tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93432982024-03-13T11:45:37.050+08:00The Life of an Oregano Addict-because I love to play with words-Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1349125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-7967913361459769822017-03-28T01:07:00.002+08:002017-03-28T01:11:48.940+08:00March 9<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My father passed away last March 9.<br />
<br />
It was weird how they told me. They asked me to come over to my parents house, deliberately failing to inform me that he was already gone.<br />
<br />
I felt weird though, like I knew that Daddy going to the hospital was a very bad sign. After all, if they had to call an ambulance, it didn't bode well for him. And how many times can a person escape death really. Daddy had escaped death three times. And I was afraid his luck was all spent up.<br />
<br />
When I got there everyone was waiting for me outside the house. And then I knew it was bad. Really bad when I saw the ambulance parked there. I knew what happened, but I needed to hear.<br />
<br />
They couldn't finish the sentence. They just kept saying, "Si Daddy mo..."<br />
<br />
And I kept saying, "No."<br />
<br />
It was a denial. I couldn't accept it. I still can't.<br />
<br />
For days, I refused to even take a peek at him inside that blasted coffin. I wanted to remember him alive, so I didn't want to look at him lying there.<br />
<br />
19 days after that fateful evening, I still can't bring myself to go back to my parents' house. I can't accept the fact that he is no longer there.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I act like I'm okay. I feel okay. And it scares me.<br />
<br />
I scare myself. I cannot possibly be okay. My brain is still protecting me from the truth.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, the truth takes a hold of me, and I break down. Grief overwhelms me and I sob. The pain is debilitating. And then it passes, and I'll be laughing again like nothing happened.<br />
<br />
I cannot accept the fact that he's gone. I refuse to go back to that house and see the changes. His clothes are gone. My mother has gotten rid of his things. He no longer lives there. His clothes aren't there. His perfume..his favorite blanket and pillows.. they're all gone, and I don't want to see all these changes that mean only one thing - we no longer have him.<br />
<br />
I don't know what's the right way to grieve. I don't know if I'm grieving. Do you grieve when you can't accept the fact that there's something that you have to grieve about?<br />
<br />
My father wasn't perfect, but he was stable. The one sure thing in my life. The one person that I can depend on and rely upon. The one person who never left, who was with me all these years. My father was the one person I can go to when I need things fixed. He never fails to fix things for me - whatever they may be. He was my source of comfort - the one person I know who would fight for me, would protect me. I no longer have that - and it's difficult to accept that.<br />
<br />
I can't. Not now. I don't know when. But until then, I refuse to go back to that house. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-20033815712636970182016-07-20T06:45:00.000+08:002016-07-20T06:49:44.269+08:00I Read Your Flickr Comment 10 Years Later<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I just read a comment on a Flickr photo which someone left 10 years ago. It was filled with hatred and vitriolic language. The person who left the comment really hated me - and of course, I know only one person who feels or felt like that. I also know I never did this person wrong. I just had - and still have - what this person desperately wanted.<br />
<br />
The one who left the comment probably didn't realize that what she said wouldn't hurt because first off, none of it was true. Secondly, her opinion - especially when stated "anonymously" - doesn't have any weight at all.<br />
<br />
Here's a fun fact for you guys - I've always believed that you can't please everyone. So, you need to choose the people whose opinion matters to you. Generally, this should be people who love you or want what's best for you. That's how I've always lived my life. So, if you're leaving me an anonymous comment that is meant to rile me up - you need to love me first for me to give a flying f*ck. :)<br />
