<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:20:29.731-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It won't stop flowing, will it?</title><subtitle type='html'>I tried very hard to stop the blood from oozing out. But I can't.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113354636941510550</id><published>2005-12-03T01:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-02T09:59:29.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>my thoughts just keep coming to me so I thought I better have them recorded somewhere before I lose them. They are precious. Here it goes:&lt;br /&gt;Don't follow the crowd. Do something different. Don't smoke when everyone smokes. Don't drink when everyone drinks. Don't dig your way through life when everyone scampers around like little lost mice trying to find the cheese.&lt;br /&gt;Instead, be different.&lt;br /&gt;Dare to be different.&lt;br /&gt;Difference brings out your uniqueness. Brings out you you you cause there's no one like you. No one has the exact fingerprint as you. Even your tits ain't exactly symmetrical.&lt;br /&gt;I just love anonymous blogs. Bottoms up to them!&lt;br /&gt;cheerios.&lt;br /&gt;Don't let the bed bugs bite.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113354636941510550?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113354636941510550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113354636941510550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354636941510550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354636941510550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-thoughts-just-keep-coming-to-me-so.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113354421461021888</id><published>2005-12-03T01:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-02T09:23:39.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Be G.R.E.A.T.</title><content type='html'>Suddenly, I feel like I wanna do something great, be something great. I wanna score well (not that I did badly, but not good enough). I wanna have &lt;strong&gt;extremely &lt;/strong&gt;good grades.&lt;br /&gt;So I've gotta refrain from going out so often and start being more productive by getting my ass off the couch and setting them on the swivel chair in front of my study desk. I find that I tend to buy clothes, shoes, bags, and accessories that are really expensive; as in, each piece cost 150 bucks odd, min. I must rid myself of that bad habit but no matter how hard I try, branding seems to be a very important key for me when I shop. Bad culture. I think I should stop bringing my card along with me whenever I go shopping or just walking around cause I'd always end up swiping the card like I have a free-flow of money. Damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me just list out some of my new resolutions:&lt;br /&gt;1) stop going out so often (like once or twice a week would suffice)&lt;br /&gt;2) return home immediately after school&lt;br /&gt;3) don't spend endless time on computer that seeps my energy away.&lt;br /&gt;4) doing my assignments timely&lt;br /&gt;5) start preparing for tests and exams&lt;br /&gt;6) be more bothered with projects&lt;br /&gt;7) ditch that phrase: " hey, let's meet up"&lt;br /&gt;8) quit smoking&lt;br /&gt;9) start exercising.&lt;br /&gt;10) lose 10 kg in 10 months' time. (1kg off each month)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ok, I'll store these 10 points into my handphone and keep a watchful eye on it.&lt;br /&gt;WARNING: Don't stray off or I'll bite my own ass off though I'm not sure how I'm ever gonna do that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113354421461021888?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113354421461021888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113354421461021888' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354421461021888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354421461021888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/12/be-great.html' title='Be G.R.E.A.T.'/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113354298434102641</id><published>2005-12-03T01:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-02T09:03:05.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>gosh I'm so frickin' tired I'm like slouching over the desk now. Just picked my friend up from the airport and I realised that through her stay in New Zealand, it becomes rather impossible for us to click like we used to in the past. Everyone and everything would eventually change. The connection is no longer there and I wonder if it is still worth keeping the friendship anymore. It has fallen from a friendship to an acquaintance-ship. When we talk, there seems to be this huge barrier stuck in between us and words don't come out as easy as they do back then. sigh. But everyone has to move away from the past, so... take it as it comes along.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113354298434102641?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113354298434102641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113354298434102641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354298434102641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113354298434102641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/12/gosh-im-so-frickin-tired-im-like.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113344283081462746</id><published>2005-12-01T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T05:13:50.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Simply love it!</title><content type='html'>I'm so happy! I've just gotten my new phone: a Nokia 6111. =)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113344283081462746?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113344283081462746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113344283081462746' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113344283081462746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113344283081462746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/12/simply-love-it.html' title='Simply love it!'/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113317534147601072</id><published>2005-11-28T06:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-28T02:59:50.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Do you believe in an afterlife? Is there really Heaven or Hell? I think that when we die, our bodies and souls cease to being completely. It just stops responding to the things around us; disappears altogether. When the going gets tough, the tough gets going. No matter how hard life proves to be for us, we should never take our life away. Even when our bodies are battered and torn; our hearts are shattered and broken; we see no point in living, we should still continue living on. We only get to live once, just one goddamn motherfucking once. Be it bad or good, we'll come out as stronger people. People often fuck up in their lives. Seriously, who doesn't? But it's just a matter of how we react to all these - we can either pick ourselves up or bend over, keel and die.