1. Augmented-reality;<br />
2. My son.<br />
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The technology of augmented-Reality answers all my childhood fantasies;<br />
<br />
The arrival of my son in my life brings me questions about his childhood fantasies.<br />
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One is the future of my childhood, another one is the future of his childhood.<br />
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Till this moment I'm still -- addictedly and fasinatedly-- playing the augmented-reality game in my iPhone, imagining how this technology will be/had already spilled over from only game application, and then flushed its way into our daily life.<br />
<br />
..and at the same moment I am still waiting for my son's rocket to land, imagining how his life is already enhanced with the augmented-reality technology, and how his capacity of imagination will be stretched to a level which is way beyond the vision of my generation.<br />
<br />
I simply can't wait.<br />SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-91157366136209387082011-12-18T22:46:00.000+08:002011-12-19T00:39:56.440+08:00A typical race day routine of a runner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A typical race day routine of a runner:<br />
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You wake up before <i>subuh</i> while everybody is still soundly asleep in the weekend; get a quick bite, a cup of nescafe perhaps, put on the running jersey -- could be your own lucky charm running suit, or the one given by the race organizer.<br />
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You are ready to go. You kiss your loved one on her forehead, almost walking on your toe towards the door, cuz' you don't wanna wake anyone up. Their dreams must be the sweetest at the moment, you think.<br />
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You hit the road to the race venue. The road is dark, quiet and rather, lonely.<br />
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You send out a few text messages to your running buddy, shout out some anticipations, though in that moment, you're only surrounded by a quietness and silence.<br />
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Radio is all about pre-recorded tracks. Maybe one or two soft feeling songs will just hit right on the mood of being perfect lonely. You imagine how your car fly through the thick dark ink of chill air, while keeping an eye on the sign board before every junctions.<br />
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You drop by a masjid or <i>surau</i> nearby the race venue to perform your <i>subuh</i> prayer. Meet some other runners who are in the same race event tee you're in. Your prayer for <i>subuh</i> this time is a bit different. You pray for a good run, a safe run. You pray for the strength and health to complete the race course. You also pray that your loved ones would stay safe and blessed.<br />
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You reach the race venue. The crowd clears the loneliness, replaced by some kind of sense of belonging. These people whom you hardly know, are the same kind of enthusiast you are. You belong to this clan -- a clan of people who left their bed at 4 or 5am, <i>just to run</i>.<br />
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Flag off. You run, together with the hundreds or maybe thousands of runners. The thundering sound made by the runners' steps reminds you of the drum beats in an ancient war.</div>
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You start talking to yourself -- regardless of what distance you're running for, there's always a point where you start doing this. You imagine how your legs push you through every meters ahead, how your heart pumps doses of adrenaline into your body that perhaps making you feel a bit pain, while locking your focus to not let yourself give in to the laziness. </div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
You finish your run, finally. You cross the finishing line, grab the finisher medal, the drink you are dying for, and maybe one or two banana. Your body is all drained out, but the satisfaction is maximum.<br />
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You feel happy, not really because of the medal or the bananas. Some said it's because of the hormones that your heart pumped into your vein. Whatever.<br />
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You share the moment with your running buddies, or with whoever reading your twitter or Facebook wall.<br />
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You send an text message to your loved one, a lil bit of wakey-wakey and promise her a heart-warming breakfast is on the way. <br />
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You head back. It's about 8-9am. It's weekend.<br />
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While some of your friends are <i>still </i>on the bed, you've already started it with a great feeling.<br />
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And you're going to repeat the same routine, again and again.<br />
<br />
-- I dedicate this whoever went through the routine and will repeat the routine over and over again in 2012. <br />
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<i>PS: Congratulations and many thanks to all runners around me. MMU Puma Run and KL Malakoff last weekend marked the final leg of the running event in 2011 -- I hope you conclude the year well. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>On your mark on 2012, get set -- just to run. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-20532334201075021482011-12-14T11:58:00.000+08:002011-12-14T11:58:01.369+08:00Instagram: ".. and worse, Jack doesn't hv a year-end leave.."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First of all I think I'm having a drained soul in a cold body. Like a disease. It happens every end of a year. Like snow. </div>
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..and the random screen-saver on my double-screened workstation pop up a random message -- I might take it as a prescription, or a cynicism -- depending on the current condition of my year-en disease. </div>
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Jack needs a break. </div>
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<br />SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-40733170814692390552011-11-08T00:03:00.000+08:002011-11-08T00:13:44.775+08:00"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!" (4): "If...""If" #1: IF our luggages were with us from the moment we touched down India, we would be busying checking our winter clothes before hitting Minali..<br />
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.. instead of sitting in this little vegetarian restaurant, planning a day tour in Shimla by flipping through flyers of 'Day Trip Packages' like those lame, uninspired and lack-of-imagination tourists.<br />
<br />
What a shame.<br />
<br />
<br />
"If" #2: IF we didn't accept the mis-arangment and chose to settle down with an alternative plan, we probably would have missed what Shimla can offer us other than a cozy chilly town we had seen before...<br />
<br />
.. and hence, we discovered an adventurous side of Shimla.<br />
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What a plan!<br />
<br />
:)<br />
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<br />
... and finally Ijol and I had got back our rag sacks, and finally I managed to wear my winter cloth for the 2nd half of the day before we left Shimla, and finally we were leaving Shimla and headed back north...<br />
<br />
.. On our way to the bus station of this little town I was carrying my backpack and we were rushing in the dark, a quick thought suddenly flashed in my mind:<br />
<br />
"..now I've got all my stuff with me, so -- game on, adventure!" :)SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-48592359505486064372011-10-02T09:43:00.001+08:002011-10-02T09:43:36.099+08:00A post on the goI tag them as "Mini", I mean I will.<br />
<br />
Perhaps my "Mini"-tagged blog posts will give some space to my little short notes, squeezed among my long-and-winding blog posts happening ( and crucially aggravating) lately. <br />
<br />
Perhaps my "Mini"-tagged blog posts will help to capture thoughts that oftenly flashed and gone, just because I don't want to share it on Facebook or Twitter or Google+ or Buzz or etc etc. <br />
<br />
Perhaps I should stop now to really make a stand on the real meaning of a "Mini"-tagged post:<br />
<br />
- it means typing short, typing clean, typing on the go, and typing while waiting for my wife to settle her shopping, erm, things like that. SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1Danau Kota Danau Kota3.214645 101.722268tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-72836336022067606032011-09-18T12:01:00.000+08:002011-09-18T12:01:52.867+08:00"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!" (3): Que Shimla, Shimla.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"So... you guys are students?" The driver asked, while spinning his sterling making a sharp u-turn and going uphill.<br />
<br />
"Erm.. no..." I could hear the slight gasp came from my 3 comrades sitting behind. The road was narrow, and winding and uphill. I was worried too.<br />
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"...ermmm .... huh?" the driver got a quick look at me, gave me a 'if not -- then--what?' gesture, reminded me of my incomplete answer to his question.<br />
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"Oh.. yeah.. we're not students.." My focus was all on the road we were on, and the 'inappropriate' speed of our van moving at, heading towards a place called '<i>Yai-Jyui-Yem-See</i>(?)', as per Mr Kavi Khanna's instruction over the phone.<br />
<br />
".. so... you guys are doctors then?" The driver looked to me with a very exciting smile.<br />
<br />
Doctors?<br />
<br />
*********************************************<br />
<br />
I've never met Mr Kavi Khanna. Never until today.<br />
<br />
We only had a few formal conversations over emails, and then over the phones when we were getting closer to Shimla, the north destination of our trip in India -- and to tell you the truth, Mr Kavi Khanna doesn't sound friendly at all, and sometimes his thick Indian accent really messed up our discussion about arranging accommodation in Shimla Youth Hostel.<br />
<br />
That's why I was still unsure about our accommodation in Shimla, up to the moment when our Toy Train arrived early in the morning. <br />
<br />
"Go to Yai-Jyui-Yem-See, someone will meet you there" was his last instruction, and that really sounded like a super-badass kidnapper, instructing how to handle the ransom.<br />
<br />
..and I was the helpless father of three, following the instruction faithfully, bearing the great pressure and huge worries quietly, while having my three cheerful kids happily running around, not knowing any approaching danger...<br />
<br />
---- "<i>Oo~kei</i>!" -- Our van stopped, hand-break pulled -- "<i>Yai-Jyui-Yem-See.</i>" The driver announced.<br />
<br />
"This is it?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, 'Yai-Jyui-Yem-See'," and pointed to the big building complexes at the roadside.<br />
<br />
Indira Gandhi Medical College.<br />
<br />
I. G. M. C.<br />
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<br />
We finally checked in Shimla Youth Hostel, a cozy and simple hostel squeezed in between a narrow walkway, raised by a series of staircases.<br />
<br />
We were led by Mr Kavi Khanna's staff to our room -- the mysterious Mr Kavi Khanna was still out of sight -- and at the moment we about to unlock the room's door, Coco and Ijoi and I perceived one same sentiments at that same time --<br />
<br />
-- finally we'll have a room and a bed to bunk in, ever since the start of our journey..<br />
<br />
...and of course, finally we'll have the chance to take our shower, ever since the start of our journey...<br />
<br />
<br />
*****************************************<br />
<br />
Not expecting much from Shimla, we actually planned for a short stay only. In fact, Shimla in our plan was just a pit stop for us to get to Minali -- the ever famous gorgeous northern wonderland of India.<br />
<br />
So, checking out the Lakkar Bazaar of Shimla became the only plan we had so far. Still not having our luggage with us, Ijol and I just had to put on whatever clothes that lent by our another 2 comrades of us.<br />
<br />
A new T-shirts definitely freshened up our mood and made us feel clean, but while even locals were all wearing thick winter jackets or wool shepherd sweaters, walking on the street of Lakkar Bazaar by just wearing a thin sheet of T-shirt really felt like being naked -- the chill wind, the freezing weather was just piercing every inch of my body.<br />
<br />
"I can't even imagine how the weather in Minali will be..." I mumbled, missing my thick winter jacket that left behind in my rag sack. I think there's snow in Minali, and I started to worry.<br />
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Out of our surprises, we enjoyed loafing in Shimla so very much.<br />
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Shimla is totally different from the India that we encountered before this. Initially we thought it' s because of the weather, or the cleanliness, or the altitude that made the difference, or the friendliness of the locals etc etc, but after checking out the this little town, we finally realized that it's a spirit of Shimla that creates that pleasant ambience of this place. </div>
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I call this spirit: Hope.</div>
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Our pre-trip research did not reveal that Shimla is actually a place where medical students come and study, and receive their qualification to become a doctor. Being in Shimla, we could actually feel the intelligence yet humble atmosphere surrounding this highland -- young storekeeper that concentrates on reading a thick text book behind counter, school-kids that flock to their school with happy faces, just beside walkway a young Indian selling her 2nd hand medical text books and attracted crowd of college students as if she's selling the hottest <i>rempah</i> in the market, little bookstores that contains really big titles, little school kid who walks to school while reading, the guards of IGMC and the driver who just expressed their excitement when they thought we were another batch of young doctors checking in to their town.... --- all and all, Shimla shines with hopes: hope for a brighter future, hope for a more promising generations, and hope for a better life.<br />
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--- "...and I <i>HOPE</i> that you really can send our luggages to here, <i>PLEASE</i>!!" I hung up, feeling disappointed with Malaysia Airlines. I just called their office and confirmed the address of Shimla Youth Hotel that we checked in, hoping that they would <i>EVENTUALLY</i> send our luggages back to us. But what I got in return, was a 'promise' that says it'll take more than a day to deliver the luggages from New Delhi to Shimla.<br />
<br />
More than a day "-- which means tomorrow," I looked at my trip buddies, "..our bags will only reach here, earliest tomorrow."<br />
<br />
"Shit." someone cursed, "So how's our plan to Minali tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
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SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-57378526994501630262011-08-07T17:19:00.001+08:002011-08-07T17:25:18.214+08:00"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!": (2) Moving north<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbgU1Tot0KLuWQt8GoBwJbvRQtGcsUPVsyzpxFZqDnvHTlG5rQcnPd_-bL8rgfc-YPYm7j4ykb4Z650xcOWgEZ_MuZUfdTyOKRTDFk6dHleL0h620Su5L2X68EJ_Gq3SBZY93vA/s1600/header_2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbgU1Tot0KLuWQt8GoBwJbvRQtGcsUPVsyzpxFZqDnvHTlG5rQcnPd_-bL8rgfc-YPYm7j4ykb4Z650xcOWgEZ_MuZUfdTyOKRTDFk6dHleL0h620Su5L2X68EJ_Gq3SBZY93vA/s400/header_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638039651866991970" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">"<i>... I forgot.</i></span></div> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>When I thought I had seen what Delhi's all about in my first visit, I forgot that I was still a guest looking at Delhi from the outside -- I would have the craziest adventure and nastiest experience in my trial to dive in Delhi, but I would still have my nights pampered in the highly secured and luxurious 5-star hotel... I was still a guest..</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>.. but tonight, I'm a backpacker with my sleeping bag ready, but hesitating -- The real scenes of Delhi somehow makes me feel naked, I'm feeling unsecured feeling discomfortable feeling depressed..</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>...but I'm also feeling real. </i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>...I was still a guest back then.. now I'm a wanderer now, in Delhi, in India.</i>. " </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"> </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"> ---<i> 13 Nov 2010... 2114hr. Old Delhi Train Station, Platform #10.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGU9Gd7Xs_K_F2XmhdCVHU2zyfiqWWAOhnRgwAmgS-aIonVRvmW15aPhyphenhyphenlJW9jpu4bmPcTm2vZSRYA73GWRBOS6dOLG5gZk_uzpJuZXmsqkMhw5wdJyYgFej6HPQTPtyNZin69RA/s320/DSC_0038_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637568936403765218" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></p><div><br /></div> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">***********************************************</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I flipped to the next page of my little notebook, a blank page. I felt like writing something but the chill of the night froze my thought. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was like 2 a.m., I guessed. The engine was rumbling and Coco was snoring, both were loud enough to keep me awake. The train was moving northward, heading to Kalka our transit station for the Toy Train -- we did not have a route map of this train so someone needed to stay alert on 'when should we get off from this train'. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrKP12kq-k_9U45-HRDy56bmI6OSQPILk5NifUCX8-xi7X-MYb11Zvq1lCV7BPt_FWtOWg14Ym94ZpmKuqn6DvSDfOkFNoudFwq-ic7-sQvQ8xTUAH-oqzbyOtg1vNs2qeMTGCg/s320/DSC_0037_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637568935236749442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I flipped back to the last note I wrote before departure, and the scenes we saw on the platform just flashed back -- the homeless family who slept almost at the edge of the platform, the little kid who pooed on the railway and picking up anything and put into his mouth, a mother who was care-less enough to a dog that came and shared their food... </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoiInf1NxJLeIwHh0yZSQhwfXJGD2_uKpyjWDymdNG-ghA3Pz7KLJ00ZYjxDu-EQ4haCxDSsBEb_NBeS6ydA-wr-fHHD0a7SuPjLiyyShBFtxJrT1fNDJz4aqkB50E6AbjDvNCFA/s320/DSC_0063_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577751871144962" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPy6iWJugoZ4mycSvWEHdFaNXdnfw7jMoqs0fpndLTyDjdPqiXCW-7VMHzTqayEb-MKIa-AznY3w9RYmXk6x17lMqE0tUYBoNQPPut0Jbohhy7Zw0mOCft9L-wQBRW2i1zMmoB_w/s320/DSC_0067_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577755273618610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">.... and also a bunch of young Indian men that told me that.. erm... "you're beautiful".</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>*gulp*</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">**************************************************</span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; ">5 a.m.. Kalka.</p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">The famous Toy Train was already sitting on the rail waiting for her passenger. Depature time is 5:30am.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZePf_dTGX_D_vxha01jazj6mM9EU7B9MwsHFIkaezpHv4fLMsPWE5VERnbNccMUlPCR5qHy7_d2rE5TeEq1PFz04yKBD_fWmoI1RIiP_6fxo_qYxImbxo6Pnt1X290e6P1kOVw/s320/DSC07298.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637883880958219154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Red in color, reminded me of the little toy train that we played in our childhood. I think she might look more gorgeous if she's shinier and less dusty, maybe it's the blue ambient of Kalka's dawn that toned down her reddish pride.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOht-JmSk0S-CSM6TacOpnrM2r1ZLb84c8-Wlf_-BlF9JpUHxZnTXHjasiZIEAf3Hsiq1EN36d_-SFM-RKsLTjaSrvtDEX55fQqKTkRAM4WzFJiS9eRZ-RSiGWE2zBzFWZxUSO4w/s320/DSC_0103_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637669887085852642" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1namgCVI6j2Jg9mPHNr9S7yQSsGAiHLnQ_NVb0Rms61ZurOOpyzbUaUK-8lMNy14W7IlPO5vFD63wb6mj1JzaITR0d4lvZhk2xCWj-LW3gpMkWuQ7aOPDrucibB6TiMV5Yp_XGQ/s320/DSC_0102_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637669881669282690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Owh of course we posed. Ijol and I had developed our very own winter-fashion 'sense' by only wearing what we had and using what we brought in the bag that was not left behind by our dearest Malaysia Airlines. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Ijol was wrapping around his neck with my checked <i>kain pelekat</i> and that gave him somehow a laid-back urban look -- in a way, I mean.. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJclLPUcYhjF5Bj65b4RwCS132VggwST7hKCXOmrEXcvb9a5c8DXVkzfLxCApwWP_qrOp9xbhOFO8kF7Gz7jLjkvRBaG0RIgDaw_Q2hyQCIOHgbjPTiLq51_oVFtu2YM0E77Uj8w/s320/DSC_0108.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637669896686752402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmypj44JwDJLjhqnfIngxgyAb7QbIcNil7fXHQZck7yx3bxMGrVVYxQobdN0NMcEMczBZPrh5DsbQJYj61IFaUbo9SUCH-c81wO6HvnQeDPqfqpzB2eNIGaBrWxdmxMc3Scu70w/s320/DSC_0107_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637669893419529250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">I managed to grab Malaysia Airlines' purple blanket and that definitely helped cover me up from the chill in north India -- <i>SO</i>... with that big sheet of greyish-purple and my thermal buff in red colour, <i>PLUS</i> my favourite earthy yellow t-shirt -- I think I looked like a gypsy-beggar, if not a pervert, or an unsuccessful mascot of Malaysia Airlines.</span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">*********************************************</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"> </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I was writing my journal note when the boys approached me. One of them got very close to me and tried to read what I was writing. I raised my head and smiled to him. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdQEHUfH2WaiP_9_gM-5YPF-kVj1aoMiJK4HrlSmKIHZ59H-OQG9Nb2FaweV11FDLZdFUaZ_-rrxtk1n9XhTDar4SEY6e-9NThyphenhyphendRumejU_5qz_wEd2bBmEPFzOMk9276-nHZsA/s320/DSC_0079_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577758637226322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">"Where are you from?" he asked.</span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">"Malaysia." I smiled. The conversation kicked-off, his friends started to gather around me, speaking and whispering in their own language. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">"Are you writing in Malaysia language? " he pointed at my notes. The background whispers seemed discussing on the same thing.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw4Ylh-H7TIdOyjdqnLw_7ySXapCttipbngIMcpvY5qGuK5ZPReCD3ZMWvFGM5b6NV80XFTr5H-vpWvo4u3hgCoz8tVBFsR9jLyuRZ4EYXMxHEpPPNPacvJl7y7wmd-fWscwIDNw/s320/DSC_0084_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637568948441550386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">"No.. erm.. this is Chinese words.." I started to worry. <i>He'll get confused Oh he's already confused</i>.</span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span>"...erm... so this is not Malaysia words... and u write Chinese..? " he frowned. <i>I knew it</i>. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">"yeah... I know Chinese too --- hey where are you guys going?" I tried to switched topic, the crowd was getting bigger. I felt like I was a celebrity. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLxDDj-OGGFqbi60qBs7au7pdkzlSM0Hxc6ww7oGR0lFHjLZNZRNcvsqKBqi1_cQSCDovQ0zMwjN7Wvd_z7l2-ol0ghWyySObh5AHeClqI8il8PUIuUEBmfXlxkDgoI0OWcKSnw/s320/DSC_0089_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577762209428226" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNozvlSZYnLSoVHbFt8vxreq23Q8TtMELgYlx4PHM-WlEeH5Uc5Xck_aDYOQIiaybB7M_gltJWQFYD5MFxVx49OqsyF59I-QeqqI7eYf_RAuOhNnczIWAFpAwr7C9N4xKUxbcPhA/s320/DSC_0092_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637577768230943938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; ">"We are students.. going to our college.. " he explained, and mentioned the name of the place that I couldn't recall. The crowd nodded, I think they recognized the place's name hence they interpreted well.</p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">I 'ahh~~' and nodded out of understanding and courtesy. One of his friends was pushed by the others towards the young man I was talking with, and made him whispered to him. Then the young man smiled and did the translation: </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">"They think you are beautiful."</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i>*gulp gulp* WTH.</i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRynadp3jF7pfg6quTbcwkZj-pG6ftX0RfGDPmk3YjA5aCpqOGw3W6A0umREwLufg66gnQ_s1JllL8b9mbW93CRzM-1GIDceOOBT2sMrO-rZjZDjdbEteVWLafoS9ZDTjQjoHrw/s320/DSC_0087_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637568951798477234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">***********************************************</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Our plan of taking the Toy Train ride moving north before sunrise just paid off! We witnessed the sun light piercing through the forests while traveling in the nostalgic Toy Train. And amazingly, the slow moving train, like 22km/hour, was actually climbing uphill.. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3a6ttsNoryehVARDMbXLN4RJ2OMMuxGbIMyr5hDAXTTZdOH036-z_zLorMSDqfbbD5GMyrQh_uMemq8gEXu78glBTwThFLzMTrzY__lDi1lZQ-POoZiY7rQe7wVasO-yffygzpA/s320/DSC_0216_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637680881879684882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUg4-LVyaumkIrMLW70p8VmlkZfuXx2IquVWIux9E7lRu7OBEdisOU8UMG03F_JtjZIzcub418uiMiaiQOCa2IwtnKMIGjLpQ4gQgj7_H5Bk_6KTm3xLOREfB2-JqaH2UOdnkgdw/s320/DSC_0136_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637669900657877010" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">...and as the train was actually moving towards another weather zone, the change of vegetations is obviously observed: pine trees, ficus, oak, mapple woods.. The fresh dew of the forest was awakening, but not for Coco.... and ohh.. Amie was looking also at the outcrops of the mountain range, and pouring out loud her geological interpretation of tectonic movement and bla bla bla....</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qXst_FyMh73PJ_tkayu5EqxWWrxxU6S4VYuBBYJih0WTpalYt-nPANePwnFWWByZPWfc6ss3L7dDkl7MKv3HzHKPAEv5HremPz1AHHfFSstqasGOqvkauz12S0BPoquUn1z_og/s1600/DSC_0140_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qXst_FyMh73PJ_tkayu5EqxWWrxxU6S4VYuBBYJih0WTpalYt-nPANePwnFWWByZPWfc6ss3L7dDkl7MKv3HzHKPAEv5HremPz1AHHfFSstqasGOqvkauz12S0BPoquUn1z_og/s320/DSC_0140_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637680871342895410" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVrrqBqQa5hlpJWbb8iDQ4m-5xaiUGs4j_BR_bJq1pORg1yZCMo2yth6FpzHWZ_3tW8gCzrJYT0DbSKt58qm_o4ysQuMUJDM1mbtFZRpxMNzv6R_4ehYSVwMU1f8B3mclp2T6WQ/s1600/DSC_0142_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVrrqBqQa5hlpJWbb8iDQ4m-5xaiUGs4j_BR_bJq1pORg1yZCMo2yth6FpzHWZ_3tW8gCzrJYT0DbSKt58qm_o4ysQuMUJDM1mbtFZRpxMNzv6R_4ehYSVwMU1f8B3mclp2T6WQ/s320/DSC_0142_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637680872803840882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">Breakfast was served in the train, and the ride stopped at the picturesque Barog for 30 minutes for food loading, and of course for tourist, pictures loading.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaJz9ZYLYhGI7D9ThXGfmPqMSwAQXjXRgMrmXC0lK-UkA1MoKLMMRpulDNsqIE7H9olAyOST5VpwgThES7wNA_kFkcIa8ivxB5v7IELgyZNjbqvB_6z-p6GH9gzG9S9xJ1b3-a9w/s400/DSC_0210_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637780835861958882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">The most enjoyment of the ride was definitely the scenery, the clean fresh and chilling air, the Toy Train itself, and the ride. And after some hiccups and discomforts that happened at the very beginning of our journey, the toy train ride just soothed our edgy nerves -- And I think this was very important for us to recompose the positive anticipations for the trip, as ahead of us, there are still many unknowns.. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9kvdGI5PEGRVq-6oBil1uoWzWv4oN6nnSsSajt6AxP0Xum9hQbDjPxZUZ2dCpdhxj2DBD8uhQ5tSbTgTdT5cSwudeDv91arHsGUDkHZxTOpGBiDwa3WPWIVcx02ysB87RM75Tw/s400/DSC_0195_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637780830638435282" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoAgJ_uk_ipJ8FeV39JrNZMFRKCePybHoaIwNvfgr9l_JBbunPiBA0hI5PGb6LaB4L7Mc6vDawTsW6zUusNSs-iinomKPhg9_EEIk_UFZP1dbtuXboKEt3ujQIcpTo7b2Lp79kA/s1600/DSC07361.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcP9wBggVSg-RErWsLRmx7yblugAEHtmU0KiiJjK4EJtnA_l9-ufVqnUdiRyzq6HRte6WA_Sf2-MBXyrwb3bu9KIRnD2pBLV522N96hBttr5MUyX79lTIgjMh53UHhhpqMb6eQ/s1600/DSC07347.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKcP9wBggVSg-RErWsLRmx7yblugAEHtmU0KiiJjK4EJtnA_l9-ufVqnUdiRyzq6HRte6WA_Sf2-MBXyrwb3bu9KIRnD2pBLV522N96hBttr5MUyX79lTIgjMh53UHhhpqMb6eQ/s320/DSC07347.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637942322889081970" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1e9W1_-Xs00KnnS7bCFq2N4mktZfVawXt_lwVOfjOUjfRl4_mvQiQxiLR_6Xk4rEA6SBkhx9VG73-XoprcI1vzHCN8hfVq0Stz_NXo4J6VyTkeo9QgXwuDizonF8fsiaJK_S-2Q/s1600/DSC07315.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1e9W1_-Xs00KnnS7bCFq2N4mktZfVawXt_lwVOfjOUjfRl4_mvQiQxiLR_6Xk4rEA6SBkhx9VG73-XoprcI1vzHCN8hfVq0Stz_NXo4J6VyTkeo9QgXwuDizonF8fsiaJK_S-2Q/s320/DSC07315.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637942315538727474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center; "><u><br /></u></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFS-6Azkq_J2MKD3z6BdYCh0hWZ8BaUllfWznhOYrLIaw0nhpY7dSlA-MgKze5SsZTaPRG8QCxLubpV_J0PXwLL9xbVnIeutzGfivkHr1y6xO91_HeDSWVRVLeWEvDMWF20zK6Q/s1600/DSC_0287.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFS-6Azkq_J2MKD3z6BdYCh0hWZ8BaUllfWznhOYrLIaw0nhpY7dSlA-MgKze5SsZTaPRG8QCxLubpV_J0PXwLL9xbVnIeutzGfivkHr1y6xO91_HeDSWVRVLeWEvDMWF20zK6Q/s320/DSC_0287.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637883860305772322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aERDnjXAFLAlmHrSfl5PcX_O5_Gyk3EQH1_vKwH8cBpNkN5J0SfZkoQ5aohdV7D_NZLeEH1xVBgsquGSzFpI7qfsBD7Xrl_fhmIDUQizYxrMMbxdEkUGHE1RpRfPA9QR54oDlQ/s1600/DSC_0279.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aERDnjXAFLAlmHrSfl5PcX_O5_Gyk3EQH1_vKwH8cBpNkN5J0SfZkoQ5aohdV7D_NZLeEH1xVBgsquGSzFpI7qfsBD7Xrl_fhmIDUQizYxrMMbxdEkUGHE1RpRfPA9QR54oDlQ/s320/DSC_0279.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637883855940946402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyfy_lgk93yg_EnKQF0ufr6tP0VMpYJa1ABrq4prkDlFY1mISbj26DbJ7GdefQmaJoWv3ZpEl713j5-ZUw1YJrRXrba1vr6lVtm7xg-GINydeQ3WRox0_fUtJqcif0Jomh2Sv_A/s1600/DSC_0301_2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyfy_lgk93yg_EnKQF0ufr6tP0VMpYJa1ABrq4prkDlFY1mISbj26DbJ7GdefQmaJoWv3ZpEl713j5-ZUw1YJrRXrba1vr6lVtm7xg-GINydeQ3WRox0_fUtJqcif0Jomh2Sv_A/s400/DSC_0301_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637780842787048466" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></u></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJpSSTHCbhAlTou79p8r2VPr2G-mYWxK0_wO3EEgCyrk9X-NrGtL9F46iE6AKQ2TvlW9tcsYlneqzqAb2Wvv7TLl4kqYD6HYl16EA3bQAqcn-d2_Z5OZH8EMQXHawWKJXrPDCQg/s1600/DSC_0205_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJpSSTHCbhAlTou79p8r2VPr2G-mYWxK0_wO3EEgCyrk9X-NrGtL9F46iE6AKQ2TvlW9tcsYlneqzqAb2Wvv7TLl4kqYD6HYl16EA3bQAqcn-d2_Z5OZH8EMQXHawWKJXrPDCQg/s320/DSC_0205_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637680884733761938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a></span><p></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">... ..erm, talking about unknowns, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">at the time four of us were happily posing <i>sakan</i> in Barog ..</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">our accommodation in Shimla that I supposed to arrange and get it done, was still ..erm... undone... </span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i>*gulp gulp gulp*</i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RlvoSJJ__TI9zkuD7oPwsPPQOfwSdAU8nqlfDOU3h7UT3qjYTzGJWe6JmhHi3WMtJlDn6CXNrH0Qx-Ir6Lm6CKFgDFrsB2Ur-HK0ulwPxeysUQZw3KQEZDzwopBLjmpR-KO5rw/s400/DSC07387.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638039650035148354" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px; " /></span></i></p><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></i></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_oDRzS40iqoUF3RLCtYL2AKO3-oecfOFtpir8ql7DtYD3L5L21_jmuliKh3V_3nKXY4cO6N6-sjyiBQtD0LsTRDqFKdQkNZ1kMpZuavNKVfaaYBj5zssbFBDQ87TrB3UHxog3A/s400/DSC07359.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637780848340662034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px; " /></span></i></p><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></i></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoAgJ_uk_ipJ8FeV39JrNZMFRKCePybHoaIwNvfgr9l_JBbunPiBA0hI5PGb6LaB4L7Mc6vDawTsW6zUusNSs-iinomKPhg9_EEIk_UFZP1dbtuXboKEt3ujQIcpTo7b2Lp79kA/s320/DSC07361.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637942327100784098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></i></p>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-37277810288195733412011-07-03T21:24:00.004+08:002011-07-03T22:25:14.219+08:00"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!": (1) The Delhi-cious starter..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymaX2RcWWDO8iOgd5aMJmS9gH-8-5rpOGe9xxelLp3qXnXTeNDhotJkDm5mRIzgNt-rRdJpN08I40XwJtz4oonx4oelU3HtWL77IoWIAJpIceDYfPrEyoV_O_NqSwNth-goCp3Q/s1600/header+1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymaX2RcWWDO8iOgd5aMJmS9gH-8-5rpOGe9xxelLp3qXnXTeNDhotJkDm5mRIzgNt-rRdJpN08I40XwJtz4oonx4oelU3HtWL77IoWIAJpIceDYfPrEyoV_O_NqSwNth-goCp3Q/s400/header+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625127578889163474" /></a><br /><i>13 November 2010, Delhi International Airport, Terminal 3, New Delhi, India.</i><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"So.. u miss India already, huh?" Flipping through my passport, the man over the immigration counter looked at me through the upper half of his bifocals lens.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hmm... last trip was a business trip.. " I understood where he came from. I could've said "OH YEAH INDIA IS SO WONDERFUL THAT'S WHY I CAME BACK" but I decided to keep the friendly-joke to myself. Basically, one is not allowed to re-enter this country for his 2nd and 3rd visit within 2 months time; and my situation right there right then in front of the immigration officer was: he was flipping through my passport and looking at the date I last checked out from India, which was about 2 weeks ago.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I really wished he figured out that my visits were valid and legal: first on a business trip visa, this time -- the 2nd one -- on a tourist visa. Both I paid, Jaan. </div><div>"Those hand signs.." out of a sudden he put down my passport and lean forward to me, pointing to the giant hand signs popping out of the wall of this magnificent arrival hall, "... are called <i>mudra</i>, and they have different meanings.." </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZH7WM8_N831UBFoOr0h6VevUTL7q7P_xqUVXpstXEyK968Cf7ItFIV7k-WODSoFgbpmbiuE-TjX28VqjaPHPVuNeNh4G5dfjq2Huzd1fkXAmuUru_l6wp6OPS2ic9BxFZqaIVQ/s400/DSC_0001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625019462969514306" /></div><div>I turned my head up, looked at those <i>mudras</i>. Amie and I were talking about those beautifully sculptured figures before we entered the immigration counter, and obviously this Mr officer noticed that. </div><div><br /></div><div>"... and this one..." he showed his hand making one of the mudras, "means 'good luck'.. erm.. sort of. " He smiled. And put a stamp on my passport. Passed. He welcome me. I thanked him. </div><div><br /></div><div>My other 3 comrades -- Amie, Coco & Ijol -- were already waiting for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>***************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>The 'Good-luck' <i>mudra</i> did not work on us, at least for this time. </div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After a long stare on the conveying belt, from the moments it carried many luggages, many hopes, then we happily picked up Amie's red rag sack, till the moment we gratefully picked up Coco's bulky backpack, to the moment where most of the luggages, or hopes, were taken, up to the final moment we saw only belt conveying nothing, but a message: </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My rag sacks and also Ijol's, together with the other tens of luggages of the same flight, were left behind <i>purposely </i>by our dearest Malaysia Airlines, due to the cabin-overloaded issue.