<br />
<br />
It was a sad comment though - full of insults, bitterness and hatred. This person actually made an effort to create an account just to stalk me and leave the comment. I'm so sorry I didn't read it at that time. All her efforts were in vain.<br />
<br />
The person also mentioned my blog in her comment, so apparently, she also followed my posts back then (which I know for a fact she did.) Someone mentioned to me that she even had my blog bookmarked. Sad, huh? It was almost pathetic, truth be told. I wonder what happened to her now. It must not have been that easy to live with that much hatred or bitterness. I hope she's moved on by now though. Jesus Christ, it has been a decade already, and she's pushing...what? 50? 60?<br />
<br />
Anyway, if you're still reading my blog. You finally got your response to your comment. You're welcome. :)<br />
<br />
And if you're not the one who actually left the comment, and it was somebody else on your behalf, you're still welcome. <br />
<br />
Now, stop reading my blog posts and get on with your life. Gahd.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-53333322950613451842015-08-14T06:02:00.001+08:002015-08-14T06:02:29.055+08:00Musings at 6 amI miss writing.<div><br></div><div>Oh, I write. I do. I do. I get paid for every word that I type, every sentence that I create. I suppose that counts, but I don't write from the heart. I get paid for writing about things I hardly care about.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss writing. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-6449012456512622732014-09-18T04:34:00.001+08:002014-09-18T04:34:55.291+08:00My Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGu508d3P4LTnwQd-CSjmQyup8zqtW7GLBlFfZXazZrbEfANNX3ADQSPfeEIcSS6MeJ8nutuL8cH75KkshQbNrzmgEEOjRcNPVUZhRsCZtd8k81JEhe4tD6HEcG9b6egBwZnB/s640/blogger-image-1528601573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGu508d3P4LTnwQd-CSjmQyup8zqtW7GLBlFfZXazZrbEfANNX3ADQSPfeEIcSS6MeJ8nutuL8cH75KkshQbNrzmgEEOjRcNPVUZhRsCZtd8k81JEhe4tD6HEcG9b6egBwZnB/s640/blogger-image-1528601573.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjebXSaD4t0MvxL3G-vN3VipvRj3Ip82-SuP5SvZrzG0PhCwCKeNmI0FtsSYeV47eNVqeDg1eHa4fXPl_BRE6UKU6iHnA7-x2C2lcNu7_9nM0e0aoVsWtrew3UdDnxW12QBg0/s640/blogger-image-1359080220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjebXSaD4t0MvxL3G-vN3VipvRj3Ip82-SuP5SvZrzG0PhCwCKeNmI0FtsSYeV47eNVqeDg1eHa4fXPl_BRE6UKU6iHnA7-x2C2lcNu7_9nM0e0aoVsWtrew3UdDnxW12QBg0/s640/blogger-image-1359080220.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqVBE5XgwilZC61nLupXSn4CGAPh9aIlk7fj2ExVpss4DaDgQ7ESA4Jys0W1mmA6l-MHn2GounrduztH7PF6ixqv4CMHKm06gxPCZXF0GU4ZSisBHJAdQIuL2Ku84GR7n389I/s640/blogger-image--1308649123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqVBE5XgwilZC61nLupXSn4CGAPh9aIlk7fj2ExVpss4DaDgQ7ESA4Jys0W1mmA6l-MHn2GounrduztH7PF6ixqv4CMHKm06gxPCZXF0GU4ZSisBHJAdQIuL2Ku84GR7n389I/s640/blogger-image--1308649123.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-50680603635598241662014-09-18T04:33:00.001+08:002014-09-18T04:33:13.619+08:00Pluviophile4:27 am<div><br></div><div>It's raining really hard.</div><div>I opened up the window to greet the rain and fallen leaves came blowing in.</div><div><br></div><div>I don't know why that makes me happy.</div><div>I don't know why rain makes me happy.</div><div><br></div><div>But it does.</div><div><br></div><div>I found a word to describe me - a pluviophile.</div><div><br></div><div><i>Pluviophile</i>. (n) a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.</div><div><br></div><div>Apparently, there are a lot of people like me out there.