&lt;br /&gt;We all need money to survive but if we are so caught up in this game, we'll be prisoners of money. If only we'd learn to make just enough for ourselves, we'd be happier. Live and let live. Everyone's finding a way to live. If you want everything, you'd find yourself without anything. There's too much in this world and it's impossible to have all. Try giving up everything and you'd surprisingly find that you have everything. When you're in despair, just smoke and scream," fuck it, I don't give shit!" You'd feel better.&lt;br /&gt;I feel that criticisms are good at times but sometimes if you let people's judgements get too much into your head, you've become a prisoner of theirs. Let that be a passing remark and fuck it. To hell with it.&lt;br /&gt;Damn. I'm a fucking preacher. I know I shouldn't be bothered with their comments but I just couldn't seem to let go of it. I hold every criticism in my mind and it just run through, over and over again. It never does stop. Then I know I've become their prisoner but there's nothing I can do about it. I just simply can't take my mind off those. At times, I avoid looking at the mirror. If I hadn't look at the mirror for quite a while, I'd feel good about myself. Most unfortunately, there are mirrors all around my house, my school and the public places. Everywhere I walk, I see my ugly reflection. I wish I could go for plastic surgery. Gimme a new nose! Suck out all the damn fats! Make me pretty! I really wonder if I were pretty and slim, would I be happier? Would it really make any difference? I'm a prisoner of everyone around me and a fucking prisoner of me, myself and I. I hate that I hate that I hate that and I wish I could, I wish I could take all the negativity away from me. Far far away and dump them into a garbage bin, burn it burn it burn it. Watch it fucking burn into ashes and then pour hot boiling water over it. Let it rot let it rot; let it fucking get out of my fucked-up life!&lt;br /&gt;I don't wanna die a spinster. I want somebody. But I don't want just anybody, I want someone who would love me the way I do to him. Would any guy ever love me for the way I am?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113317534147601072?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113317534147601072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113317534147601072' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113317534147601072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113317534147601072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/do-you-believe-in-afterlife-is-there.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113302005975501253</id><published>2005-11-26T23:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-26T07:47:39.766-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a million little pieces</title><content type='html'>"A million little Pieces" by James Frey is indeed a marvellous, wonderfully inspiring book. Through the time I was reading it, I kept reminding myself that this actually happened in reality; it ain't some made-up Hollywood movies but something so brutally true. He did away with a lot of punctuation and grammar and successfully, he got his point across. I remember so clearly reading about the part where he had to get his teeth fixed up without using anesthetic. I literally felt the pain but I know it's peanuts compared to what he had felt. A truly inspiring book. It made me wanna quit smoking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113302005975501253?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113302005975501253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113302005975501253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113302005975501253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113302005975501253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/million-little-pieces.html' title='a million little pieces'/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113292618227883737</id><published>2005-11-25T21:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-25T05:45:03.206-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm undecided. What I really wish to do is to move out, rent an apartment with my friend and stay together. But part of me feel an obligation to be responsible towards my parents. They nobly sacrificed their youths for us; painstakingly beared all the crap from us; all they wanted was for us to be fillial and not ditch them when we grow up. Is that really too much to ask for?&lt;br /&gt;It's really hard to live with someone for a long period of time. When 2 persons come and live together, there is always a tendency to want to exercise control over each other: restricting each other, trying to make the other believe what he/she believes in. All these would ultimately strain the relationship they have had before. I think the same applies to the relationship between a parent and a child. Moreover, being a parent, you would want the best for your child. More often than not, you trust that your belief is always right. But the child will eventually grow up and have his/her own mind. It is inevitable that he/she will rebel. So which do I choose- freedom or resposibility?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113292618227883737?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113292618227883737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113292618227883737' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113292618227883737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113292618227883737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/im-undecided.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113268024996930863</id><published>2005-11-23T01:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T09:24:09.980-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm an irony. I want love but I stop it from coming to me. I give false illusion to make myself appear less miserable but underneath, I crush and die. I hate to do projects but yet I have chosen to come to this place. I wanna be free but I picked up the fuckin' fag. I wanna be bold and not withhold any thoughts but deep inside I'm a frigging faggot. It's time to sleep but I put myself through these cause I hate to try and fall asleep.&lt;br /&gt;Give me your strength oh chariot.&lt;br /&gt;I must be strong cause that's what I have to be. I'm compelled to do a lot of things in this world. Forced by circumstances; freed by choices; strangled by choices. What's the difference? It's just a matter of perception. If you were in hell but chose to picture it as heaven, it'd be heaven. Even if God was kind enough to let you go to heaven, it'd still be hell anyway if you had thought it negatively. So what the fuck am I talking about? Nothing.. Just my usual rants when I am feeling down.