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08bw9lYgb0jw3fHhk_Q0AjqQTqJVxAYVggDhQw48pN-srz3nPRy0vxZVv12qRA4JGSl7erMNwgSwOMncR0I2ZrECA_dKwoFQ3yz400UzS-om_zmqHgxHdSdanRDs131D58JyeSQ/s400/IMG_0318.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625020170175953586" /></div><div>"Sir, we apologize on the proo-bhlem, jour luggage will be carried from Malaysia to here via ou next flightt." The officer repeated his script for the <i>n</i>-th time to the <i>n</i>-th unsatisfying guest. </div><div><br /></div><div>"When will it arrive?" I needed to raise my voice despite of the very noisy and chaotic background. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Tree in the morr-ning, sir." The local officer has a very thick indian accent, I really needed to listen carefully and tried really hard to not get distracted by his head's movement. </div><div><br /></div><div>"That's not possible -- I'm leaving New Delhi tonight..." I almost shouted this time. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Wha dis jour next des-tinay-sion, sir?" <i>Argh, skip that head-shake please. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>"Shimla -- -- " </div><div><br /></div><div>"In that case, jou can fill up this form, and jive us jour contact num-behr and jour addrrress -- we vill send jour luggage to jour place -- " then a form was handed over to me. The officer turned to the next panic guest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Contact numbers? Address in Shimla? I just hoped that the solution will be as simple as filling up the right details -- but our situation was a little bit complicated here: as MAS officer told us that if the given address is not in New Delhi, then they'll need more days to deliver our luggage, <i>depending on where is the location</i> -- so to Shimla, 2 to 3 days. </div><div><br /></div><div>Problem was, 2 days or 3 days, <i>Jaan</i>? Cuz if it's 2 days you need, then at Shimla we'll be waiting; or else, I'm going to give you another address, <i>depending on our transport arrangement later on</i>. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I gave up explaining to any of the officers -- obviously they only think that foreigners who travel to India will only stay in their highly-secured stars-rated hotels, with precise hotel address, and won't be wandering around. Sigh. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I looked at Ijol -- being a very chilled-out type of person and always settle with an 'OK' with most situations and demands, he's filling up the form with all the details required.</div><div><br /></div><div>.. and I saw Amie sitting with the luggages we had so far, sketching, planning, routing out all possibles alternatives -- I believe she's doing what she's best at, she's the master-mind of our trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>... and Coco -- now where is this buggle!?!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKozVzETlMI8myzlvIsMs1MIFZpkAX5GGXTL6FXiER7I4RcnJr-xjoNV4k5mC0IbzNlFl1ZZZhJdriRjBSOmhHbSM-3wZ9QXi3HaLl7e5shBlHqMB6nFalsxLbnqMYdhMlcQHAw/s1600/DSC_0006_2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKozVzETlMI8myzlvIsMs1MIFZpkAX5GGXTL6FXiER7I4RcnJr-xjoNV4k5mC0IbzNlFl1ZZZhJdriRjBSOmhHbSM-3wZ9QXi3HaLl7e5shBlHqMB6nFalsxLbnqMYdhMlcQHAw/s400/DSC_0006_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625085986314331426" /></a><br /></div><div>*******************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>We decided to stick to our original plan: Delhi - Kalka - Shimla route. The only change in our plan was: Ijol and I will be wearing what we were wearing now, until we meet back our rag sacks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Travel to Shimla was already one of the highlights of this trip. I'm talking about the Toy Train ride, traveling northward on one of the oldest rails in India that was listed as world heritage by UNESCO. </div><div><br /></div><div>Got out of the chaotic airport we headed straight to the Old Delhi Train Station. My last visit to this place gave me an impression of pathetic -- poor ticketing system, poor counter service, and one can easily get lost in this ticketing building. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqB2Z2hyphenhyphenB1oASJ8uqhRAvgoSnVSMGvWx_k04zo84z_jKmrBtQHSS0tTwJRbCSohhQyfxh2QMurwq4TtdgaTPZCjSy118yCyGn7Bim6qBOxTKIG1tLv4aqKWWMrepDccqmhzPIZA/s1600/DSC_0292+copy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqB2Z2hyphenhyphenB1oASJ8uqhRAvgoSnVSMGvWx_k04zo84z_jKmrBtQHSS0tTwJRbCSohhQyfxh2QMurwq4TtdgaTPZCjSy118yCyGn7Bim6qBOxTKIG1tLv4aqKWWMrepDccqmhzPIZA/s320/DSC_0292+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625106498953199170" /></a><br /></div><div>We needed to quickly figure out how the ticketing system work here, but there's a really long queue in front of the one and only information counter, with someone behind the counter shouting at each and every inquirer through a mic. So, with the help of a real loud speaker, from far you can already know someone is being scolded or given instruction in a not-so-friendly way.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bgynpm1KsCe2b7B41IvEgL0YignXPqQFqIltjuTpibNVNZenHVuSvhDi1w1rGDG835GDSQ9poX6kxzL5uGaLk8BCeF-Oegc21ZGGGjmk19IlKzfVPWr7CAUJB9SaU4kXUzYwpg/s1600/DSC_0296.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bgynpm1KsCe2b7B41IvEgL0YignXPqQFqIltjuTpibNVNZenHVuSvhDi1w1rGDG835GDSQ9poX6kxzL5uGaLk8BCeF-Oegc21ZGGGjmk19IlKzfVPWr7CAUJB9SaU4kXUzYwpg/s400/DSC_0296.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625114968165040178" /></a><br /></div><div>Amie and I got into the long queue, joining the rest of the helpless faces -- felt like we were in the queue for a prosecution, scary somehow; Coco and Ijol were browsing around, looking for another solution, maybe the right ticket counter for our Kalka trip, the right signboard for us to follow, or --</div><div><br /></div><div>-- yup, the right hot chick. </div><div><br /></div><div>Coco and Ijol had found a really hot, maybe German, young lady who had the perfect solution for us: There's a special ticket office for the foreigners. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Upstairs." Ijol pointed up, and looked back to his girl, asking confirmation. His girl nodded. Positive. Out of a sudden I thought Ijol was from German too -- oh whatever, bottom line was, the things that happened next, was 5 of us rushed to the office via a very dark stairway and some narrow corridors, and found the golden cave filled with lovely wind flowers, oh and also equipped with air-cond, waiting benches, Japanese with weird traveling gadgets etc etc, and of course --</div><div><br /></div><div>4 tickets from Old Delhi Train Station to Kalka, depart almost midnight. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu-2TAcwsXSckZutdv7HvNhXg2sxry-qaJVQxuKAe0xbobxsD00mchCU6BslFlLVKzuBQkpOaa4NZucZ-RKOaAcu6dKoj4sVlYfYj-dJzr5SAA6AWOxDQVdFYg7-gL7mTgnNAmg/s1600/DSC_0023_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu-2TAcwsXSckZutdv7HvNhXg2sxry-qaJVQxuKAe0xbobxsD00mchCU6BslFlLVKzuBQkpOaa4NZucZ-RKOaAcu6dKoj4sVlYfYj-dJzr5SAA6AWOxDQVdFYg7-gL7mTgnNAmg/s320/DSC_0023_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625116532808414594" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0hxf4FbECFhgb3XxleBojJN-vhuZXjF9XJxhWfBH8Jr7dH7wJaZg0pV1vp2-c8IkiJVrHowfr2nOZwuRnfwGqb0dpOJvw88fmEeucjQxRUR85ggenvRA4-g1VJdLNGaynAKL6Q/s1600/DSC_0021_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0hxf4FbECFhgb3XxleBojJN-vhuZXjF9XJxhWfBH8Jr7dH7wJaZg0pV1vp2-c8IkiJVrHowfr2nOZwuRnfwGqb0dpOJvw88fmEeucjQxRUR85ggenvRA4-g1VJdLNGaynAKL6Q/s320/DSC_0021_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625116528097414578" /></a>I forgot how we left the office, maybe or maybe not after a farewell kiss by Ijol to his German girlfriend.</div><div><br /></div><div>**********************************</div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-63891266531101022652011-06-20T00:21:00.000+08:002011-06-20T00:28:38.873+08:00The leftover..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoF5HOQ6kaQeg9dxcwmOSV9X7jyO0gF_MkXJTYoYYMvXHUs2dTnYzXCRHRPeEGIQrgA4o0q0y6vfdr1RN58Jy6wzNXDEIS6N9lFN6V5liThmMOCBdSLqg1xLD5oj0fO6-hvU9AQ/s1600/LUV_0749okoko.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoF5HOQ6kaQeg9dxcwmOSV9X7jyO0gF_MkXJTYoYYMvXHUs2dTnYzXCRHRPeEGIQrgA4o0q0y6vfdr1RN58Jy6wzNXDEIS6N9lFN6V5liThmMOCBdSLqg1xLD5oj0fO6-hvU9AQ/s400/LUV_0749okoko.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619883141519562514" /></a><div>Life has been fantastic and eventful, and it's packed with so much awesomeness to blog about -- but that's the problem. Too much, becomes too heavy to handle, and in the struggle with the time that flow too swift, he got lost and left out from the train.</div><div><br /></div><div>..hence, he became a leftover.</div><div><br /></div><div>**************************</div><div><br /></div><div>...hence, I got married. </div><div><br /></div><div>..but getting married is never a fair reason to justify a hiatus in blogging, as out there, there are bloggers who managed to blog along the the way from how they finally decided to get married -- to what they did for their wedding preparations -- until how the wedding went eventually -- and then the honeymooning blog-along -- up to the most current marriage life they are having -- and never even paused a month in blogging.</div><div><br /></div><div>hence I truly accept the accusation of procrastination. </div><div><br /></div><div>*************************</div><div><br /></div><div>... He tried to catch up the train .. but you see, blogging is not only about recapping life, it is about expressing oneself's thought to life. Whatever. Point is, he was overwhelmed by all the confusions and excitements and anxiety and deep thoughts about life and about a change of life. Hence making him a failure to express accurately.. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh yeah, in this phase, he's a leftover waiting for the next train. </div><div><br /></div><div>*************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Leftover is not loser. </div><div><br /></div><div>But it might be a quit-er, like how I used to seriously think of quitting to blog, deleting all my blog posts and gaining my peace of mind -- oh the dilemma is one of the reasons for the hiatus, if that really helps to justify anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div>************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to his confusions. </div><div><br /></div><div>So to think of it, the point is 'expressing' and 'sharing' his thought, better still, 'recapping' the life journey -- what if, he'd got someone whom he can express his thoughts to and share his sentiments with? Better still, that someone he got shared a same life journey all these while, hence there's no need of 'recapping' but 'rejuvenating'? </div><div><br /></div><div>Better-better still, she was the reason of his expressions in his writings all these while, and now she's the co-pilot of his in the new train.</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Point is, there's no any necessary anymore to make the lengthy blog, when he has met someone he can talk with, all night long, through out his life. No?</div><div><br /></div><div>*******************</div><div><br /></div><div><i>No. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Please, don't quit. </i>She begged. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I revealed my decision of deleting this blog, my wife stopped me. Up to that moment, I never thought that she was faithfully reading my blog all these while, or rather, in precise, she was faithfully, and patiently waiting for my update of this blog all these while.</div><div><br /></div><div>Funny -- who said those couples in love never have miscommunication? :) While I'm worried that I've already bored her with my lengthy story when we are together, she's worried about I'll stop expressing myself through my words and writings. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hence, I'll keep this blog alive, may not be kicking-ass-alively-alive but it will stay here for my thoughts, my sentiments, and my new dose of passion underneath my affection towards words and life. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>---- to my wife,</div><div> </div><div> you'll never be my leftover. </div><div><br /></div><div> love.</div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-76678759756636963252011-02-16T03:49:00.001+08:002011-02-16T03:49:00.319+08:00realize .. (..a sequel, perhaps..)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21E7K4Ljs2YPALJsWqm3tdQR4R_cVYA6bEEa9BeVcJ3EzbwNPHIh0A0ph7qGeBdU9UhMP3kmIzDVyZlcvj8AX-QL3coZ7J4P_6Ex2SDnnIrojHDQXlhIX6UgU7bDaT2ds64A08Q/s1600/realize.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21E7K4Ljs2YPALJsWqm3tdQR4R_cVYA6bEEa9BeVcJ3EzbwNPHIh0A0ph7qGeBdU9UhMP3kmIzDVyZlcvj8AX-QL3coZ7J4P_6Ex2SDnnIrojHDQXlhIX6UgU7bDaT2ds64A08Q/s400/realize.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573959964765486978" /></a><br />Once upon a time God gave me a vision of a bridge, and I perceived it as a hope for the final linkage of two lands... <div><br /></div><div>.. I looked forward the bridge to come, and I whispered to myself, "I wish I could see how it built... I wish I could see how it built...." .. with tears down, I thanked for the guidance. </div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>*************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Not long ago from then I looked at the bridge, I found my vision blurred... </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>... and I told myself, "keep your faith... the bridge is still there, InsyaAllah... " .. with tears down, I hoped it could clean the dusk from my sight...</div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Not far away from now I reached the river bank, and I saw no bridge.. </div><div><br /></div><div>.. I hopelessly fell on my knees and asked God what happened... with tears down, dropped into the water of the river, I saw my reflection..</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw a bridge. <i>The</i> bridge. </div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Not so far away from now I was reluctant to accept the true message of the vision, avoiding the great responsibility that was assigned.. </div><div><br /></div><div>.. I helplessly begged God to take away the burden.. with tears down, I saw myself crumbled into bricks and pebbles, into sands and dusk... </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I could never be the bridge...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Just ago my struggle broke me down and I fell on my bended knees.. .. </div><div><br /></div><div>"There's no bridge -- you are the bridge, face it.." </div><div><br /></div><div>... the greatest challenge, the deepest dilemma, the darkest struggle, the most heart-tearing battle, the tinniest hope.. -- face it. </div><div><br /></div><div>.. with tears down, I pray for strength, for perseverance, for wisdom, for guidance and for a stronger faith, to face a destiny that I couldn't run away from..</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>***********************************</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Ps..</i></div><div><i>It took me more than 2 years to realize this heavy message behind the vision I received once upon a time... </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I realized now, that the moment when I received the vision of a bridge once upon a time, a task had been destined to me already;</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I realized now, that when I was on my bended knees once upon a time and praying for the bridge to come, a responsibility had been added on my shoulder already;</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I realized now, that when I was on my bended knees once upon a time, listening to the fear of letting my loved ones down and wishing for a strength to raise myself up, a calling had been made louder in my ears already; </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I realized now, that when I was writing about a bridge once upon a time in February 2009, and posted it and titled it as '</i><a href="http://leftnothingbehind.blogspot.com/2009/02/on-my-bended-knees.html"><i>On my bended knees</i></a><i>', another post echoing it with my realization, had been written, somewhere in my life, already.....</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-61787505388390045782011-02-09T01:34:00.001+08:002011-02-09T07:19:48.292+08:00Tangled..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEi-Q-C95dRueEZKq92t5YC1VH_2LwkGIkzz7hyphenhyphenD89dOB7TPAGuqF_1pnNKVckxboerrZ4gWI6J97iuLNJw9_qu_3_HpdZBlkn3vrVCj_0DccHwNUz6pmO4JQvzkI-uercUi3klA/s1600/tangld.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEi-Q-C95dRueEZKq92t5YC1VH_2LwkGIkzz7hyphenhyphenD89dOB7TPAGuqF_1pnNKVckxboerrZ4gWI6J97iuLNJw9_qu_3_HpdZBlkn3vrVCj_0DccHwNUz6pmO4JQvzkI-uercUi3klA/s400/tangld.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571346841319840418" /></a><div>I'm tangled. </div><div><br /></div><div>Face it: after all the while where we thought things are ok, I'm still in deep fear.</div><div><br /></div><div>What did I do that dragged everyone else to the drowned what did I do that pushed everyone else start whispering at the corner what did I do that poured the silence spell to my love ones what did I do that faked every worries with a plastic relieve what did I do that made my old men stayed up in the night and stared the empty ceiling with their empty eye what did I do that sucked the soul of a sunshine what did I do that made a shout a yield a tease a sigh an insult what did I do that made my love ones wiped their tears quietly? </div><div><br /></div><div>Is my vision that pushes me to take the less-traveled trail, or it's just my fear that blindfolds me from seeing the right way?</div><div>.... but vision, do I still have the guts to claim there's any, after all what had happened?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>................ .... </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry, I truly am. </div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-18736775445643462132011-01-23T20:21:00.006+08:002011-01-23T22:59:19.467+08:00... waiting is another episode.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe5VH8cxktGKbLSdPKH_00JeU10gMa3q4VsO6EOa8YdD6dTPVm3JnQ-4DU81AkDfIRtY3wQAPlfB9y1zoByqa8y0gazcXA5fK2A8sBt8SWXvXXlRTpxHXyFKUGWucngA2XMg6jA/s1600/DSC_0292_waititng.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe5VH8cxktGKbLSdPKH_00JeU10gMa3q4VsO6EOa8YdD6dTPVm3JnQ-4DU81AkDfIRtY3wQAPlfB9y1zoByqa8y0gazcXA5fK2A8sBt8SWXvXXlRTpxHXyFKUGWucngA2XMg6jA/s400/DSC_0292_waititng.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565356163139685042" /></a><div><br /></div><div><i>He's waiting for her to come back. The one he used to know. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>For the time being, things gone hazy -- he's unsure about the journey she'd travelled, neither the duration of the deviation. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Maybe forever it is. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Hence, the episode begins.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>******************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Many of my readers waited, I then realized.</div><div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>The best (most sarcastic?) response I've received regarding my hiatus of blogging was:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey so you left behind your 'lEft Nothing Behind' eh?"...</div><div><br /></div><div>:) I mean, thank you -- Yup I've been to India, twice, within 1 month time.. so I assume I'm supposed to blog about the awesomeness of the journeys -- but look at here, this is how we spell 'procrastination'...</div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>... and I'm sorry for the long wait, things gone hazy lately. Promise I'll come back. </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon.</div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-47235493485105859442010-09-20T21:26:00.002+08:002010-09-20T22:39:32.894+08:00The perfect wedding..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWBxJF2oJuKMTZWP_SpGATUNFAjGZEsJOkj2qU1kS2vnMO5MrD7ek13mVeOexb8xvLvgfIU7bCyalQPOh8tBuUVtqUjJjnKd-nQeLVyXqX8c8gWqJEXiCXjzaKnPKFv4r1i3i5g/s1600/perfect.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWBxJF2oJuKMTZWP_SpGATUNFAjGZEsJOkj2qU1kS2vnMO5MrD7ek13mVeOexb8xvLvgfIU7bCyalQPOh8tBuUVtqUjJjnKd-nQeLVyXqX8c8gWqJEXiCXjzaKnPKFv4r1i3i5g/s400/perfect.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518925016752242322" /></a>"What's the furthest distance for you?" He asked. The time was 1 minute after the silence when she announced a break-up. <div><br /></div><div>"The furthest distance is when I'm sitting close to you..." She finished her drink, ".. but I'm not loving you anymore.. "</div><div><br /></div><div>He looked at her. </div><div><br /></div><div>*********************************<br /><div><br /></div><div>(1)</div><div><br /></div><div>She's a famous wedding planner, but yet to have any plan of 'The Perfect Wedding' for her clients.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>He's a famous wedding planner, but yet to reveal his plan of 'The Perfect Wedding' to any of his clients. </div><div><br /></div><div>She knows she needs to have 'The Perfect Wedding' planned-out. Sir Gomez, her current biggest client gave him 2 years time to lay out the plan -- <i>2 years</i> -- "sufficient enough", she smirked with a plot drafted in her mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>++++++</div><div><br /></div><div>(2)</div><div><br /></div><div>They fell in love -- I mean, she made him fell for her, and when the night he kneed down with a ring and made his proposal, she knew she's almost there. </div><div><br /></div><div>-- What's 'The Perfect Wedding' for the best wedding planner in the world? His own wedding. </div><div><br /></div><div>That night, in front of the kneeing him, she nodded to the proposal, but smiled to the victory of her plot.. </div><div><br /></div><div>++++++</div><div><br /></div><div>(3)</div><div><br /></div><div>He started to plan his wedding -- the perfect wedding of him and his love. She's totally overwhelmed by the wonderful idea -- the plan of The Perfect Wedding is so gorgeous and flawless she just have to admit his status of the world's best wedding planner. </div><div><br /></div><div>She rewrote every details of the plan to Sir Gomez in her email. "..only a heart that's deeply in love can create this perfect wedding plan..." Sir Gomez commented in his reply -- she almost can see Sir Gomez's smilling. She knew Sir Gomez was so impressed -- every words in Sir Gomez's replies carried emotions and expressions, she could feel that Sir Gomez was the happiest client on the planet, without the necessary of meeting him at all. </div><div><br /></div><div>She smirked at Sir Gomez's comment, while thinking of the earliest date to dump his wedding planner fiance.</div><div><br /></div><div>**********************************</div><div><br /></div><div>He looked at her. The heartless silence conquered every drop of air in between them.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I used to think that, " he broke the silence, "the furthest distance is when I'm standing in front of you, but you don't know how much I miss you, and how much I love you..."</div><div><br /></div><div>She took off her engagement ring, put it on the table, "I'm sorry," stood up, grabbed her handbag, "..it's over." cold-hearted, headed towards the exit of the coffee house.</div><div><br /></div><div>"..but in the last 2 years I realize that, " he continued, "the furthest distance exists when you know how much I miss you and how much I love you, but you just pretend to do the same, for some reasons other than love..."</div><div><br /></div><div>She stopped. Turned around to him.</div><div><br /></div><div>"... the perfect wedding plan is not yet complete," he looked at her, his eye filled with disappointment, "it requires a heart that is deeply in love..." </div><div><br /></div><div>Her handbag slipped off of her hand. A hopeless weakness smeared from her feet, upward.</div><div><br /></div><div>".. the furthest distance, " he stood up, "is even though we have been together for almost 2 years, you still don't know who am I -- that's the furthest distance -- " he walked pass her, </div><div><br /></div><div>"-- ever..."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-77300682378915832862010-07-03T01:05:00.001+08:002010-07-03T01:17:57.483+08:00Once upon a cloud..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-bZbUos4qC2cyXaK7MkQRH46Ma7SHlj06n5EAM2ywD1xH1hI5jR0_8x0INjMBcy_tOZYCTWfn4pZ7E0snm2gJjTZ71bw24E2ea3lC6L9yPaipdwpne0yCTSuUKi1g1TKsxSS3Q/s1600/28816_624035146411_1013279_35423450_7405850_n.jpg"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXVGto6rWMbusdSfgLKOBlzhETqG5-qj6Gq6NO0VN04iFXYSrKtgs-Ce1O0wePFTziCPjOslmW6PFydaAryIWfvLpmeE8cG7PmqUTddj4Wua056B6nMHPsqhXh-rY_Hdbo4e5hQ/s1600/once+upon+a+cloud.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXVGto6rWMbusdSfgLKOBlzhETqG5-qj6Gq6NO0VN04iFXYSrKtgs-Ce1O0wePFTziCPjOslmW6PFydaAryIWfvLpmeE8cG7PmqUTddj4Wua056B6nMHPsqhXh-rY_Hdbo4e5hQ/s400/once+upon+a+cloud.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487886283415728114" /></a></div><br /><br />"Such a cliche, man!" I mumbled to myself when I was about to type the word 'DREAM' into the note in my phone.<br /><br />PapaJai and MatDuang were still behind me, at a distance of not-seen; and the rest of the troop -- Dila, Cecilia, Amie, Zahir, Ijol, Tita, Zeta, Alin, PokDin, Iman, Johan, Fatma, Zana and KakYam -- were way in front of me, at a distance of also not-seen.<div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VFTxrtERGcNqk6RYzQx_CWEZYcqsMoRm65A6ifMqoungzy_CKoi2QzPdVyb3tFbR2t98n0QJXI35uEQ45wnHg2V2NKrH4DOIjiRhcCffZG-QQS7BpGj7pZd__TyH6ho01k6mTA/s320/31090_407374234184_779169184_3856545_3625282_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476635217873961842" /><br /></div><div>So I was alone at that particular of time, somewhere inside the heart of Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain of Southeast Asia..<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">... and it was the perfect lonely feeling that made me feel like writing something, but of course I called it off after realizing I did not really have something great to actually write about, hence the phone turned from a digital note device into an mp3 player, I plugged my earplug beneath my head buff.. the first song played.</div><br />It was an old song. John Mayer's "Bigger than my body".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxbtSfDg1AROgKQKxN167A5ZVPrupKdvA4WE6yg7ouq6p7Jx2rR-KuCigL0VCL3hEXU4C2Sz1N93wjXj-b42JwfQMb6UzkSVvJgWxExzk5_bQKb2lLC8U9f4fJrjy4qmU6uReRA/s1600/31090_407374149184_779169184_3856534_1259757_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxbtSfDg1AROgKQKxN167A5ZVPrupKdvA4WE6yg7ouq6p7Jx2rR-KuCigL0VCL3hEXU4C2Sz1N93wjXj-b42JwfQMb6UzkSVvJgWxExzk5_bQKb2lLC8U9f4fJrjy4qmU6uReRA/s320/31090_407374149184_779169184_3856534_1259757_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476635226689186146" /></a><br /><div>****************************************************<br /><div><br /></div><div>"Look, uncle.." This little kid pointed far, leading the guardian's eyesight towards a magnificent view that framed with blue sky, green hill, and white clouds.</div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4l5bS1GWKg5XTeH7u1zXRix7NjkFLfIay0-oXqZekXEmIVQnyAl6UVaimU0x7J-wn3cVYw8N7f6rvgV7A7OlaKKNXHk2chBOJ0oZXfX8Vqb69GM76d8shM_7NDOz6kM7HmWX6w/s1600/28816_624036039621_1013279_35423497_1425098_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4l5bS1GWKg5XTeH7u1zXRix7NjkFLfIay0-oXqZekXEmIVQnyAl6UVaimU0x7J-wn3cVYw8N7f6rvgV7A7OlaKKNXHk2chBOJ0oZXfX8Vqb69GM76d8shM_7NDOz6kM7HmWX6w/s320/28816_624036039621_1013279_35423497_1425098_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476654041983882482" /></a><br /></div><div>The guardian thought it was about the colors that pulled the kid's attention, until the kid said, </div><div><br /></div><div>"...we're standing above the cloud."</div><div><br /></div><div>The guardian smiled. <i>S</i><i>o it's the altitude that you started to appreciate</i>. He rubbed the kid's head, "<i>jom?</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Jom</i>!" The kid shouted, high spirited.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqAPhw6rqE5D2Fl-iDdcE0ZxEApPPv5c7lcInqdS9koUuP7JN_1PC9_wtrs_On4o4tGN8kiQHKXJdKRuUFoY9IgIk0gxn-Ogq4dOJkoGy01DjkWUTNKnMc5jwBju2FHh7bBfhXQ/s1600/28816_624035810081_1013279_35423461_6760527_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqAPhw6rqE5D2Fl-iDdcE0ZxEApPPv5c7lcInqdS9koUuP7JN_1PC9_wtrs_On4o4tGN8kiQHKXJdKRuUFoY9IgIk0gxn-Ogq4dOJkoGy01DjkWUTNKnMc5jwBju2FHh7bBfhXQ/s320/28816_624035810081_1013279_35423461_6760527_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476654051736596754" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">***************************************************</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Back to cliche -- "Bigger than my body" is a song about dreaming, and dreaming big.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey I used to dream about climbing up to Mount Kinabalu, the highest peak of Southeast Asia when I was young. </div><div><br /></div><div>The dream started to mold when once upon a time someone senior brought me climbed up to a hill. I do not remember which uncle who took me up there, how did he look like, and which hill it was.. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51_tCkBevTFeTdkwj8I5iJbjwBFSYpxo88AUZ2eetRCPjndP_lgEqi9CZ8aTaVMowGKECZdJY-b4ywtKmOlPSv_HTmYks9Jg3U-o-W4ZWzqof_N3u0CwQq4g1aPtXGgPdPJuH3w/s320/31090_407374274184_779169184_3856551_55511_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476642519792598930" /></div><div><br /></div><div>.. but I still remember the feeling, the feeling of making your step going up, for another greater top view; and the feeling of standing high, high enough like standing above the cloud; and I remember the senior rubbed my head with a smile... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>erm.. perhaps that happened in a dream -- but I did not think too much about it. What I knew was I really needed to put my heavy weighted load aside, and turned back to rescue two old men who I left behind.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH51ceilkOSLOgjh79NkOrlS7zdnDaQehV-uYnV61sND45EqBcHFtt810brPiipyJ1n8gKsMbptNuXeAaQ2BU7tgCvc5nx2n2T4p93oKkeH-pEZfcZIaJ5_tp-JhBr2fGQYGsFQ/s1600/31090_407374139184_779169184_3856533_2874753_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH51ceilkOSLOgjh79NkOrlS7zdnDaQehV-uYnV61sND45EqBcHFtt810brPiipyJ1n8gKsMbptNuXeAaQ2BU7tgCvc5nx2n2T4p93oKkeH-pEZfcZIaJ5_tp-JhBr2fGQYGsFQ/s320/31090_407374139184_779169184_3856533_2874753_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476642513617189330" /></a><br /></div><div>****************************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Every 1st time experience is perhaps the most vivd experience in one's life. The guardian fully understands what will this little climb bring to this little kid, like what had his first climb long time ago brought to him and his life.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigasSWnIn0ys1QZQM5SMNtyrcqkqQc1flLdBet3aq8_togvLD6XjE3JT4Wzjfb5kkBOjgH1fyUKcaNGWV9oRx42fO9-rl5F7e1QQAhz7iGSGaMJKIDiCrJTJoiCykPAvM58fEm4A/s1600/28816_624035805091_1013279_35423460_1133001_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigasSWnIn0ys1QZQM5SMNtyrcqkqQc1flLdBet3aq8_togvLD6XjE3JT4Wzjfb5kkBOjgH1fyUKcaNGWV9oRx42fO9-rl5F7e1QQAhz7iGSGaMJKIDiCrJTJoiCykPAvM58fEm4A/s320/28816_624035805091_1013279_35423460_1133001_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477065036567308306" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOSpv1aysLUHckQiJLrQ0PH4Yn3sCEVAnnQGR8xkEwJP_A-PYUKUtsxKnt3u3Fk2-ReYFg1bqIjwbX6RER5lqnUI3oSoCltr2Ei-Z9LUVwwc-SD0INgzWtVn7taVvtJeHBZ-6tQ/s1600/30674_394976028787_824158787_3956033_2568216_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOSpv1aysLUHckQiJLrQ0PH4Yn3sCEVAnnQGR8xkEwJP_A-PYUKUtsxKnt3u3Fk2-ReYFg1bqIjwbX6RER5lqnUI3oSoCltr2Ei-Z9LUVwwc-SD0INgzWtVn7taVvtJeHBZ-6tQ/s320/30674_394976028787_824158787_3956033_2568216_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480313835911338098" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>.. and then he saw a little girl wearing striking pink t-shirt, guarded by her uncles and aunties, making her own effort climbing up a steep rock surface which almost all climbers will need a rope to handle.</div><div><br /></div><div>The guardian knew the girl would make it by looking at the dedication that shined in her eye..</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6_XJZ_87WkcTpzcGHWMvP8bU0tC_a2oHL31QWCsfqLF7Lmz4ixXofNdmq2Ve5T4Yo9298rTlKR2zpIIDJCu5GrQR28EPa02Z7OqCwAsbTMkXpHygsobeLX6jNJ2Mgh60c-qrLw/s320/29071_411190334184_779169184_3924742_6757854_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476654041576880274" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-h-FcPv1QAyHTpBSf80SAOd4mIHYwT-X103p0sCp0B0jYqpV_M-OkXEM0kawcyHsiRt1Gmou-yZtGco6JYtsD59vj3lyGlkAdM8RdYySACaRrCCEmoHoiJp74i7UYVMJ2xZtv6Q/s320/28816_624035939821_1013279_35423485_6838953_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489358686719228050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div>... and if that was her 1st experience of being committed to an effort and dedicated to a promise, that pink shirt little girl is already a grown up.</div><div><br /></div><div>****************************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>"This hike, man," PapaJai patted on my shoulder, "..is for you to prove, to us and to yourself, whether you are growing up to a super-man, or not..."</div><div><br /></div><div>I was speechless. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yup, the whole troop celebrated my birthday in my hotel room nights before our hike to the mountain, but that doesn't mean I'm already a grown-up..</div><div><br /></div><div>..I have to pass this test -- the ultimate test that given by my big brother PapaJai, at least in this trip; a test that will put my patience on stretch, that will challenge my ego, that will make me learn to think in bigger view;</div><div><br /></div><div>-- a test that will make me learn to be committed to an effort, and dedicated to a promise. </div><div><br /></div><div>...... .... And of course a test with physical torture and endurance, like --- ".. so you'll be the porter for the troop," PapaJai said it to me, but <i>announced</i> it to everybody, "you'll be carrying most of the troop members' stuff hike up there..."</div><div><br /></div><div>I sighed like a grown-up.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftehILpB-TAyvXWPz9SEi6HykzB7tZJJP56LL_JjFX_6qUcf3rJy8wYfBToKyxxmucYtCoiR-wBRt2NJep6YqgWR-sgnXC4lgsqiA8j1y98sMPdOHq2x-sW4h33O3QbQtIgFkmg/s1600/31090_407405054184_779169184_3856913_645940_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftehILpB-TAyvXWPz9SEi6HykzB7tZJJP56LL_JjFX_6qUcf3rJy8wYfBToKyxxmucYtCoiR-wBRt2NJep6YqgWR-sgnXC4lgsqiA8j1y98sMPdOHq2x-sW4h33O3QbQtIgFkmg/s320/31090_407405054184_779169184_3856913_645940_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477029643848440786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt44v7JiyN1RPD3jV3iCxga5-Wf7DsiOFn4ht-N53KCpA62_pHpvPtH_qHUsieaDh2IA5rPrmkw3G3zgnhyuvpU27SyOGBtKxNUgwkOsN8i_A3cqvMbTJlJNAxAyoOW8sQIB4bIw/s1600/31090_407374829184_779169184_3856619_6671764_n.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt44v7JiyN1RPD3jV3iCxga5-Wf7DsiOFn4ht-N53KCpA62_pHpvPtH_qHUsieaDh2IA5rPrmkw3G3zgnhyuvpU27SyOGBtKxNUgwkOsN8i_A3cqvMbTJlJNAxAyoOW8sQIB4bIw/s320/31090_407374829184_779169184_3856619_6671764_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477029655103384674" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgLay1-TewiGgWEC8OeoSeSqpQTkwmZTy93_5L8Fc2BjfCB7qY11H0g8FdWETX4c9GWDdPBtBAhgGpzOSALd8z6kkF2MebOIHlaTWKy2JDs2DdpxnkOKVJEyo9epqLjbCw2p_rw/s1600/27700_1426983044793_1539317996_1063575_1346782_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgLay1-TewiGgWEC8OeoSeSqpQTkwmZTy93_5L8Fc2BjfCB7qY11H0g8FdWETX4c9GWDdPBtBAhgGpzOSALd8z6kkF2MebOIHlaTWKy2JDs2DdpxnkOKVJEyo9epqLjbCw2p_rw/s320/27700_1426983044793_1539317996_1063575_1346782_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477070856092612370" /></a><br />*************************************************<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The guardian realized that the kid's body weight was more than any weight that he had been carried in any hike to any mountain;</div><div><br /></div><div>... but he also realized that a little reward is essential for any kid after they've given out their best effort in completing something, like a hike up to the top of a hill.