</div><div><br></div><div>Well, isn't that nice? đ</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbowRuxYLyKYv59LEnL2Z-KKqhpfZ4OFM4SfMbv3u83FjU70mkAzewneRG-lhHeuU4QKS1Pj7A4rZgAjmKf_jOxIlYRay_vDmgga088HmKhUwhg8gocEOojSWOPv2E4lbVa_N3/s640/blogger-image-189066862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbowRuxYLyKYv59LEnL2Z-KKqhpfZ4OFM4SfMbv3u83FjU70mkAzewneRG-lhHeuU4QKS1Pj7A4rZgAjmKf_jOxIlYRay_vDmgga088HmKhUwhg8gocEOojSWOPv2E4lbVa_N3/s640/blogger-image-189066862.jpg"></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-26053419195340275402014-09-08T05:54:00.001+08:002014-09-08T05:54:42.430+08:00DreadA few more days and we're off to Manila. I am dreading leaving the kids behind. It feels like I'd be ripping my heart out of my chest. I am going to miss them so goddamn much. :(<div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-16102205657137962212014-07-10T09:04:00.001+08:002014-07-10T09:04:50.601+08:00Going Through HellI'm so pissed at everything right now. <div><br></div><div>I'm so stressed out and with so many things stressing me out - I don't know what's causing the crying bouts. God, my eyes are so freaking clean from all the crying I've been doing.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel -</div><div>Angry.</div><div>Seriously pissed.</div><div>Irritated.</div><div>Resigned.</div><div>Worried.</div><div>Scared.</div><div>Angry.</div><div>Mostly angry.</div><div>Afraid.</div><div>Tired.</div><div>Exhausted.</div><div>Worn out.</div><div>Confused.</div><div>Afraid.</div><div>Consumed.</div><div>Sad.</div><div>Depressed.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not okay. I hate going through this hell.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-92088703530040812382014-07-06T01:51:00.001+08:002014-07-06T01:51:09.236+08:00I Just Want to Rant<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jesus H. Christ! My stress levels have reached their all time high. I just want to scream and scream and never stop screaming.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is hell. This is pure unadulterated fucking hell. I can't wait for all this to be over but then the waiting starts... I don't what's worse - this or that.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At least I'll have work and money while waiting. The absence of income and this feeling of financial impotence are stressing me out much more than the nonstop studying. I feel like I'm about to explode. Just bloody explode. God. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am just so fucking tired of this.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-22108758970452164032014-05-05T16:49:00.001+08:002014-05-05T16:49:26.335+08:00Just Let Go<p>At some point, you have to let go. You have to stop.</p> <p>These words have become my mantra. Ironically, I canât seem to just let go. Itâs emotionally exhausting and mentally draining. I really should just let go. This thing is weighing me down. It has taken over my conscious thoughts. Why canât I just let this go?</p> <p>Itâs taking too much. Itâs like this greedy insatiable monster that devours happiness and peace of mind. And I feed it incessantly.</p> <p>I have to just let go. Itâs easy.</p> <p>I just need to start.</p> <p>And for the nth time, that is what I am going to do.</p> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-53602932054443891302014-05-02T22:24:00.001+08:002014-05-02T22:28:28.625+08:00I Need to Blog Coz Life SucksErbe found him lying on the floor because he was so weak, he collapsed on the floor. He didnt have the strength to get up or cry for help. <div><br></div><div>I've been wondering why I feel so sad. I've gotten so used to worrying that it has become a part of me. And then it hit me, I started hoping he'd get better when I saw him up and about the last few days. I really thought he'd get better and then the fever appeared again. And then Erbe saw him lying there this morning. And here I am a mess again. I can't even study. I hate this.</div><div><br></div><div>We've been told to just accept the inevitable. Fuck that. </div><div><br></div><div>Someone told me to shower him with I love you's. I dont want to do that. It's like I'm conceding and letting go. Fuck that.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-63602680267689470432014-04-04T03:03:00.001+08:002014-04-04T03:03:09.368+08:00April 4So, how am I doing?<div><br></div><div>I'm trying to finish one subject and I have 5 days to finish hundreds of pages. </div><div><br></div><div>Meanwhile, I thought I'd help my cause by deep conditioning my hair. That's how I roll these days.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm in serious deep shit, yeah?</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibL1ov4CElLXqA9sHo2OUPSB0P2Lx3iYdQBHKOOkWjmapKLAg4rACGoDiq8eip9C1mWL6Siar02MSAAJG-uZnpB_KbieyviWgXH81WEKx5fXlu1AYy-PchYKpqGEPIAi-bKpEw/s640/blogger-image--1939633998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibL1ov4CElLXqA9sHo2OUPSB0P2Lx3iYdQBHKOOkWjmapKLAg4rACGoDiq8eip9C1mWL6Siar02MSAAJG-uZnpB_KbieyviWgXH81WEKx5fXlu1AYy-PchYKpqGEPIAi-bKpEw/s640/blogger-image--1939633998.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-13051080135429378212014-03-21T03:37:00.001+08:002015-11-19T16:07:33.249+08:00When Love Comes Knocking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Judith McNaught was wrong.<br />