&lt;br /&gt;I'm so tired but I have no idea why I'm not going to bed. Sometimes I feel it's such a waste of time to sleep, yet there are times when I just wanna lie there for eternity.&lt;br /&gt;I told you - I'm an irony.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113268024996930863?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113268024996930863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113268024996930863' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113268024996930863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113268024996930863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/im-irony.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113256712073120137</id><published>2005-11-21T17:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T01:58:41.320-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I did get my haircut, not at Reds but at Jantzen. Last min decision to go back to my old trusted hair stylist. And yes, I haven't regretted a bit. =)&lt;br /&gt;I'm a very happy girl now. There's only 2 things I'm upset about:&lt;br /&gt;1) my ugly nose&lt;br /&gt;2) my fats&lt;br /&gt;So I'm going out for a run in just a bit to lose the excess tyres around my body.&lt;br /&gt;Bye!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113256712073120137?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113256712073120137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113256712073120137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113256712073120137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113256712073120137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-did-get-my-haircut-not-at-reds-but.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113249609446960109</id><published>2005-11-20T22:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-20T06:20:05.960-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've decided to go for a hair cut tomorrow! Rather excited and nervous about it. I'm hoping to see a radical change; of course, something fantastic. So I can only hope and pray the hair stylist would be skillful enough. Haha.&lt;br /&gt;Just a random thought: If my future child were a girl, I'd name her "Blessed". It's a unique name yet it carries a very special meaning to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've this really special gift for my best friend on Christmas which I've spent a long time preparing; up till now, it isn't done up yet. It's a beautiful calendar of 2006. I've painted each month thoughtfully and the art is a reminiscent of our days together: like the photos we took, the letters we exchanged and the little lines and poems which meant so much to us.&lt;br /&gt;It's not easy, in this sea of people, to find someone so similar to and understands you so well. Words don't even have to be said and she would already know what I'm thinking about. It's telephatic. When I found her, I stopped bothering to look for friends and I ended up with a lot of acquaintances. For me, I draw a huge distinction between acquaintances and friends. So I don't dare to say I have a lot of friends but I do have a lot of acquaintances. You can't trust acquaintances but friends, very often you can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113249609446960109?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113249609446960109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113249609446960109' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113249609446960109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113249609446960109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/ive-decided-to-go-for-hair-cut.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113238639830000488</id><published>2005-11-19T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T23:46:38.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I used to think I wouldn't get married in this life, ever. But now I think it's a great feeling to get married to someone you love and when he holds you tightly in his arms, you'd want the world to stop and the clock to stop ticking away. You'd want to freeze the moment for eternity.&lt;br /&gt;I want to get married. Not now; not a few years down the road, but some time, some time when I'm 30?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113238639830000488?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113238639830000488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113238639830000488' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113238639830000488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113238639830000488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-used-to-think-i-wouldnt-get-married.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113229053152580569</id><published>2005-11-18T13:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T21:08:51.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm so fucking tired. Had been craving for a fag the whole damned morning so I went out of the campus frantically searching for someone with fags. Today's rather weird. Usually there would be many people smoking outside the campus but I can't find any today! I was so pissed. Seriously felt like sleeping the whole time. I went so early to school there wasn't anyone there yet when I reached. I'm planning to get a hair cut at Reds cause I heard there's a pretty good hair dresser called Angel in one of the salons. It would probably cost about 40 odd. Yep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113229053152580569?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113229053152580569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113229053152580569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113229053152580569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113229053152580569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/im-so-fucking-tired.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113224617434549918</id><published>2005-11-18T00:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T08:50:22.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm so tired of all the projects that come to me all at one go, crushing me beneath their immense weight. At hand, I have 5 huge projects. 1 of which due next week and my group hasn't even done video-taping the little puppet show with a little mixture of reality yet. It's going to be hell of a coming week. I'm so tired and frustrated of all these. Tomorrow, I'm going to take a break and drink with my dear friend at the beach; afterwhich, we'll head down to a pub and waste ourselves silly.&lt;br /&gt;Oh man.. I haven't washed my hair today and it itches like hell. I'm not going to wash it now though. It's already 12.47am. I have to be school at 7am early this morning to do some last min work with my group mates. How infuriating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need someone beside me. Not anyone. It's that someone who doesn't appear. When he does appear, he'd take my breath away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113224617434549918?