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hence when the kid just climbed up to his back, he'd just happily provide a ride, a downhill ride for his little precious;</div><div><br /></div><div>... and then soon enough, the guardian found out something that he never realized before....</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFHm8SmNm5iUWaGiT9BrZj-zoB9fdGsy81HOghuFveUSAEEqvO2T7KhMpkBN2pZ_T1V-lCfN4fUbnDc2oAr3vqVDH-y2YDHu9-JKkFWYOz5KfdAhC2TYTcykfh9a1pStd4lta0Q/s1600/29071_411190214184_779169184_3924729_4466805_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFHm8SmNm5iUWaGiT9BrZj-zoB9fdGsy81HOghuFveUSAEEqvO2T7KhMpkBN2pZ_T1V-lCfN4fUbnDc2oAr3vqVDH-y2YDHu9-JKkFWYOz5KfdAhC2TYTcykfh9a1pStd4lta0Q/s320/29071_411190214184_779169184_3924729_4466805_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477435856454116066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55HDJ33dy_5HYkSOOpiuRgbNANzPXKwYRhtjMqIME372uN5wIzX9EmE3jF2_If3Zl92LAuB-1YcDJ-HrFP3rYerunrNttV_6U5X4GT4Nris-d7NUkabM4zWJWQ7y3uhvrOF-Inw/s1600/29071_411190059184_779169184_3924714_8109441_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55HDJ33dy_5HYkSOOpiuRgbNANzPXKwYRhtjMqIME372uN5wIzX9EmE3jF2_If3Zl92LAuB-1YcDJ-HrFP3rYerunrNttV_6U5X4GT4Nris-d7NUkabM4zWJWQ7y3uhvrOF-Inw/s320/29071_411190059184_779169184_3924714_8109441_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477435843783784242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ywPW_p0KHbLbIOUFbFfMXtsN4YIxoGkAB8bVmgus3Q2tcPh7fAdXIcKiM0WWjYZla8b7PH7BEyBO3NmWBN9LKsBCbpnVvu2oddjt6vvmZslGjDGs05Q_VQefxTIBilRuaPYAw/s1600/28816_624035820061_1013279_35423463_5249971_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ywPW_p0KHbLbIOUFbFfMXtsN4YIxoGkAB8bVmgus3Q2tcPh7fAdXIcKiM0WWjYZla8b7PH7BEyBO3NmWBN9LKsBCbpnVvu2oddjt6vvmZslGjDGs05Q_VQefxTIBilRuaPYAw/s320/28816_624035820061_1013279_35423463_5249971_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477065009231302482" /></a><br /></div><div>**********************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I realized that clouds mold their shape into various characters and live up in all stories in my fantasy, I knew that I'll be alright staying with the ability called imagination.., and I just want to safe keep it... </div><div><br /></div><div>.... but safe-keeping the ability called imagination becomes tougher and tougher when we encounter the ability called growing-up.. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yup I mumble about growing up again. Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>The fact that this was my 2nd time to Mt Kinabalu really helped me to be a lot more composed and cooler compared to the first timers like the super excited Ijol, super restless Zahir, and the super worried cum super dilemma (super <i>de-ram-ma</i>) trio Fatma, Tita and Dila. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeCIgqLLHjGtsjZMv7jMfRDMrhqFF4aC0KcRXHgyJl0VaBYCrwhYgp_s1z3yM4jn__9w33CuLhSM8Q_Y1ACM2dl35dQ8eXOiT3jGrhiZ98IbeBvfJcOHD9SZ1W-kHMme7OnjdxA/s1600/29722_623081053421_1013279_35397369_1723864_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeCIgqLLHjGtsjZMv7jMfRDMrhqFF4aC0KcRXHgyJl0VaBYCrwhYgp_s1z3yM4jn__9w33CuLhSM8Q_Y1ACM2dl35dQ8eXOiT3jGrhiZ98IbeBvfJcOHD9SZ1W-kHMme7OnjdxA/s320/29722_623081053421_1013279_35397369_1723864_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480335510219303186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRNugljhyphenhyphenkgi-9edXs84XESfcTiQF4dDGxyLAi8T7vUwSmSmI5U3k__O56E26HxwkpIc0xfF2oDodmybvr85QMUoTOV_uHiYrFTHTjurJKGPNE7rhKdQ55zS5lrEjF6_ovFxzzA/s1600/29722_623081013501_1013279_35397362_1714306_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRNugljhyphenhyphenkgi-9edXs84XESfcTiQF4dDGxyLAi8T7vUwSmSmI5U3k__O56E26HxwkpIc0xfF2oDodmybvr85QMUoTOV_uHiYrFTHTjurJKGPNE7rhKdQ55zS5lrEjF6_ovFxzzA/s320/29722_623081013501_1013279_35397362_1714306_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480335499174969074" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">.. but when I held on the coolness and composure, though they were in fact fragile and shaky, and trying to put on an image signed and sealed with 'Approved Reliability' label, I knew deep inside there's something shaking and questioning me..</div></div><div><br /></div><div>..... and that 'something' surfaced when Amie told me her aim for her second chance being here... </div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>"A baby?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The guardian stopped. </div><div><br /></div><div>"...<i>A'ah</i>..." the kid on his back pointed something behind them, ".. is that a baby?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The guardian turned around and looked for what the kid was pointing at. It's a curled fern-leaves. </div><div><br /></div><div>".. and she's in red color.." The kid touched the fern. There's indeed some reddish spots hided within the curled leaves. </div><div><br /></div><div>"... and when she grows up, " the kid continued, "she'll become green.."</div><div><br /></div><div>"......... you like red color?" the guardian broke the silence after he fell into speechless for a few seconds.</div><div><br /></div><div>The kid nodded and smiled. </div><div><br /></div><div>"OK.. so where were we just now?" The guardian pushed the almost-falling-down little heavy body a little bit up on his back, "..how many trees already?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"22," The little heavy body pointed at another tree ahead of them, "..and that's the 23rd.. " </div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Jom.</i>." The wood-touching game continued. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2UwZDATh8Reta2vr2Zwnusetu10GcvY0fEZ6WnjyMc76jToIoB9HfYnnRLT0iqARkCyTbbk6D-gVxGhI6lQxQuS8T-bEAQBVZyxaMC8OIdMRMiRb4LaJTi6NG3cMV6b-6D3EPA/s1600/28816_624035765171_1013279_35423454_7906718_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2UwZDATh8Reta2vr2Zwnusetu10GcvY0fEZ6WnjyMc76jToIoB9HfYnnRLT0iqARkCyTbbk6D-gVxGhI6lQxQuS8T-bEAQBVZyxaMC8OIdMRMiRb4LaJTi6NG3cMV6b-6D3EPA/s320/28816_624035765171_1013279_35423454_7906718_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477065031358240354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpF140NwimNb-2QBT7rZTBX3FRXc_bFM1ns1VZsKcu57yTN2dCWlzAN-EzJBd42CgbDbGANzwR9o-dUBlGvSSqBEOZrfuB9yG-UnBpM9dt5uln2qr2-UGw-_8iAaSg0krA5-GD8Q/s1600/28816_624035770161_1013279_35423455_1997699_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpF140NwimNb-2QBT7rZTBX3FRXc_bFM1ns1VZsKcu57yTN2dCWlzAN-EzJBd42CgbDbGANzwR9o-dUBlGvSSqBEOZrfuB9yG-UnBpM9dt5uln2qr2-UGw-_8iAaSg0krA5-GD8Q/s320/28816_624035770161_1013279_35423455_1997699_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477065023575099922" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9Nge8w0SpHGotzRVGxw2dW9vkroRjrKLRlUEqpmybo4foOpBHLXsORqnHpXYldUPYDUeWdYV6JeobiqazUbsYO1jNccVpPq2ZXKEY8A7B8RtmaS8wcQXQ1S_OocsIrDnvqeqTg/s1600/28816_624035825051_1013279_35423464_502533_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9Nge8w0SpHGotzRVGxw2dW9vkroRjrKLRlUEqpmybo4foOpBHLXsORqnHpXYldUPYDUeWdYV6JeobiqazUbsYO1jNccVpPq2ZXKEY8A7B8RtmaS8wcQXQ1S_OocsIrDnvqeqTg/s320/28816_624035825051_1013279_35423464_502533_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477065016542546754" /></a><br /></div><div>********************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>It's heavy. I think. </div><div><br /></div><div>Amie said she wanted to reach the summit this time, she wanted to get through the spot after Sayat-Sayat -- the spot that she failed to get through few years back, and failed the mission of getting to the top of Mt Kinabalu, few years back.</div><div><br /></div><div>To be frank I couldn't really appreciate how she was afraid of the spot that failed her, but from the way she put it, it was really something that was heavy for her. </div><div><br /></div><div>And of course I did not tell her those 'motivational' bla-bla-bla like '<i>you need to get over it to prove that you can do it</i>' -- <i>THAT</i> would be the toppest classic example of being cliche.. In the midst of me pretending that I was listening and feeling her, I suddenly felt helpless about me myself being in the state of hiking up this mountain.</div><div><br /></div><div>This hike -- this protocol of hiking up the so-called Southeast Asia Top Roof, of getting through the mental hardship and physical toughness, of reaching the peak of the mountain, of snapping pictures at the top, of feeling proud, of showing off the achievement, of expressing '<i>Oh My God I felt that human-being are so tiny</i>', of ... etc etc etc all the protocol-ic cliches -- out of a sudden I felt sad about me doing ALL these. </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew I ALREADY started to worry about the cliche of growing up.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiY4bZiddnJMV2yzyRnKNIYL08g0CTRXh0slBzVoE9iPpb2wOm6P3RDi6k87QhR9oDRfyZ0V9Is7ytM9hOEQFXUDabcbOPrUTXkOpg2lVpPw_TqmSAvDMScPTH-UmL-VNB6DhAQ/s1600/27700_1426983764811_1539317996_1063593_5066085_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiY4bZiddnJMV2yzyRnKNIYL08g0CTRXh0slBzVoE9iPpb2wOm6P3RDi6k87QhR9oDRfyZ0V9Is7ytM9hOEQFXUDabcbOPrUTXkOpg2lVpPw_TqmSAvDMScPTH-UmL-VNB6DhAQ/s320/27700_1426983764811_1539317996_1063593_5066085_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480336984828162130" /></a><br /></div><div><div>***********************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>What is that about counting trees in the wood-touching game? The guardian really did not have any inkling of ideas. </div><div><br /></div><div>The counts continued, with the giggle of the kid, plus some stories shared among them, about trees and baby fern. The guardian really hopes that the kid would keep and safe-keep the most precious treasure that every kids have -- </div><div><br /></div><div><i>-- it's an ability, a superpower, called imagination...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>"See! uncle, this wood has a coarser skin than the last one... maybe he's sick..."</div><div><br /></div><div>.... <i>and don't worry about loosing it when come to growing up...</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"... </i>see, uncle.. this one is soft... but it's not red color.."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>... cuz uncle just realized that, the ability of growing-up doesn't harm the ability of imagination.. yup, uncle just realized that -- just -- on the peak of the Southeast Asia highest mountain -- I perceived the real lesson about growing up.. </i> ....</div><div><br /></div><div>"Number 27! STOP!" The captain of the vessel commanded.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Huh? Why stop now?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"27 trees, <i>cukup dah</i>." Giggling.</div><div><br /></div><div>What is that about counting trees in the wood-touching game? The guardian really-really did not have any inkling of ideas. </div><div><br /></div><div>*****************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>I was walking alone after <i>Sayat-Sayat</i> gate. Amie and Cecilia were in front of me, while the rest of the troop were somewhere behind. I couldn't see anyone of them. I was in a dark, in the state of mind of struggling, fighting and frustrating about a loosened me. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's all about mental game now -- when the air gets thinner and thinner, they wind got chiller and chiller, the peak of the mountain seemed to be further and further away. I started to sing -- hum, I mean. A song that kept on playing in my head throughout this trip.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>"Bigger than my body". </div><div><br /></div><div>A song about dreaming, and dreaming big. A song that reminded me that I used to dream about climbing up to Mount Kinabalu when I was young -- The dream started to mold when once upon a time someone senior brought me climbed up to a hill.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>... it was a childhood me with all the grown up fantasy -- so many dreams so many imaginations that built upon a cloud, and I thought I'm going to lose it when come to growing up... </div><div><br /></div><div>..but then I realized I was wrong when I reached the peak of the mountain, for the 2nd time in my life.... </div><div><br /></div><div>... at the top of the mountain where I finally touched the clouds, I found myself wrapped by the clouds while performing my <i>subuh</i> prayer -- then all of a sudden all my childhood fantasy blended into a grown up me.... I paused for awhile in my <i>doa</i>, recite 'A<i>lhamdulilah'</i> deep from my heart, for making me learnt the biggest lesson that touches straight to the deepest fear of me being myself...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimilQGOPGaL1A94G9Vm-H7tsRC0VPugny6lqupdQl7Mf8f8XMlj7_y2ZIYX3uoQ2DMxxl_cLcGYWjG4X2OoqqtAjwgx8kD7PNPixjvDWzIVQ34VOaxdVa2KQJfumTEXQZ3uuqFtQ/s320/27700_1426988644933_1539317996_1063658_6502202_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048585755656946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYgbGJSt_R4DWk-2UBBm7cmniY52B396QwsH4W2bCDqBWlzDiGrcNZKauaWgrsEhf1qYGyC7ozuL_yduKWp_JL7hPehi4QjXyDHBCuhKFXB9ImuMkL0eCwWgHPzja4V8R7esCHQ/s1600/27700_1426987924915_1539317996_1063643_1155658_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYgbGJSt_R4DWk-2UBBm7cmniY52B396QwsH4W2bCDqBWlzDiGrcNZKauaWgrsEhf1qYGyC7ozuL_yduKWp_JL7hPehi4QjXyDHBCuhKFXB9ImuMkL0eCwWgHPzja4V8R7esCHQ/s320/27700_1426987924915_1539317996_1063643_1155658_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047753625911362" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>**************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>No, 2nd time to the top of Mt Kinabalu doesn't not mean that I'm great enough to brag about...</div><div><br /></div><div>2nd time to the top of Mt Kinabalu was still an exploration for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Besides the mysterious part of the mountain herself, with new friends and rejuvenated bonds of brotherhood and sisterhood, plus my new role and new responsibilities in the troop, nothing seemed to be familiar.</div><div><br /></div><div>..but I think I had great time being in the heart of this mountain -- it was somehow a mystical experience for me. :) </div><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyqRsSwlEJJLpcB0kAslbSQz1k_jEy6zpujsPxYzMOwkAWmqkdPUWwG9IAFCjVagehb7TAslJ95iVj52bFoTL9pj6jk8v0pIYfVNPIeg1RLYtm85oTBpOxZevuRWiWH_IlPy66Q/s1600/27700_1426987044893_1539317996_1063624_272183_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyqRsSwlEJJLpcB0kAslbSQz1k_jEy6zpujsPxYzMOwkAWmqkdPUWwG9IAFCjVagehb7TAslJ95iVj52bFoTL9pj6jk8v0pIYfVNPIeg1RLYtm85oTBpOxZevuRWiWH_IlPy66Q/s320/27700_1426987044893_1539317996_1063624_272183_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480336995352809570" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimilQGOPGaL1A94G9Vm-H7tsRC0VPugny6lqupdQl7Mf8f8XMlj7_y2ZIYX3uoQ2DMxxl_cLcGYWjG4X2OoqqtAjwgx8kD7PNPixjvDWzIVQ34VOaxdVa2KQJfumTEXQZ3uuqFtQ/s1600/27700_1426988644933_1539317996_1063658_6502202_n.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_mfigxavdgqE0W3nNa_3Guwz0U0HhP6i2pqus7OPU-vQKbshaTrj5USA-lm7zgxNbja47Jo9ga9tdDkMbqadP23XWOzjMxUUpTTYKeUmxhkBfyNQ-9Vro_pgcjSC_3DWQAyRNQ/s1600/27974_390323049933_713559933_4069205_3579095_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_mfigxavdgqE0W3nNa_3Guwz0U0HhP6i2pqus7OPU-vQKbshaTrj5USA-lm7zgxNbja47Jo9ga9tdDkMbqadP23XWOzjMxUUpTTYKeUmxhkBfyNQ-9Vro_pgcjSC_3DWQAyRNQ/s320/27974_390323049933_713559933_4069205_3579095_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048583675316658" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunAcf9zkVlNQEMkCV4CBUd7RD4TqyOgiUVMgiba3mp3Kqo79Ll45abEJrT4loEfsmJcU92cfyudFwMkadde9aZu3w-_UvouyO8TT4SEISXtSJ2Zj6l3tRkRmGgbA9raqTs74j2Q/s1600/27974_390323074933_713559933_4069209_633812_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunAcf9zkVlNQEMkCV4CBUd7RD4TqyOgiUVMgiba3mp3Kqo79Ll45abEJrT4loEfsmJcU92cfyudFwMkadde9aZu3w-_UvouyO8TT4SEISXtSJ2Zj6l3tRkRmGgbA9raqTs74j2Q/s320/27974_390323074933_713559933_4069209_633812_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048576668516226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_QBK11mESjtbAkUqdFeFMlIclD6fYBydyJXdLB5z8x9ig6hyo34hZor7dyFa_cdfBdAyufr5whkqLrer0JguFfr_8Z8tPd7MYwFuH4Zsg9ZVHFH9P9WQkAQDywTJq5mSCThcoQ/s1600/27974_390323084933_713559933_4069211_8083880_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_QBK11mESjtbAkUqdFeFMlIclD6fYBydyJXdLB5z8x9ig6hyo34hZor7dyFa_cdfBdAyufr5whkqLrer0JguFfr_8Z8tPd7MYwFuH4Zsg9ZVHFH9P9WQkAQDywTJq5mSCThcoQ/s320/27974_390323084933_713559933_4069211_8083880_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048574676841122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5z70-EPt9o50UB1PIXSKg0xIog6hAUz3oiu-dscf2nncTfEzw6e4qk7bDcQ7Ubr0I4MG3XfXwV-gtacTZe7oaj5LWqW0HrYG0bnNFIs4jZjEN4HU7nrfhjOtZa_73qEJEQyeNQ/s1600/31090_407374749184_779169184_3856608_7894013_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5z70-EPt9o50UB1PIXSKg0xIog6hAUz3oiu-dscf2nncTfEzw6e4qk7bDcQ7Ubr0I4MG3XfXwV-gtacTZe7oaj5LWqW0HrYG0bnNFIs4jZjEN4HU7nrfhjOtZa_73qEJEQyeNQ/s320/31090_407374749184_779169184_3856608_7894013_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048562701808082" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1jxAZasKUpLQVLl_bqij98tWmRXJdT_P6pi8CTaduDt4NOsiplQXXu2hBBHD6cWE6rqMTb42UPv_Aomrj539KjL-tkvqKNgomqBqA8PZ_FIgCRsW8JwF-CNU_GrPBM70Qd-zaA/s1600/27700_1426982964791_1539317996_1063573_5310507_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1jxAZasKUpLQVLl_bqij98tWmRXJdT_P6pi8CTaduDt4NOsiplQXXu2hBBHD6cWE6rqMTb42UPv_Aomrj539KjL-tkvqKNgomqBqA8PZ_FIgCRsW8JwF-CNU_GrPBM70Qd-zaA/s320/27700_1426982964791_1539317996_1063573_5310507_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047766473665570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7S7o1gNSndDQf7ZlE3lb9JWUUsxsG6mwGyuFs449a42f3ESIqBhNdVPtgqkmbZh0oqw_6ydmyDrnD9wa1h_BrDOlba3yVbm4viZs4XKNw_6bK6VUUhR6i2q-kFy3IP7fmDLgmw/s1600/27700_1426988204922_1539317996_1063650_842620_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7S7o1gNSndDQf7ZlE3lb9JWUUsxsG6mwGyuFs449a42f3ESIqBhNdVPtgqkmbZh0oqw_6ydmyDrnD9wa1h_BrDOlba3yVbm4viZs4XKNw_6bK6VUUhR6i2q-kFy3IP7fmDLgmw/s320/27700_1426988204922_1539317996_1063650_842620_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047760415481970" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">********************************************</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>... and of course another little trip bringing two little ones hiked up the little Broga Hill -- it was, again, nothing to really brag about as we all believe that the trip was all about the kids.. </div><div><br /></div><div>How