<br />
If I only knew how wrong she was, I would have stopped reading her books before I met Love.<br />
Maybe then I would have really known what not to expect<br />
And to see Love as he really was the first time I met him.<br />
Love did not have large muscles, long flowing black hair and a Scottish accent.<br />
<br />
What Love had was a curly hair, wide mouth, large ears, small eyes and teeth gaps.<br />
Those romance books and their cursed authors â they are flagrant liars.<br />
Because when Love came, I didnât know what to do.<br />
I called Love my best friend and he called me his.<br />
I helped Love with his own heart ache while crying over mine, <br />
Because Love, although I knew it was him, didnât see me.<br />
Love was honest with me. He didnât lead me on.<br />
He was there for me in so many ways, but not in the way I wanted Love to be.<br />
I faked so many illnesses that Senior Year in High School just so I can avoid school.<br />
âYes, itâs another diarrhea. <br />
Yes, I know Iâve just had it the other day, <br />
but yes, I have it again today. <br />
I swear Iâm not lying.â<br />
But I was lying. I had to lie over and over again, so I can avoid seeing Love.<br />
Because seeing Love, whose eyes reflect nothing but friendship, was too painful for a 16-year-old heart.<br />
<br />
Over the years, Love came in many shapes and forms,<br />
He came with a long hair and a mean skill for playing the bass guitar.<br />
Love was childish and immature; and he had poor spelling skills.<br />
Love spelled feelings with the letters f-e-l-l-i-n-g-s.<br />
Love was an idiot.<br />
<br />
But I, I read every word of that letter like they were my last drop of water, last breath of air.<br />
<br />
At one time, Love was a childhood best friendâs brother who didnât like me while growing up.<br />
That Love looked at me when I turned 18, saw me and has never stopped looking.<br />
<br />
Love came in different intensity; and once, it reappeared with such force, I barely recognized it.<br />
Love, this time, came at first sight.<br />
Love was a friend who would talk to me âtil 1 in the morning.<br />
Love understood me. He spoke the same language. He cursed a lot â fuck, shit, damn â but Love didnât misspell any word. <br />
Love wanted so much for himself. Love was a dreamer, and so he vanished, leaving his ghost behind.<br />
There are too many clichés for this Love.<br />
Love at first sight.<br />
The one who got away.<br />
The one great love.<br />
All true, all true, for this Loveâs cursed ghost has never left, always clinging, always taunting.<br />
I was left seeking Love, always comparing, always wanting, always longing.<br />
<br />
Until Real Love came along.<br />
<br />
But this Love was not easy.<br />
In hindsight, Love would have scared the shit out of me.<br />
If I had known then what l learned later on, I would have run like a thousand hungry ferocious dogs were running after me.<br />
Love devoured me, trapped me.<br />
But ironically, Love was real.<br />
Love had soft brown eyes that never fail to say, âI love you. You are beautifulâ .<br />
Love believes, persists, tolerates, forgives and adores.<br />
Love, this time, was comfort, home, happiness, contentment, family.<br />
<br />
When youâre hardly ready for it, Love pounds on your door insistently.<br />
Youâd be surprised to see who stands there once you find the courage to open the door.<br />
Sometimes, Love enters stealthily. You hardly know itâs there until itâs too late.<br />
Until you find yourself devouring gallons of ice-cream, watching old reruns, crying your heart out and driving yourself insane.<br />
<br />
Love can be an old friend or a new one.<br />