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113224617434549918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113224617434549918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113224617434549918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113224617434549918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/im-so-tired-of-all-projects-that-come.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113222007344111461</id><published>2005-11-17T17:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T01:34:33.573-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My rants</title><content type='html'>I feel so damn fugly. I'm fat, really fat. I'm short, really short. I'm ugly, really ugly. It's depressing enough to see the ugly girl staring back at me in the mirror, I don't need more people to remind me how fat I am every single day. I can't stand it when my friends tell me to stop eating when they see me snacking. What can I really do? Exercise? Stop eating? I don't have to meet up to your expectations, so please stop haunting me with all your relentless negative remarks.&lt;br /&gt;   People can criticize me, but somehow I hate it when you do. If you really think I'm that fat and disgusting, why the hell did you even kiss me that night and ask me to be your gf? I will never ever know the reason because I don't wanna ask you. You know it took me quite a while to get over you. I was so into you even when you were so into her. I got jealous each time I see you whisper to her. Then finally I got over you. But I still don't allow you to criticize me this way. I really wanna scream to your fuckin' face and ask you to frigging shuddup cause I really hate it. Whenever I see you now, I feel disgusted. Don't make me barf.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113222007344111461?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113222007344111461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113222007344111461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113222007344111461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113222007344111461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/my-rants.html' title='My rants'/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992545.post-113206633209550333</id><published>2005-11-15T22:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T06:56:47.396-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The fight between you both is always sparked by something so insignificant and I often wonder how the both of you can be bothered by such stuff. Is it because of the long hours of being cooped in a house? Or what? Is it because of ageing? Menopause? It seems like the both of you are so dissatisfied with each other. But there are times when you two behave like the happiest couple on Earth. So what really is the problem? I've heard my friend's mom say this a few days' ago," if a couple can get married and stay together for 30 years, it might not be love. All these just show their levels of tolerance toward each other." If I were to ever get married and one day, wake up to find myself in face of a divorce, I would gladly accept it. It may really be too early to say judging that I'm only 17. But I have experiences. I know, most of you would say," heck, she's only 17. what bloody experiences can she have?" I don't need a lot of experiences; I just need to have the right one. I used to have a crush on this cute guy, of course, he never does reciprocate. But my point is, I liked him so much I start living under his shadow: helping him with his studies and printing his notes, buying cigarettes so we could share together... But once the semester was over, he never did contact me anymore. It's like I'm being used by him. To help him do things. I knew about it all along, yet I never did stop until now. Why is that so? I'm sure around you, you have already seen such incidents whereby the guy is a total jerk and everyone knows; the girl knows. But she cannot stop loving him. She believes that without him, she'd die. Believe me, once you step out of that phase, you'll realise you had been so dumb. Well, at least you'll learn. So this applies to marriage too. Upon marriage, many people think they are bound to their spouse for the rest of their lives. But no, if they're really bound to their spouse for the rest of their lives, then why does the word "divorce" appear in the dictionary? Every word exists for a reason. You don't have to stick around with this someone forever. Has it ever occured to you the marriage was a mistake? I believe that in this world, there's someone for everyone. But along the way, you may not meet the right someone. If you were to realise it, step out of it. Why put yourself through the misery? No one is indispensible. Ironically, I also believe that we should always have others in mind for our words and actions. The world is so small. Have you ever heard before the saying:" everyone in this world is six degrees apart?" It means to say that the world is so small. So small that my friend's friend's friend's friend's friend, is you. Everyone is inter-connected in a way. There are times where we need to be selfish but there are also times we've got to spare a thought for others. Matrimony may not just be between the both of you. What about your children? How would they feel?&lt;br /&gt;Another thing I've learnt: the world will never stop spinning for you. Some whin about their supposedly painful experiences to attract attention. A little is fine, but too much? You'll seriously repel people away. Cause you gotta know this: in this world, no one gives a shit about you. Everyone's driven by food, sex and aggression. Even the Samitarians, you'd really think they are so kind-hearted? Why don't you think this way- they are helpful so as to fill up this empty space in them and to feel more comfortable inside? Isn't this a hidden agenda also? Because we are only humans and this can do the explanation for a lot of things. It may sound cynical. But heck, I seriously don't give a damn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18992545-113206633209550333?l=deadlocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/feeds/113206633209550333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18992545&amp;postID=113206633209550333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113206633209550333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18992545/posts/default/113206633209550333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deadlocks.blogspot.com/2005/11/fight-between-you-both-is-always.html' title=''/><author><name>Apply the tourniquet to my wound</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389605156953454171</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