we wish little Una and Uyin will enjoy the hike, the sweat, the little push from themselves, the great view, the feeling of standing upon a cloud... </div><div><br /></div><div>...and the imaginations and the fantasy they shared in this little world that mother nature offers to them -- the imaginations, the fantasy, and the mother nature are all belong to them, how we wish they can one day learned something great from these precious things that they already have, <i>InsyaAllah, InsyaAllah. </i></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl96tvha4sB00OR4tdYzAuvmXbTs65yVfcWONcHkyLLVqFA2LW0DGlgNt277RCUpFUXwvPEINindbJqb7ue6v5cmhQgcPBpDlfgd8qx3X_8VrdsAsQN5o-wbqVLUY-yAcQAqELQ/s1600/29071_411190529184_779169184_3924764_1111334_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl96tvha4sB00OR4tdYzAuvmXbTs65yVfcWONcHkyLLVqFA2LW0DGlgNt277RCUpFUXwvPEINindbJqb7ue6v5cmhQgcPBpDlfgd8qx3X_8VrdsAsQN5o-wbqVLUY-yAcQAqELQ/s320/29071_411190529184_779169184_3924764_1111334_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489358678036634162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyizSNAUHHB6ux8Rl2sPGn3yML3ltLzS0lVb3LJcc5F8Z3MXy3o2t8LBAPKUmgaJMny3Jetnm-Hu2kkXcbLYLrzTQA9CoU0LMEN2iADH3kAzL0pe79mpGnBngy53WZlAwKy5W_A/s1600/29071_411190039184_779169184_3924711_7529246_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyizSNAUHHB6ux8Rl2sPGn3yML3ltLzS0lVb3LJcc5F8Z3MXy3o2t8LBAPKUmgaJMny3Jetnm-Hu2kkXcbLYLrzTQA9CoU0LMEN2iADH3kAzL0pe79mpGnBngy53WZlAwKy5W_A/s320/29071_411190039184_779169184_3924711_7529246_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477435841896885634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cUdBk_cf35tXD7EDS09GSw-L8aV-8jzKf-6CKC8tBL7GLMu4wf2iudLAHDmIJ0aILRurFg5oIHgoCU4mAPdh654-cEqKwgIORkypToRPGzjMR61etuVuBxsXf8cIck9KaZMufA/s1600/29071_411190009184_779169184_3924708_7130073_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cUdBk_cf35tXD7EDS09GSw-L8aV-8jzKf-6CKC8tBL7GLMu4wf2iudLAHDmIJ0aILRurFg5oIHgoCU4mAPdh654-cEqKwgIORkypToRPGzjMR61etuVuBxsXf8cIck9KaZMufA/s320/29071_411190009184_779169184_3924708_7130073_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477435832177978226" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroehBtwl0ugQ3gMSt0uV17x1HPFYWECq6XFIIosVRSbdKcBr4UWpI4S28JhGpscUl5sE5ma9STdo0MzP9anWoVscR3ZqD_-Ksg9BLKamY8VCkw_V_tEFTSl3FfEmW9FgSic4dhg/s320/28816_624035864971_1013279_35423471_2718283_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489358695063178130" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPGR2noMqloxW-PDxHyVCYsNu7ttNzzGgY2sujPfeF1gebkHLudDlBpLw_MhquFOoaM3qC7fjuPGZvNRr_F5R9X6lqZ8yNyz6ZOfaVS5l23Y4K8JxnaeOGveSFzq5V0oR7exP_w/s1600/28816_624035136431_1013279_35423449_4780013_n.jpg"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPGR2noMqloxW-PDxHyVCYsNu7ttNzzGgY2sujPfeF1gebkHLudDlBpLw_MhquFOoaM3qC7fjuPGZvNRr_F5R9X6lqZ8yNyz6ZOfaVS5l23Y4K8JxnaeOGveSFzq5V0oR7exP_w/s320/28816_624035136431_1013279_35423449_4780013_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476654034525394322" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-bZbUos4qC2cyXaK7MkQRH46Ma7SHlj06n5EAM2ywD1xH1hI5jR0_8x0INjMBcy_tOZYCTWfn4pZ7E0snm2gJjTZ71bw24E2ea3lC6L9yPaipdwpne0yCTSuUKi1g1TKsxSS3Q/s1600/28816_624035146411_1013279_35423450_7405850_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-bZbUos4qC2cyXaK7MkQRH46Ma7SHlj06n5EAM2ywD1xH1hI5jR0_8x0INjMBcy_tOZYCTWfn4pZ7E0snm2gJjTZ71bw24E2ea3lC6L9yPaipdwpne0yCTSuUKi1g1TKsxSS3Q/s320/28816_624035146411_1013279_35423450_7405850_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489358701903299666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroehBtwl0ugQ3gMSt0uV17x1HPFYWECq6XFIIosVRSbdKcBr4UWpI4S28JhGpscUl5sE5ma9STdo0MzP9anWoVscR3ZqD_-Ksg9BLKamY8VCkw_V_tEFTSl3FfEmW9FgSic4dhg/s1600/28816_624035864971_1013279_35423471_2718283_n.jpg"></a></div><div><i>*The end*</i></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-57639235921991730582010-04-05T22:43:00.000+08:002010-04-05T23:03:34.442+08:00She who cuts my hair...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIihzrvB8E8t6XJlmOpn7JEFuE9b_DlbilxHefT0jl5jl1B6T2HH4JW4MTsC4mgO8gloSO3qXxUIwO_S2kE2-nOV-wPtYE0mKGmzhsokEzJMpT5klI7nOWVrLVBjgft6Pu3gzZwg/s1600/hairsaloon2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIihzrvB8E8t6XJlmOpn7JEFuE9b_DlbilxHefT0jl5jl1B6T2HH4JW4MTsC4mgO8gloSO3qXxUIwO_S2kE2-nOV-wPtYE0mKGmzhsokEzJMpT5klI7nOWVrLVBjgft6Pu3gzZwg/s400/hairsaloon2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456310307533187490" /></a><br />"Welcome.. hey, long time no see.." She greeted, and was surprised to see the man who stepped in.<br /><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah.. been awhile... how's business?" I sat on the chair she made up for me, realizing I've asked a question which I shouldn't have asked by looking at the emptiness of the salon. </div><div><br /></div><div>And she did not reply my question. Saved the awkwardness, indeed. </div><div><br /></div><div>She covered my body with a white cloth with the word 'Schwarzkopf', get the rest of her tool done, looked at me in the mirror, </div><div><br /></div><div>"So," with a very pleasant smile, she continued, </div><div><br /></div><div>"Race? or jungle?" </div><div><br /></div><div>********************************</div><div><br /></div><div>She's Wendy, my 1st hair stylist when I started working in KL, and unlike the rest of the salon I dropped by to get my hair cut, Wendy's salon made me come back for a few times, for a very interesting reason besides Wendy's being such a cute and pretty girl..</div><div><br /></div><div>Wendy has been my royal audience to listen to my mountaineering, jungle adventures and of course, my races. </div><div><br /></div><div>*******************************</div><div><br /></div><div>I looked back to her in the mirror, "..this one," I put on a serious face expression,"... is for my intensive training.. " </div><div><br /></div><div>"Wu~~~~~ intensive~~~" she copied my serious face expression and acted on with a pondering gesture, "..sounds tough.. .. how should I cut it? Let me see..... hmmm ..." </div><div><br /></div><div>.. and not even 10 seconds, we both laughed out loud. </div><div><br /></div><div>"So, short?" She checked for confirmation. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Yup, go short, but you know what's wrong with my ear, right?" </div><div><br /></div><div>"... I know, I always wanted to cut it off.." She started to work on my side-burn, the sound of the razor started to tickle my ear, "so no race for this month? only training?" </div><div><br /></div><div>"I've just finished 2 races last week... the first one we climbed up KL-Tower..." </div><div><br /></div><div>The sound of her razor suddenly paused, "... what??" she looked at me in the mirror, "KL Tower? THAT KL Tower?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I nodded. She showed a 'OK' face expression, switch on her razor and continued her work, "..but you guys ran up to the top of the hill beneath the tower then took the lift up to the top of the tower, I supposed.. .. or you guys finished at the main entrance of the Tower? " she mumbled. </div><div><br /></div><div>"No.. we ran up to the top of the tower, 2058 stair cases, no lift. "</div><div><br /></div><div>The sound of razor paused again. </div><div><br /></div><div>*********************************************************</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FZUdoT_Ho85rnQBZYGj2SDtIZLaAsFgA2wUd9r_cjfpizMYZmp2RbcabxxbcS93gG5C7BaRBjpTGCFvV8574igXP6TCB1uTzhj6XMneaUahv_7oWy5o90lFmNHQN3iT2sGN4Ww/s1600/26162_377155943787_824158787_3569399_8297763_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FZUdoT_Ho85rnQBZYGj2SDtIZLaAsFgA2wUd9r_cjfpizMYZmp2RbcabxxbcS93gG5C7BaRBjpTGCFvV8574igXP6TCB1uTzhj6XMneaUahv_7oWy5o90lFmNHQN3iT2sGN4Ww/s400/26162_377155943787_824158787_3569399_8297763_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456239023520325714" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0hcquBGzLow82L4Jp8smkEPdTimoBP9JvvvpRVnAbGDB2L_OzbAuQTAgxOB0v69akWrJc-Ir5oxeb4NPCTyQEAb4YVfwcNKUJt76_pDltG-k2T4yhKvCP5m4LKMRCyd378azwQ/s1600/26162_377185173787_824158787_3570723_6834372_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0hcquBGzLow82L4Jp8smkEPdTimoBP9JvvvpRVnAbGDB2L_OzbAuQTAgxOB0v69akWrJc-Ir5oxeb4NPCTyQEAb4YVfwcNKUJt76_pDltG-k2T4yhKvCP5m4LKMRCyd378azwQ/s400/26162_377185173787_824158787_3570723_6834372_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456239018912296370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sW0iQxcA17dAWqm4Re3LJBc1UXZNfrNppvDJ2C2nu5ouyMpj6zaWb8Zvwi54yRy0B8Mgeo3VgXxS5vxa-aeEPGgDc0PVY_XbIpyMRvhbV-L4nC_tDevJua1WAGT2yoJ2hUG5jg/s1600/26162_377185838787_824158787_3570733_6458792_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sW0iQxcA17dAWqm4Re3LJBc1UXZNfrNppvDJ2C2nu5ouyMpj6zaWb8Zvwi54yRy0B8Mgeo3VgXxS5vxa-aeEPGgDc0PVY_XbIpyMRvhbV-L4nC_tDevJua1WAGT2yoJ2hUG5jg/s400/26162_377185838787_824158787_3570733_6458792_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456239007411471522" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CIqh5qYa1qmmm_bBR9khEdCFI6Y5q6__hryvoIQp7AN8LSIXodUc7LVq5BGQpT0tgsIYo-6KlfBWOBss05lNI7ETo4OZo7ESHAWvesQqawS8J9j3S1haRtMvGm2RuMtBMwxLWA/s1600/26162_377186593787_824158787_3570763_6948612_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CIqh5qYa1qmmm_bBR9khEdCFI6Y5q6__hryvoIQp7AN8LSIXodUc7LVq5BGQpT0tgsIYo-6KlfBWOBss05lNI7ETo4OZo7ESHAWvesQqawS8J9j3S1haRtMvGm2RuMtBMwxLWA/s400/26162_377186593787_824158787_3570763_6948612_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456238999208783698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZwTm_vinA8foh0gojFSAtCskMwK4SK82TPzplDPumHrI6aQtGqjEplHncl5Q67j36p-tpzLyvvbF6QC4fa4gkLL5jtZNc4dSaMYsNBpaB-BeCTnxspQjqEAU9Rfhrr8MioWx4w/s1600/26162_377187238787_824158787_3570773_1014053_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZwTm_vinA8foh0gojFSAtCskMwK4SK82TPzplDPumHrI6aQtGqjEplHncl5Q67j36p-tpzLyvvbF6QC4fa4gkLL5jtZNc4dSaMYsNBpaB-BeCTnxspQjqEAU9Rfhrr8MioWx4w/s400/26162_377187238787_824158787_3570773_1014053_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456238983074935506" /></a><br /></div><div>**********************************</div><div><br /></div><div>"So how was it?" Wendy the scissor-hand started to show off her skill on my head. </div><div><br /></div><div>"..yet to receive the official timing.. but I felt better than last year... and I think timing was about the same..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"What was your timing last year"</div><div><br /></div><div>"About 20 minutes."</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt she paused for half a second before she took a deep breath, ".. so big prize you won then, huh?" </div><div><br /></div><div>"No," I peeked at her quickly, knowing she's going to get shocked again, "with that kind of timing, my position was like 120th."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Zass</i>~~ she just chopped off that little piece of my hair that she clipped with her fingers, ".. so what's the timing for the 1st place?" </div><div><br /></div><div>".. I don't know.." <i>It is around 13 minutes</i>, but I dare not to get her shacked again as the scissors are still in her hand. </div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>"Short enough?" She hold my head and lifted a little bit, ensuring me to look straight into the mirror, "huh?" </div><div><br /></div><div>"hmmm..." I looked at my new hairstyle -- it's my standard type of new haircut -- with my two pieces of <i>astro plate</i> or <i>antenna</i> or <i>wings</i> or <i>wind handles</i> or whatever you want to name it slightly popping out. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You want shorter?" Wendy seemed to know how to read her customer's mind, ".. you sure? Crew cut might not suit you, you that that right?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"..then no crew cut for me, just a little bit shorter.. go ahead, for April."</div><div><br /></div><div>"April? What's with April's training? Like a centralized training type of thing or what? Coool~"</div><div><br /></div><div>" Nah! Just need to buckle up -- I have to train harder now. I'm not improving.. "</div><div><br /></div><div>"...hmm... how was your second race? A night race you said?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yup, Energizer Night Race.."</div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCR8uWJTFeBaW2C15lQg1g5Oi5K0JT_rt8oXDW-IU1kZ0OpCRPlB2uH6GlQYNIY03B0RIkUvE1qd_TfqRc3O9jr9v29NWqjb6Dk8u2PdSJd8E9pVQT3G7bb8r4_TXjx3pfXlCXCA/s1600/25792_379226213787_824158787_3619366_7651150_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCR8uWJTFeBaW2C15lQg1g5Oi5K0JT_rt8oXDW-IU1kZ0OpCRPlB2uH6GlQYNIY03B0RIkUvE1qd_TfqRc3O9jr9v29NWqjb6Dk8u2PdSJd8E9pVQT3G7bb8r4_TXjx3pfXlCXCA/s400/25792_379226213787_824158787_3619366_7651150_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456295719175207218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vTyILQSPX-h95tDdTjh3qBEIlUK38XQ-e9rf1cR7KbGmWRbgvqdrgGT-e4UFYciH4_zk8vnc5nmLz6QL24ajNk8ktw_9LFei9NP3iJbJVoq66TD86vYxMjHBV19yGXJiA1707w/s1600/25792_379227478787_824158787_3619376_2186647_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vTyILQSPX-h95tDdTjh3qBEIlUK38XQ-e9rf1cR7KbGmWRbgvqdrgGT-e4UFYciH4_zk8vnc5nmLz6QL24ajNk8ktw_9LFei9NP3iJbJVoq66TD86vYxMjHBV19yGXJiA1707w/s400/25792_379227478787_824158787_3619376_2186647_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456295701192427474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacaDJmOUxclahuKTMqLbttjqoQ4WUZd7BjR2GCz2ePOhuKH8yJu6wDaoXdOzdMohry6tNjvW1289MiUwAGqPkcczi4NlZ5QCEzwGnXRJoo43fOLnuaNd9peovDSwPlXsFeAxTRw/s1600/25792_379229353787_824158787_3619444_1188345_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacaDJmOUxclahuKTMqLbttjqoQ4WUZd7BjR2GCz2ePOhuKH8yJu6wDaoXdOzdMohry6tNjvW1289MiUwAGqPkcczi4NlZ5QCEzwGnXRJoo43fOLnuaNd9peovDSwPlXsFeAxTRw/s400/25792_379229353787_824158787_3619444_1188345_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456295696896748082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihh1kGdV_84MrRM-HB_flP4Uo2qUadwE0Kzo9kV-lD1lzkSIIg7Ms3iLdlSe7FWs40gEhlzu_7lrRMw-5u_jCwr5Beh5yVAgmU0Gra_nhSR3somal_wn_s00GqgQZ2AAyn0PDRoA/s1600/25792_379231868787_824158787_3619532_5685064_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihh1kGdV_84MrRM-HB_flP4Uo2qUadwE0Kzo9kV-lD1lzkSIIg7Ms3iLdlSe7FWs40gEhlzu_7lrRMw-5u_jCwr5Beh5yVAgmU0Gra_nhSR3somal_wn_s00GqgQZ2AAyn0PDRoA/s400/25792_379231868787_824158787_3619532_5685064_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456295686868608498" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXUiTbmQCQ4A5Xonv4Jp5TbCCcAESu3RZhkX1xd9J5S2ODdrK7tBG5U5uQZ_B7anPxgbdMQX106fYFNA3603oS99jfnYLCnbsQF6Lyrs9Ae4_vO-f9mDgJkAfZQUyo8BLp2A9eg/s1600/25792_379232728787_824158787_3619553_2374703_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXUiTbmQCQ4A5Xonv4Jp5TbCCcAESu3RZhkX1xd9J5S2ODdrK7tBG5U5uQZ_B7anPxgbdMQX106fYFNA3603oS99jfnYLCnbsQF6Lyrs9Ae4_vO-f9mDgJkAfZQUyo8BLp2A9eg/s400/25792_379232728787_824158787_3619553_2374703_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456295681651791778" /></a><div><br /></div><div>******************************</div><div><br /></div><div>"Your team won the 9th place? WOW!" Wendy was impressed by the achievement made by my team 'Run KOMA Run' in 4x10km relay. </div><div><br /></div><div>"..This is a great team... sometime I think I hadn't given out the best for my team.." </div><div><br /></div><div>"..but I can't cut any shorter <i>lah</i> bro..." Wendy smiled. I appreciated her sense of humor, something hanging inside me to think of me myself being in the running team with all my running buddies. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wendy tapped on my shoulder when I fell in deep thought. I looked at her in the mirror, she showed a 'let's get your hair washed' hand sign.</div><div><br /></div><div>************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>I was starring at my new image in the mirror while she use a hair dryer to dry my hair. I saw my 2 pieces of <i>astro plate</i> finally popped out from both side of my cheek bone and I felt like looking at a kiddo me, it's just that this one is much more skinnier and pale. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You should eat more... more handsome if fatter.." Wendy put a non-remarkable remark. I responded with a smile.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I hope this is short enough to suit your training needs.." she said, "..and don't disappoint your team.." She smiled. I smiled back, thinking that that was another non-remarkable remark that she used to end a conversation with a customer..</div><div><br /></div><div>..but I was wrong when she continued and said,</div><div><br /></div><div>"... my senior in our styling team always say this to us, 'believe that you are in a great team and with you in it that make the team greater' ... I hope this also work to a running team.." </div><div><br /></div><div>She smiled and bid farewell. I waved my hand and left, with a warmth-filled heart.</div><div><br /></div><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbtl8ePm4jkirFdmZQoTT9JTD1gJXiaH6W-R2LcnvL7HnBuqEHQboH16MT6fooS8wV9DswSHuij8RRpHdHoXy7lzvdRY_TxCYC6B8LhlXlLmc0NffvUTXPLzS7BQw3fC_LCEObg/s400/25792_379233218787_824158787_3619569_422170_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456296444671890930" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbtl8ePm4jkirFdmZQoTT9JTD1gJXiaH6W-R2LcnvL7HnBuqEHQboH16MT6fooS8wV9DswSHuij8RRpHdHoXy7lzvdRY_TxCYC6B8LhlXlLmc0NffvUTXPLzS7BQw3fC_LCEObg/s1600/25792_379233218787_824158787_3619569_422170_n.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><i>B</i></span></a></span><i>elieve that you're in a great team, and with you in it that make the team greater..</i>" </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-2022876717612948552010-03-27T02:22:00.000+08:002010-03-27T02:22:00.334+08:00split|ting me...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BMfqGW1qtR4k1-dzJiGfvjcbJ1qz76hmVafA2_sbCu4z0q-B_jOcQKOT4sxhNnhW9p_NAYxf1qe02ewfvBcGl6wuEwUuusBMRsFb7WiSqwwHjkRG3qNgnhwdJt-xtwjsafaAhA/s1600/split.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BMfqGW1qtR4k1-dzJiGfvjcbJ1qz76hmVafA2_sbCu4z0q-B_jOcQKOT4sxhNnhW9p_NAYxf1qe02ewfvBcGl6wuEwUuusBMRsFb7WiSqwwHjkRG3qNgnhwdJt-xtwjsafaAhA/s400/split.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452608641737376834" /></a><div><div>Man: "..I think I failed... I even lost something I didn't expect initially..."</div><div><br /></div><div>Spider: "I think I did worse... been working so hard but I am just plain inefficient.. what did you lose by the way?"</div><div><br /></div><div>lEfty: "..He lost his ability to share how he feels.. all his words gone.. sigh.... why is everything getting tougher as we thought it'll be going fine? I lost my heart in the middle of my task, and I couldn't find it now.... " </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: ".. perhaps we are wrong... it's a mistake for us to be splitted and then we become companions for each other among us.... like this ...."