Love can be from New York City or California.<br />
Love may come when youâre not ready for it or when itâs not supposed to come.<br />
Love may be a bastard who would taunt you and play with your emotions.<br />
Maybe Love hasnât arrived yet and is still waiting for you.<br />
Maybe youâre not supposed to find Love, maybe itâs meant to find you.<br />
Maybe Love is meant to last for three months,<br />
Or maybe itâs meant to last forever.<br />
Maybe Love was not meant to grow.<br />
Maybe itâs not meant to stay.<br />
Maybe Love would want you to take risks and damn the consequences.<br />
Maybe Love is meant to be confessed.<br />
Maybe it is meant to be a secret.<br />
<br />
Love comes when you least expect it to.<br />
And for the time it is with you, it will change you.<br />
Love will change you in so many ways that you will hardly recognize yourself.<br />
And just when you thought you couldnât take anymore, love leaves.<br />
<br />
To a lucky few, Love stays. It grows, it expands like a balloon that never fails to run out of gas.<br />
But for everyone, Love comes and for a little while it stays.<br />
And for that little while, youâre happy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4xt7CS0ajWYwhh8Es9sG5V8sMsrQon-TvG4XgvAHtE_glGz5nHQpwkLBABMTI7hLwEZXBrFphPxs88LBPmz9v7gnREp1d_7_dmh9Ux16vZjsaiP3IDAE0NCcE9qKqo6QlPI3/s1600/hetero_love_heart___044_by_straight_pride.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4xt7CS0ajWYwhh8Es9sG5V8sMsrQon-TvG4XgvAHtE_glGz5nHQpwkLBABMTI7hLwEZXBrFphPxs88LBPmz9v7gnREp1d_7_dmh9Ux16vZjsaiP3IDAE0NCcE9qKqo6QlPI3/s320/hetero_love_heart___044_by_straight_pride.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
my version of When Love Arrives by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-24406067575872719362014-03-12T03:19:00.001+08:002014-03-12T03:38:18.076+08:00Finally, I Write<p align="justify"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-pH-o9Fu6Hms/Ux9h0SgVqYI/AAAAAAAAG_0/QKgWN-ZzU2w/s1600-h/1798803_10152285730119201_1586162939_n%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="1798803_10152285730119201_1586162939_n" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; display: block; padding-right: 0px; margin-right: auto" border="0" alt="1798803_10152285730119201_1586162939_n" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ie_9tTze3Nw/Ux9h1d_I61I/AAAAAAAAG_8/IIK9aP1IYrg/1798803_10152285730119201_1586162939_n_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="183" height="244"></a></p><font style="background-color: #ffff00"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiol2SL_iNeffa_l7F0JEn0XnOws1KWIJAsIec8f6E5iql1UfgzJpglBJ_T87ydx6Kqlaago3Fj8x3Rx6-eQfCOeLYm8Hmcb9ewLbArhNqBJwk_I9J6PqhhzxzoXwncM_fLK-/s640/blogger-image--797080032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiol2SL_iNeffa_l7F0JEn0XnOws1KWIJAsIec8f6E5iql1UfgzJpglBJ_T87ydx6Kqlaago3Fj8x3Rx6-eQfCOeLYm8Hmcb9ewLbArhNqBJwk_I9J6PqhhzxzoXwncM_fLK-/s640/blogger-image--797080032.jpg"></a></div></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><br></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">Itâs the 9th day</font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. He has been in the hospital for 9 days now â and still, heâs not getting better. Hematuria is gone. Thatâs one good thing at least, but the fever, it comes and goes. For a few hours or so, weâd be hopeful that he wonât have a fever again and weâd be able to go home and then the chills will start and his temperature will start climbing.</span></div> <p align="justify">Weâve been through several doctors now. Completed all kinds of laboratory exams, some repeated several times. Itâs driving me insane. Itâs driving my sister insane. She has been jumping from one possibility to another, one conclusion to another. We have been crying â and my mom wonât leave his side. She doesnât want to. And weâre worried about her because she, too, has her own set of medical complaints.</p> <p align="justify">I am going insane.</p> <p align="justify">I have my own set of issues. I am bogged down by other concerns. I so need a break. I am losing it. I am experiencing bouts of crying and I only get reprieve from watching sitcoms one after another â and when Iâve exhausted them all, I find myself crying over a bowl of noodles. God, I need a break.