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>sigh..</i></div></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-74188930506790905552010-03-05T02:46:00.000+08:002010-03-05T02:46:00.216+08:00How wrong am I?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6HFzYJ-cBSyJq_a1gsa8I1y6S6QLy3ouPJLUpFXQQ6pYhGokcmR8i0_OfG6jdw8UJ4a5RGyAadjxsm7ZQXIdCY2c3cSa-EPPnzb7ffSHKXWBXl1RQsW6chgVMMyMJJb15U4QYQ/s1600-h/IMG_778233.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6HFzYJ-cBSyJq_a1gsa8I1y6S6QLy3ouPJLUpFXQQ6pYhGokcmR8i0_OfG6jdw8UJ4a5RGyAadjxsm7ZQXIdCY2c3cSa-EPPnzb7ffSHKXWBXl1RQsW6chgVMMyMJJb15U4QYQ/s400/IMG_778233.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444814287699766658" /></a>Hiatus. I apologize. <div><br /></div><div>I wrote and saved so many drafts since the start of 2010, but none of them will fit enough to describe what's wrong (or what's not-wrong) with a blogging me, or a living me.. </div><div><br /></div><div>... hence those drafts stay draft, like the wrong me stays wrong.. </div><div><br /></div><div>How wrong am I as per date? </div><div><br /></div><div>I see sounds. Yup, THAT wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't tell you how terrible the feeling is when 'seeing' sounds moving around like drawing blocks, or even worse, plywoods. For example you'll wonder why that piece of sound do not have transparent background so that when overlapping in front of another piece of sound (or plywood in this case) we still can see what's going on with the plywood behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then you'll start getting fuzzy and try every means to move the plywood behind to front like what we do to the graphic arrangement on Microsoft Powerpoint or any other visual software on computer; and then you'll find out the same issue happening to the second plywood and then you'll start shifting it to behind again or closer to each other hoping that they will blend together and then you'll get frustrated and then you knock the plywoods and try side-by-side arrangement and then you concluded they really can't blend his way so you retry by tilting them at various angle, orientating them or maybe upside-down and you try again by shifting them, front to end, side by side... --- oh yeah by the way that's only for 2 'plywoods', don't get me started with more sounds here. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>So you tell me, how wrong am I? I know, sounds -- but that's not the problem, I think. Do you still keep the memory of coloring when you were young? What do you feel when you do coloring and there's a little area just can't stick with any color you try to put on? I used to see a crocodile hiding in that little area, eating up all my colors within his territory. </div><div><br /></div><div>The world change when our vision towards a picture collapses -- that's how wrong I am, now.</div><div><br /></div><div>PS:</div><div>1. STOP trying to interpret this post if you don't have the coloring memory.</div><div>2. STOP trying to interpret this post if you don't believe the power of vision. </div><div>3. STOP trying to interpret this post as this post might be another draft that I'll save forever...</div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-26056796525497794122009-12-28T00:46:00.003+08:002009-12-28T00:57:57.540+08:00A confession of a broken-hearted photographer...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8G2sSoONlA7odywWpgVQrMEBKW1GNJg9q1P9iluyhbjc48ek7INPOSOBDe6m7TPYpG5T7fvQtjTO0xcDSHMugpoewBWNC3tTVqNlaWLdge6hD9XcgDgOBHDFj8xn6c2W-MtBBg/s1600-h/eader.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8G2sSoONlA7odywWpgVQrMEBKW1GNJg9q1P9iluyhbjc48ek7INPOSOBDe6m7TPYpG5T7fvQtjTO0xcDSHMugpoewBWNC3tTVqNlaWLdge6hD9XcgDgOBHDFj8xn6c2W-MtBBg/s400/eader.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419915956115061666" border="0" /></a>Yes Datuk, I did not put this in the 'Terms & Conditions' when we made the agreement of me taking photos for your engagement day, and I think I should have mentioned this anyway:<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">The photographer shall take the best pictures for the event covering the best lighting, best posing, best angle and best subject composition with his best effort, but the photographer shall also be given the exception should the quality of work is defected by the inner factor such as emotions. Client is advised to consider viewing the pictures as 'another way of expression'. </span>"<br /><br />-- In this clause, 'another way of expression' is free from the client's expectation, as it's heavily dependent on the mood of the photographer.<br /><br />In other words, you should not blame me for some weird pictures I've taken which were not up to the standard of <a href="http://soccult.blogspot.com/">Ms Fatma The Ultimate Diva Behind Lens</a>.<br /><br />OK let put it straight -- If you find the pictures are a little bit gloomy, sorrowful, lonely or perhaps sensing the smell of heart-broken, you should, according to the clause, just accept it, because --<br /><br />-- well, I hate to say this, you've got one of the finest lady in this world as your fiance.. and my heart was hence broken into pieces just because she's yours now.<br /><br />Congratulations, heartily from your (heart-already-broken) photographer.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcxoDlqAj7AKWiFs1lWjwR16MJugCoXudjYK15mUdJZyvNlFOoL81RbVrWWJH8Yjm-eXFIXpOFW5aApB9xjM98PUMexmpt1ZWVoEdL8V6DamGsEuqulyCsLpxrUuabkv7MwUJyA/s1600-h/DSC_04141.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcxoDlqAj7AKWiFs1lWjwR16MJugCoXudjYK15mUdJZyvNlFOoL81RbVrWWJH8Yjm-eXFIXpOFW5aApB9xjM98PUMexmpt1ZWVoEdL8V6DamGsEuqulyCsLpxrUuabkv7MwUJyA/s400/DSC_04141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419914491829026050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ19rLeU-XHVofwXTBctTOFkotLkuVKYYqCgI3KfHygsRZ-MALndN6fQNR24NayH9jvqiRo6bp5EzwAg_iE9Wh0Ba0E-nnopO1PgsoCHH2w-dK_3npXsS6zJXiz6AVkMxX9bdPA/s1600-h/DSC_0007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ19rLeU-XHVofwXTBctTOFkotLkuVKYYqCgI3KfHygsRZ-MALndN6fQNR24NayH9jvqiRo6bp5EzwAg_iE9Wh0Ba0E-nnopO1PgsoCHH2w-dK_3npXsS6zJXiz6AVkMxX9bdPA/s400/DSC_0007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419914454955534514" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgCxIb4MO90mnrdPZH4RH9qYECnjYQr6fqxiSfmmN-2NbJuHgf6ew49q2-QeG3uhDmwQDQIk1Bznz0FCe_uL9dMkTyA2KtMqS_vBoTRSgbJwnWhruntrSWUd9yZch8x9pfDRPQw/s1600-h/DSC_012133.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgCxIb4MO90mnrdPZH4RH9qYECnjYQr6fqxiSfmmN-2NbJuHgf6ew49q2-QeG3uhDmwQDQIk1Bznz0FCe_uL9dMkTyA2KtMqS_vBoTRSgbJwnWhruntrSWUd9yZch8x9pfDRPQw/s400/DSC_012133.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419959842516325250" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWzurR4K6ZZOWudPibNGVZhLYhn4mkvyw7EOcqymto5pL0K4C-IGvC9LYEBgN0Dd1NHldilg-CZEde_gPOxBDd4N8R32yZJz4bcEocBE74xZhIKzySr7-CuNFhq9MAWnvC41TyA/s1600-h/DSC_0082.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWzurR4K6ZZOWudPibNGVZhLYhn4mkvyw7EOcqymto5pL0K4C-IGvC9LYEBgN0Dd1NHldilg-CZEde_gPOxBDd4N8R32yZJz4bcEocBE74xZhIKzySr7-CuNFhq9MAWnvC41TyA/s400/DSC_0082.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419914464965400706" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGp-uag292j800Oai66FvCfnDR9_6hmnNC6W8cBRKzJDTzKH0E8v0Xxe86g3UuL5a4SH5W69xkPvyRLYNB0EiGmDwbqCVQ1arbhsQqnavJ-B3v9BNQLVrpHxrpJ_-T2b9CQdLGpg/s1600-h/DSC_0120.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGp-uag292j800Oai66FvCfnDR9_6hmnNC6W8cBRKzJDTzKH0E8v0Xxe86g3UuL5a4SH5W69xkPvyRLYNB0EiGmDwbqCVQ1arbhsQqnavJ-B3v9BNQLVrpHxrpJ_-T2b9CQdLGpg/s400/DSC_0120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419914474723721346" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8gk-m4vPNDL7oKR2VMSSWl944P6qdfSxpdJ-9iKL_1vXdhQ8gohUFp9ZhGCsZ9SS6fQW41i1m4GunBjGXqaiGRPWcBz4Vf9JizFeDa1YHpBC_ykGR-mnRtQS2lwJ0AUcIiaXFA/s1600-h/DSC_00261.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8gk-m4vPNDL7oKR2VMSSWl944P6qdfSxpdJ-9iKL_1vXdhQ8gohUFp9ZhGCsZ9SS6fQW41i1m4GunBjGXqaiGRPWcBz4Vf9JizFeDa1YHpBC_ykGR-mnRtQS2lwJ0AUcIiaXFA/s400/DSC_00261.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419914485076980930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ps:<br />1. Wakakakakka... psycho x?<br />2. Datuk, remember the conversation we talked about photo-editing? These photos are purposely touched up, just because of the ambiance I want -- so, though sometime photo editing is 'kinda' against a photographer's 'integrity', but for the sake of 'expression', feel no guilty.</span>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-29848235683982248732009-12-25T03:32:00.002+08:002009-12-25T11:26:46.512+08:0003:31:54.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOXGQIDsNVlchVBWX7FyGkXxgEp6h4s_fPKMH-Exjrf3PVCT3OEU_64iEUJk34l9SECoPqUEFAK-XlkuYvLt-NfVd_N2GOAXI5bQQqpucV2fiGKtZoTvFtc6xOnQqeOkRPlbqDg/s1600-h/DSC_0499.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOXGQIDsNVlchVBWX7FyGkXxgEp6h4s_fPKMH-Exjrf3PVCT3OEU_64iEUJk34l9SECoPqUEFAK-XlkuYvLt-NfVd_N2GOAXI5bQQqpucV2fiGKtZoTvFtc6xOnQqeOkRPlbqDg/s400/DSC_0499.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418859917645950610" /></a><br />I guess I stumbled.<div>Just think that standing up after stumbling -- that would be a little bit childish here..<div>Want to, but not really afford to...</div><div>A thread of old life, how would you pick up? How about that of new one?</div><div>Normal may it sound - but how'd you go on when your heart begins to understand there's no going back?</div><div>Life, and its many many layers, were your choice initially, but not your options anymore once you'd decided... </div><div><br /></div><div>... ...........</div><div><br /></div><div><i>1. Pardon my awkward writing, I called it 'hide-and-seek'. </i></div><div><i>2. IGNORE it if you don't want to understand. Really, it doesn't really matter, so don't shout at me. </i></div><div><i>3. 03:31:54, I'm tired. </i></div><div><i>4. Happy holiday, if the mood matches yours. </i></div><div><br /></div></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-55128233770733697222009-12-16T03:47:00.005+08:002009-12-16T06:13:34.641+08:00Inspire. Inspired. Inspiring.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9bFWZMsKw36xVlpGhHYSTOxgAecjpjrMVIXU3mKH5kL7yDHJ6jS7Vs4GJUSr25R2TVzG8AzGa6cTGLI3mqc7-UpzDdk-XhUsMD1d-N-dRjdg4oqX01UFB1NWamRzzUN5Omd4TA/s1600-h/inspire.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9bFWZMsKw36xVlpGhHYSTOxgAecjpjrMVIXU3mKH5kL7yDHJ6jS7Vs4GJUSr25R2TVzG8AzGa6cTGLI3mqc7-UpzDdk-XhUsMD1d-N-dRjdg4oqX01UFB1NWamRzzUN5Omd4TA/s400/inspire.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415489045954380930" /></a><br />A young reader of my blog, Cheer, decided to start off blogging after following my little 'lEft.nothingbehind' for quite some times. She sent me a message telling me how nervous she was. <div><br /></div><div>...and I did not reply Cheer's message. I only smiled and wished her all the best, in my heart. <div><br /></div><div>Another young reader of my humble blog, Zafirah, sent me a little note telling me how she was 'inspired' by the approach of me telling a story.. and hence practiced it in her SPM trial of English paper essay writing, and managed to get a 47/50 high score, equivalent to 91% for the paper. In her email, she told me how excited and how thankful she was..</div><div><br /></div><div>....and until now I do not know how to reply her email.</div><div><br /></div><div>Across the South China Sea, an English teacher in China, Xiaorong Li, sent me a note asking permission to use one of my blog post for her (his?) class. In the note, teacher Xiaorong Li told me she wished to let her students perceive a 'transcultural perspective' from my post...</div><div><br /></div><div>...and I think I replied something but I forgot.. </div><div><br /></div><div>.... ...</div><div><br /></div><div>...and now please tell me how should I react to all these feedbacks. Overwhelmed? Proud? Excited? Motivated? What? </div><div><br /></div><div>What?</div><div><br /></div><div>I showed the email from Ms. Zafirah to my mentors, hoping I would get some words from them but I did not. Of course they are happy for me for being good enough to inspire someone else, but that was not the feeling I was getting. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, I somehow felt worried. </div><div><br /></div><div>'To inspire' is a big word, and I don't think I'm right to carry it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know what's the feeling of 'getting inspired' like, and I would proudly say that there are great people around me who are truly inspiring... and listen carefully, inspirational people can be people who seems to be tiny and down-to-earth. I've seen too many so called 'great leaders' talking on the stage of 'inspiring people', but they only talk craps and cliche, and pathetic enough, while they thought they are gaining worships and admirations, they never realized they are actually making themselves an on-sale product with cheap promotions. </div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, when you find yourself trying too hard boosting what you are and who you are, with some old memories of track records and medals and awards, then you are loosing crowd. </div><div><br /></div><div>..cuz a man would know well enough what's the feeling of being truly inspired.. and a man, too, should know well enough when and why they are being truly inspiring, and when and why they are not.</div><div><br /></div><div>..because 'to inspire' is a big word -- I just think that one should at least be righteous and sincere enough to carry the noble task, achievements and glories are only the next factors that count after the integrity and modesty, no? </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ps.. Zafirah, yes you are right, it feels amazing to know I somehow helped out at the end of the day through my humble writings, but I don't think mine is able to affect people as what you've said. I'm glad I've unintentionally provided you some kind of references or perhaps an idea for you to write better, and your feedback is definitely alarming for me as I now really really have to watch out what I write and what I said. :) thanks again. </span></i></span></div></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-19336986298991090812009-12-08T00:01:00.001+08:002009-12-08T00:28:43.009+08:00In pursuit of knightship.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpO-V1y0A8UWLhuh8myRujnNe78YimlxSHFd5Gezcgmxw3kzepyPHC_NT2PGUKXgo2OHGGw8u3GEaBLIZOkvkgcNcnahzyy1g6VpglXh6GWTnVYu9VLmV6vTUoaA-VsyxwkA1wZg/s1600-h/header+knight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpO-V1y0A8UWLhuh8myRujnNe78YimlxSHFd5Gezcgmxw3kzepyPHC_NT2PGUKXgo2OHGGw8u3GEaBLIZOkvkgcNcnahzyy1g6VpglXh6GWTnVYu9VLmV6vTUoaA-VsyxwkA1wZg/s400/header+knight.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412139739935705554" /></a><div>I'm back. Last night, while you were asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pardon me for the sweat and blood, it was a lot of try-and-error I've done. </div><div>Pardon me for the wounds and scars, it was a lot of huff-and-puff I've gone through..</div><div><br /></div><div>..and pardon me for failing, if you expect any win. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back. Last night, and I sneaked into your room.</div><div><br /></div><div>I still have my sword with me, more importantly I still have my name with me. "Your name is a given," she said, "use it to fight rather than your sword.." </div><div><br /></div><div>..and I left, for this journey, carrying my name and her last words, I brought it to you...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back. Last night. And I kneed beside you and observed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could tell you my wildest tales of my journey, tell you how I fought the dragon and escaped from a bursting volcano.. ; or perhaps how I lost in the jungle of lies and almost drowned in the river of dilemma... </div><div><br /></div><div>..and of course sometime I exaggerate, but my dear, every story I've told is part of me... ..</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back. Last night, when you were dreaming of an adventure. </div><div><br /></div><div>How I wish you'd learn to stand tall, and live righteously; but living righteously is more than what people around you might have told you... </div><div><br /></div><div>"Always check your intent before you draw your sword," she made me to remember this when I was given this sword....and now I'm giving it to you, and promise me to use it as a separator. </div><div><br /></div><div>A separator between one right intent and those bad ones..</div><div><br /></div><div>... as one right intent is already a beginning of righteous living.. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back. Last night, and I kissed your sleeping eye...</div><div><br /></div><div>.. and I'm leaving, perhaps before dawn.. </div><div><br /></div><div>How I wish to take you along, but I choose not to. As you will have your own journey one day... a journey like mine, or even greater, and as adventurous as your dream, in your pursuit of knightship. </div><div><br /></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-71563037531984448252009-11-07T11:52:00.003+08:002009-11-07T17:21:17.440+08:00The curious case of the disloyal order and the disorder loyal of a writing bug in a disturbed mind..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNWjP72JTLQa0H2PpOQZ6PW8lHwV7kW4cYAjOH3Fq1-56rjghbEf0t3icVaHl849kTozwmzM_CRif5XNJzYWgZbJXchLWPvWKJfRP1eERUSDWthpXp1Hzg0-B0UFXT59HX3uJfA/s1600-h/header.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNWjP72JTLQa0H2PpOQZ6PW8lHwV7kW4cYAjOH3Fq1-56rjghbEf0t3icVaHl849kTozwmzM_CRif5XNJzYWgZbJXchLWPvWKJfRP1eERUSDWthpXp1Hzg0-B0UFXT59HX3uJfA/s400/header.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401206818924562114" /></a><br /><div>(<i>There comes November, prescribing a death penalty onto my blog posts for October.. </i>)<div><br /></div><div>(.<i>.. and I apologize to those who waited. In fact I'm surprised and thankful to know that there are actually people waiting.</i>)<div><br /></div><div>Yes, my writing paused. It just jammed like the photocopier in my office. And when I thought I was stuck because of the chaos in my life throughout the month of October, a friend of mine came to me and ask a simple question:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Can I look at what's in ur pocket?"</div><div><br /></div><div>There's a little notebook inside my pocket. I do a lot of drafting and quick jotting inside it. But lately, it's filled with sketches.</div><div><br /></div><div>... hence I realized, I wasn't stuck, I was just unintentionally switching to another way of expression -- I don't write, but I sketch -- in the middle of a wait, inside LRT, after-work walking alone, midnight awake -- whenever I'm alone, whenever the disorder state of emotion haunts me, whenever a heavy press of my pen onto the paper or a random line helps in expressing my desperation or chaos better than words. </div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKS02VAg16G-sRw7MYTXBotri8H2TC746aQWC9PnfrnqMPcekpkHvG7E5zvvTNorJ_pr2yhFU3pXjYwivScZRyei-5-p8x-C4BXGUxPmfQF26O48No024mDCSZmG5un6jGev4-w/s1600-h/WhosaysICantBeStoned.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKS02VAg16G-sRw7MYTXBotri8H2TC746aQWC9PnfrnqMPcekpkHvG7E5zvvTNorJ_pr2yhFU3pXjYwivScZRyei-5-p8x-C4BXGUxPmfQF26O48No024mDCSZmG5un6jGev4-w/s400/WhosaysICantBeStoned.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401203538625718098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuHsDj8J4COg-ohWjb4CfBMx20JmPv3OedAFpfreE6uiMfAC8GetoJEKZglA7eOm2XypS6wva9E-Wa2q_E1Ox0L4LmxUJ0GiR0JcnZlA2FKz20oH3SwOEoJHySGh4Zrz0ROOmzA/s1600-h/TheirChoice1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuHsDj8J4COg-ohWjb4CfBMx20JmPv3OedAFpfreE6uiMfAC8GetoJEKZglA7eOm2XypS6wva9E-Wa2q_E1Ox0L4LmxUJ0GiR0JcnZlA2FKz20oH3SwOEoJHySGh4Zrz0ROOmzA/s400/TheirChoice1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401203532103769810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVLTsU22-1qj2V8YVjHn2A5c0kD4H9HO6EWP9FvnUva5VcEbh2ldwZfUvDe3iDA3DJxvmE9QuipiHRHq3yrp0Mf48ypQu-4VdvmHPYYmdfGOl8CFbIqPEEdgzXDUIqd82WGfO3w/s1600-h/TheCurse.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVLTsU22-1qj2V8YVjHn2A5c0kD4H9HO6EWP9FvnUva5VcEbh2ldwZfUvDe3iDA3DJxvmE9QuipiHRHq3yrp0Mf48ypQu-4VdvmHPYYmdfGOl8CFbIqPEEdgzXDUIqd82WGfO3w/s400/TheCurse.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401203520145196146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknMspXT0dRQUrWUzR7nG4gaQiG0srwTJoOplAcWrmT6AWKLBg9zEGciLHd2s9U35SkDHVMWgM3y6KYe8sr_2siX0CvXnIY8fS1az2La7ghqRTO1I2GlHB6DkU9GUpZ2zVxNtdeA/s1600-h/ImSoEntangledByUrDrama.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknMspXT0dRQUrWUzR7nG4gaQiG0srwTJoOplAcWrmT6AWKLBg9zEGciLHd2s9U35SkDHVMWgM3y6KYe8sr_2siX0CvXnIY8fS1az2La7ghqRTO1I2GlHB6DkU9GUpZ2zVxNtdeA/s400/ImSoEntangledByUrDrama.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401202316759500994" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRzIOR3HOO_cpcOZDM3R1o3VmV50N9ad4RDYlMQFf0SEXF6LJsk4WRvFMYaAWjUxIbM24pzUw9aflSbpMT2dqCkJ7k2HxO_Vt8aGiegS3c1_J6thNYgAqJKfR1xmRA4h5MMEJtA/s1600-h/KillersInstinct.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRzIOR3HOO_cpcOZDM3R1o3VmV50N9ad4RDYlMQFf0SEXF6LJsk4WRvFMYaAWjUxIbM24pzUw9aflSbpMT2dqCkJ7k2HxO_Vt8aGiegS3c1_J6thNYgAqJKfR1xmRA4h5MMEJtA/s400/KillersInstinct.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401202310904897634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d5FOI7QS4sCMwLTBy2qr8UHZdKK5m5lwZ9DS1P_BtnJuBPfUnfiJ6eR8ED74xScSZi13_Verz7bzetE_XGFTc-keKJsn1As-DTUwpoqaymn4hDxahDc13ufwKk70_IyzI-q7UQ/s1600-h/LostInSpesiesIdentity.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d5FOI7QS4sCMwLTBy2qr8UHZdKK5m5lwZ9DS1P_BtnJuBPfUnfiJ6eR8ED74xScSZi13_Verz7bzetE_XGFTc-keKJsn1As-DTUwpoqaymn4hDxahDc13ufwKk70_IyzI-q7UQ/s400/LostInSpesiesIdentity.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401202301287931010" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju86vM5PqRuIBZnEpAFywql8_FtOVEDeF6COuQMG7ErWiYGskXklkX04SVlXgvUIgFAGOz-5DRJU-Mi0AzwGNYpCSoxdpo8Xk4Df0qAwDLi2h_8uDwfl7hoI_3bGnThLFqWVw_9A/s1600-h/ngci.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju86vM5PqRuIBZnEpAFywql8_FtOVEDeF6COuQMG7ErWiYGskXklkX04SVlXgvUIgFAGOz-5DRJU-Mi0AzwGNYpCSoxdpo8Xk4Df0qAwDLi2h_8uDwfl7hoI_3bGnThLFqWVw_9A/s400/ngci.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401202292737311506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6HIVZS8t1DgJVpL-ovwwcl-CmByIJnllWAIWOloB3xEwe_WpsIKM8-ga9gnsOYZPe0yWWi7SpxxbP7aPd-2yZAA2H_ptWAxb1UfzmVKl0UiAL_4EoOXWei87ZT7XgTHs_c_3cQ/s1600-h/NoWayToReachMe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6HIVZS8t1DgJVpL-ovwwcl-CmByIJnllWAIWOloB3xEwe_WpsIKM8-ga9gnsOYZPe0yWWi7SpxxbP7aPd-2yZAA2H_ptWAxb1UfzmVKl0UiAL_4EoOXWei87ZT7XgTHs_c_3cQ/s400/NoWayToReachMe.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401202286214535602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6H0RmQtoWTk1vdWZ7CsJaQVdNTzQYCpJpPM1rm5a10r3-fiBetaDzyjRDkg6N14P19d9CKYsoXWHSo1Ovx96u4fNuLSf5edIgfrsFKo3YyUFZjeYg7CNwosBLhspqyUg4LyWi-g/s1600-h/argumet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6H0RmQtoWTk1vdWZ7CsJaQVdNTzQYCpJpPM1rm5a10r3-fiBetaDzyjRDkg6N14P19d9CKYsoXWHSo1Ovx96u4fNuLSf5edIgfrsFKo3YyUFZjeYg7CNwosBLhspqyUg4LyWi-g/s400/argumet.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401198693440829842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QTxUArYzNDF8qm8pL2Xz-UM1QOUKLNooKitnZ82wEQDrQjofEfjk3LzG7lFFWHmtngWC-Aqsu7evRWGt0J74zZMFm5ddEYSnZPkNIHE_EkxM8A-4xmoQ83xE5u3StRC5laK-2w/s1600-h/CityDream.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QTxUArYzNDF8qm8pL2Xz-UM1QOUKLNooKitnZ82wEQDrQjofEfjk3LzG7lFFWHmtngWC-Aqsu7evRWGt0J74zZMFm5ddEYSnZPkNIHE_EkxM8A-4xmoQ83xE5u3StRC5laK-2w/s400/CityDream.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401198685561651842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LGQXeP0M4jVGRzmUDUaEOhWjWTyemtYkdd-Yh16HhRTngPOum9OkgMxZcNp1apJs5Vwq-ZmLdVDP77hInVWi4DsygeQuIb_SZg8JHKUeUsblc8gKqm51YarHOnbJ0XY8gQn0VA/s1600-h/CommunicationBreakDown.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LGQXeP0M4jVGRzmUDUaEOhWjWTyemtYkdd-Yh16HhRTngPOum9OkgMxZcNp1apJs5Vwq-ZmLdVDP77hInVWi4DsygeQuIb_SZg8JHKUeUsblc8gKqm51YarHOnbJ0XY8gQn0VA/s400/CommunicationBreakDown.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401198672968703042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLg4VuYiMGNiE22u7bk-04IjZzdwqcGaeYB6vjHn7jIJx5j1NwLIcjhLdS4MMEZ8H0Up-D6Rtk-rNsu-Z_2DsoJvCGojaTLbubM6PD0nqlRNRA4ujTFBZkGheIwGi4bhnP5fI4DA/s1600-h/Excuses.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLg4VuYiMGNiE22u7bk-04IjZzdwqcGaeYB6vjHn7jIJx5j1NwLIcjhLdS4MMEZ8H0Up-D6Rtk-rNsu-Z_2DsoJvCGojaTLbubM6PD0nqlRNRA4ujTFBZkGheIwGi4bhnP5fI4DA/s400/Excuses.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401198667259068914" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAbPF_MxF3r1mZ-BTjiGsvrBaf09YsKHW4B5xHDeJvbxnrYs34IodtG46LL1X0-wMXCDoHVa0tKYbJTvqQIN_pebxTUQH7b6sS24Qv5K99sBF8LrqWMrg7EZAI8ANC7_YrZzFRA/s1600-h/Heavy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAbPF_MxF3r1mZ-BTjiGsvrBaf09YsKHW4B5xHDeJvbxnrYs34IodtG46LL1X0-wMXCDoHVa0tKYbJTvqQIN_pebxTUQH7b6sS24Qv5K99sBF8LrqWMrg7EZAI8ANC7_YrZzFRA/s400/Heavy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401198658265989874" /></a><div><div>Post-post note....</div><div><br /></div><div>"You don't seem OK..." She gave the notebook back to me after flipping through it.. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm OK.." I smiled, kind of regret for lending her the notebook. </div><div><br /></div><div>".. a spider's killer instinct is actually its self-protection... for they got hurt, they get defensive... I understand where you are coming from... " she explained.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was stunned. </div><div><br /></div><div>".. but don't build up the walls around you... " she continued. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was stunned. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you, Shunza.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div> </div></div></div></div></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-90565155776071450092009-09-13T23:32:00.003+08:002009-09-17T17:46:54.077+08:00My Ruku' & Sujud..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJ-yp68DeFhPJsPHa1tkZXZuFCxhCM3ewA5FJ-cduGsp4z4QJqErJC_gWMVvOkazlpKbRPFJyqk6bMLDnQ-j8XbyBV-GJo-PMAjx5sUDSJj1fnIE6WzoqtCCvrCNxZIkig92vVw/s1600-h/mesjid+putrajaya_title.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJ-yp68DeFhPJsPHa1tkZXZuFCxhCM3ewA5FJ-cduGsp4z4QJqErJC_gWMVvOkazlpKbRPFJyqk6bMLDnQ-j8XbyBV-GJo-PMAjx5sUDSJj1fnIE6WzoqtCCvrCNxZIkig92vVw/s400/mesjid+putrajaya_title.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378728359932713170" border="0" /></a><div>I just realized that I always got something to say in every Ramadhan.</div><div><br /></div><div>In 2006, I perceived Ramadhan as an endurance test, hence I wrote <a href="http://leftnothingbehind.blogspot.com/2006/09/this-is-endurance-test-im-in.html">this</a>;</div><div>in 2007, I celebrated Ramadhan on a Norwegian vessel, and had a thought about self-discipline, hence I wrote <a href="http://leftnothingbehind.blogspot.com/2007/09/as-if-no-options.html">this</a>;</div><div>in 2008, I came back from my Europe grand tour, with the musing from the tour I celebrated Ramadhan with a perception of faith, hence I wrote <a href="http://leftnothingbehind.blogspot.com/2008/09/true-love-connecting-austria.html">this</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>In 2009, I entered Ramadhan with a new breath... and I find myself speechless.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ramadhan doesn't feel the same anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>Too many things happened on me in this Ramadhan. I almost lost my hope in front of a <i>musibah</i>, I lost patience on my stupidity and inadequacy, I lost my temper and threw it to my dear brothers, I broke down and crumbled in front of God;</div><div><br /></div><div>..but then, things changed. Along with my prayers, my <i>ruku'</i>, my <i>sujud</i>, my re-composed belief towards <i>Qada'</i> and <i>Qadar</i>, things changed slowly in the same Ramadhan.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I look back, this Ramadhan doesn't feel the same anymore -- when all about you before was shredded off, and all about you previously was redefined, what left behind is a naked core... the one you have nothing to hide but to face all your weaknesses, the one that will make you shamefully fallen on your knee, to ask for forgiveness from The Almighty..</div><div><br /></div><div>This Ramadhan taught me the meaning of <i>b</i><i>ertaqwa</i>;</div><div>This Ramadhan offers me a month of self reflection, a month of inner self cleansing..</div><div><br /></div><div><div>.. but it's just me being too dumb-witted, not picking up any drops of holiness of Ramadhan, but wasted, day after day, this only-one-month holy month.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Ramadhan is approaching to its end, I find my desperation worsened -- I'm still on my way searching for the true meaning of Ramadhan, I still find myself stuck in a pressing urge when realizing my inadequacy in reciting <i>Quran</i>, I still failed here and there when come to <i>bertaqwa</i>, I still have the deep guilt-feel to think of my <i>dosa</i>...... -- but when Ramadhan is approaching to its end, missing any <i>Terawih</i>, or even a thought of missing one night of <i>Terawih </i>makes me feel guilty; loosing focus in my prayers makes me feel guilty; loosing grip on my <i>Taqwa</i> and patience makes me feel guilty; fall into the trap of desires makes me feel guilty....</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps yesterday I was only a passenger walked by the door, hoping I could have a glance at what's behind it, and I thought I've learned well by peeping through the keyhole;</div><div><br /></div><div>Today when I walked into the door of Ramadhan, my heart shivers and I'm blank baffled. There're more than what I thought I've learned, there're much heavier than what I thought I've enjoyed, and there're more sweetness than the fasting pain that I thought I've borne with..</div><div><br /></div><div>Ramadhan doesn't feel the same anymore. My <i>ruku'</i> and <i>sujud </i>wouldn't feel the same anymore..</div><div><br /></div><div> </div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21000575.post-91643609650382350632009-08-19T13:15:00.010+08:002009-12-05T09:50:10.220+08:00Sneak.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcClwxofXndMxSDhnhqAgKBAZfXL9Z4i85ZMllbJ5sXhVzVb1oe4SKJgEGiq4SDWcOyb8-4yJDuysBW7wk0nQkRnnDhLF6rGAmNnWl_-GbZuB3wy1tXmaKyDDB9ut2JZuZVRxPYg/s1600-h/DSC_0331+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcClwxofXndMxSDhnhqAgKBAZfXL9Z4i85ZMllbJ5sXhVzVb1oe4SKJgEGiq4SDWcOyb8-4yJDuysBW7wk0nQkRnnDhLF6rGAmNnWl_-GbZuB3wy1tXmaKyDDB9ut2JZuZVRxPYg/s400/DSC_0331+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371466208608621602" /></a><i>Wake up</i>. I caught a grasp of cold air.<div><br /></div><div><i>Where am I?</i> My eye started searching around. Deep dark. In a cave. I could hardly move my body. I felt pain, but I couldn't moan -- my slight instinct alarmed me to not make any noise.</div><div><br /></div><div>The boy's sleeping beside me. Peacefully. I look at him, listening to the noise made by another scouting troop. Things never turn right. Things never turn right. </div><div><br /></div><div>I looked west. The bridge's still there.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>*************************************</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCbhUpJ0gPUb35OxjCnAhcddELO7aJz0o6QYFxwtfjzakusHIqUxnht52zyA6jI-ArvqUk4M3eIBMFH63Wadzgob68XwvBU_s2YTTqVkmA-seDGKMbkfdeLx1_t6L8TjRTtjUEw/s200/DSC_0348bw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371464814430186546" /><div><i>Wake up</i>. I heard somebody weeping. </div><div><br /></div><div>My body was laying on my bed. I'm still here, inside the cell. The little boy on next bunk was crying , I need to get him out of here, before the worst. </div><div><br /></div><div>"..<i>..before sunrise.</i>." I read the message written on my arm..</div><div><br /></div><div>He's the precious. He's the hope. I looked out. The bridge's there, but there're guards around. I moved to him, held his little hand. I could feel him shivering, and he's weak. </div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Hey boy, be strong, OK?</i>" I whispered, ".<i>. you're not a coward.. be strong.. everything will be fine, we'll get through this one day.. </i> " I see him nodded. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>*********************************</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54y9dP7e-XpGbhFo1ebj7JX7s2qPtH6ZvHPzC9-pnZ3I1KtWvv1z0P533rcTmqd2i2vMG1HDOEUU7Eg79WoBB6Qia_edKvsWHvNW3T-ubyStprBs5ItGMmcnvlP3GqhIPAsKL5w/s200/DSC_0345bw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371464799588869058" /><div><i>Wake up</i>. I heard people cursing, and the chaos triggered by angry crowd. Realizing something had gone terribly wrong, I looked for the little boy. </div><div><br /></div><div>..but I was too late.. the boy was captured and tied up. He was still trying hard to breath when I reached him. I saw the bruises on his body, and the stones of blame and humiliation were scattered around him.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Wake up, buddy..</i>" I shook his little body. </div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Hey... look what I've done to this land.</i>.." he answered, slowly opened up his eye. I looked around. This land used to be a wonderful place... but it's now full of anger and despair..</div><div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>...hey.</i>.." the boy continued, ".<i>... I'm a coward, right?</i>" I see tears in his drained eyes. </div><div><br /></div><div>***********************************</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhYd7GgYYeUnfd8-GtFeeSiCwBSX5AdC2qTB_KhyphenhyphenUhYvv4ZI__WwqI_9IJ11CgleC969xUUKX-qFlq88QoGkjAnTQNM2IL_SilRLOXfAPAXDmIIznQrz4mSgznZxe-MLfgM_mSg/s200/DSC_0342bw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371464809459014706" /></div><div><i>Wake up</i>. I had a nightmare. In it, I lost him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't afford to lose him. I need to bring him cross the bridge. There are helps there. All my brothers across the bridge will protect him, all my sisters across the bridge will give him food. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eyeing on the bridge, I know I just need to wait for another few hours for the guards to switch shift. He's still breathing. Thank God. Outside of this cave, the scouting troops were still searching around. </div><div><br /></div><div>I put my hand on this forehead to feel the warmth. He looks so fragile when he's sleeping, but I know he's a strong little boy. He's a gift from God -- a gift that should be guarded till death. Falling on my bended knees, I pray to God. I pray for strength and guidance, so that I can protect him better, so that I won't let him get hurt anymore; I pray for a way out, from all these chaos, from all these misunderstandings; I pray for a better tomorrow; I pray for two lands that is linked by a bridge, not separated by a bridge... </div><div><br /></div><div>**************************************</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i>Wake up</i>. I caught a grasp of cold air.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><div><br /></div><div><i>Where am I?</i> My eye started searching around. Deep dark. I'm still in the cave. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I looked west. The bridge's still there, and it's cleared. I heard <i>Azan</i> from the other side.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's time. <i>Fajr Azan</i> is a signal for me and my brothers at the other end. They must be waiting now. </div><div></div><span><span><br />I woke up the little boy, "<i>we gotta go now.</i>." I put him on my back, recalling the message -- the last message left by my brothers earlier, written on my arm --</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCCCCC;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></div></span></span></span></span></div><img style="float:right; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZuRhimU_Be0LLOLwLhgYzpe1XdSqwjPZaea7co0a-Lg70MCCNOrU0680-6c9ZS8SV4cEGm5G1xLC5D_aDOL8dL-Rc9coIoA9pnFr5hnBTKIMJf-HclgAPFw_jS412g5QQWf4-Q/s320/DSC_0354fredom.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371463492731376994" /><div style="text-align: left;">"<i>Bring Faith back... before sunrise</i>.."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><br />I patted on the boy who's riding on me now, "<i>ready?</i>" he nodded. I turned my head and kissed him, "<i>I'm bringing you back, Faith...</i>"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span><span><br />Faith hold his arm around me tighter. We sneaked out the cave, towards the bridge.</span></span><div></div></span></span></span></div></div></div></div>SpidEy d'lEftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11991766174794243774noreply@blogger.com20