</p> <p align="justify">I pray heâd get better soon. No, not soon. Right now. Please Lord, make him better now.</p> <p align="justify">I hope to feel better soon. I hope to forget. I hope the heaviness in my chest will go away and the pain in my stomach will abate soon. I donât want this. I donât like this. I hate this. </p> <p align="justify">Life sucks right now. It really does.</p> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-56937819174739100732014-03-03T22:54:00.001+08:002014-03-03T22:54:00.723+08:00Off the Bucket List<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrIQfg5aVRa2d90p-yOoECvBF0RXI1JLzwBJF5nssKz10ia9LH3Gt5VnmXu24dEsT-AUbplAbEAvUTxRqJ34nBzdi5fQWvml94FRT7Ossr-HqadELk_XEh4mecLoVwizRWwRY/s640/blogger-image-1164109195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrIQfg5aVRa2d90p-yOoECvBF0RXI1JLzwBJF5nssKz10ia9LH3Gt5VnmXu24dEsT-AUbplAbEAvUTxRqJ34nBzdi5fQWvml94FRT7Ossr-HqadELk_XEh4mecLoVwizRWwRY/s640/blogger-image-1164109195.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgvyNH0zu7SGp34gjAHiAvmbawqkezQg1u5e915sMrVaeEP6H8px4QVhp221z8EyfYNCuwGJ4-M_185WzMgL2m4tVBWENwHCw8mic-ph5XwdcRVWfvhE9M1hPNlZtnWuDKfLv/s640/blogger-image--2068234526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgvyNH0zu7SGp34gjAHiAvmbawqkezQg1u5e915sMrVaeEP6H8px4QVhp221z8EyfYNCuwGJ4-M_185WzMgL2m4tVBWENwHCw8mic-ph5XwdcRVWfvhE9M1hPNlZtnWuDKfLv/s640/blogger-image--2068234526.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOpgZpJE3K158xmUYaX41EosJWR56mMW4KWzVdk_4fv-Ypp3uYceZA54EgfWGB5mlobKTghY-xfCFSfnmSMP6JBvsqP5dnnC9q09EQida48foq-dYBVPfhOOCP9OowT-EK4HG/s640/blogger-image--1170272195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOpgZpJE3K158xmUYaX41EosJWR56mMW4KWzVdk_4fv-Ypp3uYceZA54EgfWGB5mlobKTghY-xfCFSfnmSMP6JBvsqP5dnnC9q09EQida48foq-dYBVPfhOOCP9OowT-EK4HG/s640/blogger-image--1170272195.jpg"></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-28140783904535476162014-02-21T03:59:00.001+08:002014-02-21T03:59:06.182+08:00A Letter to My Heartbroken Friend<p align="justify"><font size="4" face="Lucida Grande">Let me start by saying Iâm sorry I wasnât there for you the other day. You have been putting up such a good front that I tend to forget the truth sometimes. I thought of forwarding another quotation, something that could provide you a little comfort, but I thought, what the hell, I should just write you a letter, something that you can read when you need a little loveâŠa little comfort.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font size="4" face="Lucida Grande">Love sucks. Let just get that out of the way because right now, thatâs the truth. Raw love can blindside you and itâs not so easy to turn off. The raw heartache can be debilitating. I know that. This is why you continue to amaze me. You havenât resorted to eating Pringles and crying your way through the Notebook and other sappy movies. And except for those â5-second heartacheâ you probably experience throughout the day, youâve managed to put on a huge smile and live life and damn anyone who thinks youâre miserable. If you havenât been painfully honest with me, you could have fooled me as well.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font size="4" face="Lucida Grande">You probably hate the question, âAre you okay?â It forces you to acknowledge the truth to yourself and lie through your teeth. I want you to know, you wonât have to lie to me. I know youâre not okay â and itâs okay. I donât really care that you think your tears are irrational and that your pain nonsensical. Theyâre valid. Theyâre yours. They matter.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font size="4" face="Lucida Grande">I know how much it hurts. I remember how itâs like to get your heart broken. I remember how rejection feels like. I remember how itâs like to feel like youâve lost your heart..like it had been ripped away by the same person who wanted no part of it. I understand, so I wouldnât care if it takes you forever to find your peace. I donât care if you are sad or lost. I will stay up and talk to you until 4 AMâŠHell, Iâll stay up with you the whole night if you want me to! The thing is, Iâm here for you. No matter what. Please donât ever think otherwise.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font size="4" face="Lucida Grande">For now, I will tell you he doesnât deserve you â because he truly doesnât. Heâs an idiot for not seeing you. I will tell you everything will be okay. A year from now, two, threeâŠwe will laugh about this. And you will forget. You will forget everything that is causing you so much pain now. Or maybe you wonât. It wouldnât matter because you would love again and you would be incredibly happy. I know that because in my heart I know you deserve that. You deserve love and happiness. Youâll have those two beautiful girls. Someday, you will.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font size="4">I love you. Iâm sorry youâre in pain. Youâll find peace in time. The hurt would stop eventually. So, take your time. Itâs okay. </font></p> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-48500162631910694022014-02-15T04:57:00.001+08:002014-02-15T04:57:57.716+08:00How Am I?PMS, cough, colds, stress...<div>I'm a fvckin' happy camper.</div><div>Just finished crying like a loony.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8k7RJk_aZYmWMLPP0IjBAdzoetjlhthYgcEuiKzkS_Ver8K7zLXRwYcvWyReshkxbt4K8zpXmDF86d4YhOoOSGCYcA9lQc18qHah50M_B1tzTtc7hyxmrfxzEJOldt3OZtDh/s640/blogger-image--1468052508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8k7RJk_aZYmWMLPP0IjBAdzoetjlhthYgcEuiKzkS_Ver8K7zLXRwYcvWyReshkxbt4K8zpXmDF86d4YhOoOSGCYcA9lQc18qHah50M_B1tzTtc7hyxmrfxzEJOldt3OZtDh/s640/blogger-image--1468052508.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-32786558648082985312014-01-24T02:23:00.001+08:002014-01-24T02:23:13.407+08:00Random Thoughts at 2:22 AM<p>Iâve lost my ability to think fastâŠ</p> <p>In fact, Iâve lost my ability to think at all. I see words and they come rushing to me, like an impending train, perfectly designed to crash. One word blurs against another and I find myself struggling to understand the excruciating meaning of every sentence, every paragraph.</p> <p>Iâm losing control and I hate it.</p> <p>I am tethering, struggling to maintain balance. It seems like I am consumed with trying to exact control and trying to find my ground.</p> <p>Itâs my last day of work tomorrow. I hate the idea of not earning a single cent. I donât actually know how many buckets of tears Iâve cried over these seemingly simple decisions. To do or not to do. I am so over my head.</p> <p>I feel like Iâve lost molecules of my brain. When did I lose faith in my self? I am scared and I am drowning myself in meaningless pursuits and momentary emotions.</p> <p>I am trying to make sense of things. It seems like I am dealing with a deluge of questions and moral dilemma. I knew of black and white, and I always knew there were shades of grey there somewhere. What I didnât realize is that gray can be considerably tricky. Gray can fuck with your head. But Christ, gray feels good. Gray makes you forget. Gray stares at ennui in the eye and shoots it to kingdom come. But Gray will be the death of me.</p> <p>Puzzles. Yes, I know. I am talking in riddles. I mean to. How can I make you understand when I donât even understand myself? Something has taken root in me, but I have yet to identify it. I have not yet named it. It has not revealed itself to me. However, I know I need to wait for it to stay still and end it. I canât let it live. I canât let it grow. Itâs not meant to take deeper root. It will drive me insane. I am not ready to lose to it.</p> <p>There are questions I need to answer. Supposedly. But I think Iâd rather not. There is no point unearthing what needs to lie still. </p> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-52997226341020030292014-01-22T02:13:00.001+08:002014-01-22T02:13:51.084+08:002:11 AM<div>Here's another selfie. I told you this is going to be a year of selfies.</div>I am happy.<div>What do you know? I am! :)</div><div>Havin' dinner just now because I failed to eat mine earlier.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDO4rbH4HgTH6HT40zy4UbOL8wtz-yyTMMJD31MOmyBMQnXFWdVwj_xazpqSu242Bu90bZnqXRIbMzK4lwGaZHu6HC3lAxOI21ZFomwoDB7IoTqWUVQntCV1Mki8TzQdnp3vbv/s640/blogger-image-544952368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDO4rbH4HgTH6HT40zy4UbOL8wtz-yyTMMJD31MOmyBMQnXFWdVwj_xazpqSu242Bu90bZnqXRIbMzK4lwGaZHu6HC3lAxOI21ZFomwoDB7IoTqWUVQntCV1Mki8TzQdnp3vbv/s640/blogger-image-544952368.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-53585942305603090142014-01-18T11:56:00.001+08:002014-01-18T12:04:38.823+08:00Back on the Hamster Wheel<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-h65oRuYu1FQ/Utn9TjA0RbI/AAAAAAAAG-Q/LJCpFiCNcbo/s1600-h/hamster2%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="hamster2" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; float: none; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-left: auto; display: block; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" border="0" alt="hamster2" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-P-7UvJY8Z78/Utn9UxKWPyI/AAAAAAAAG-Y/BlLofHRemxc/hamster2_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="235" height="240"></a></p> <p>It is starting all over again.</p> <p>That stupid nightmare.</p> <p>I feel like a freaking hamster, running on that wheel, going nowhere, just desperately running and scrambling for dear life!</p> <p>Like a hamster, hoping it can get off. But no matter how much I run, I keep going back to the same place, ending up in the same place.</p> <p>I am hoping I could outrun all these fucked up emotions.</p> <p>I checked once. twice.</p> <p>Turned it off and on.</p> <p>Checked again in case it was on silent mode.</p> <p>I hate that. I hate checking. I hate waiting.</p> <p>I hate all the freakish emotions.</p> <p>I should not have started this again.</p> <p>I was already in a good place. I was happy. I was at peace. My mind was at peace, so was my heart. I knew where I belong. I knew where I should be. I want that. Desperately.</p> <p>I should just let it go. This is really confusing the hell out of me.</p> <p>I am going to let this go.</p> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-25106966154926544122014-01-18T03:27:00.001+08:002014-01-18T03:27:12.590+08:00How Am I?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1l0xt08AenJ_CsUs49sNYOmtQSwAImflzfeeyqA8NB7LHZnjMsvzOWPPoXp8Y4islDYZcsa_zjfP_Zmag7LLk3SzcH4l85tUcTqnE2LQkMubi_R4d4eFeFEGZBNLHUQm2aPyo/s640/blogger-image-10540981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1l0xt08AenJ_CsUs49sNYOmtQSwAImflzfeeyqA8NB7LHZnjMsvzOWPPoXp8Y4islDYZcsa_zjfP_Zmag7LLk3SzcH4l85tUcTqnE2LQkMubi_R4d4eFeFEGZBNLHUQm2aPyo/s640/blogger-image-10540981.jpg"></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-36775094240711796472014-01-15T02:24:00.001+08:002014-01-24T15:57:49.692+08:00Selfie Entry #NotEverEnding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Stressed. Sleepy all the effin' time! I have black circles around my eyes and breakouts. I can feel wrinkles literally appearing on my face. <br />
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This is what I have yet to finish for this month.</div>
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Why am I doing this again?</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-39890961723018619112014-01-13T23:30:00.000+08:002014-01-15T02:49:23.334+08:00Sleepyhead<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the life of me, I can't get my eyes to open long enough to read. I'm sleepy all the time - and to think, I've downed 5 cups of coffee today! :(<br />
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Erbe took this picture of me while I was "just closing my eyes". It took me more than an hour to open them again.</div>
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I'm screwed.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-34844224527178048492014-01-13T21:38:00.001+08:002014-01-13T21:38:44.971+08:00PDASo funny that a thing that was meant to destroy would do the exact opposite...<div><br></div><div>Still, I wish it didn't have to come to that...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFdAoK-FHGXJxPPcrTQuDIls_GjQy5EbJ_WMpS6cD4a9hja1UWJQXPwuKbgWYmFlPhbAAXrFcc7dG952wPkgCMNppTCKV2cD_pehxIH_dNlplzW5gKRaEPhpt8MK_bsC9zt9N/s640/blogger-image--1330212094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFdAoK-FHGXJxPPcrTQuDIls_GjQy5EbJ_WMpS6cD4a9hja1UWJQXPwuKbgWYmFlPhbAAXrFcc7dG952wPkgCMNppTCKV2cD_pehxIH_dNlplzW5gKRaEPhpt8MK_bsC9zt9N/s640/blogger-image--1330212094.jpg"></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-36151589579631090622014-01-13T05:12:00.001+08:002014-01-13T05:12:54.883+08:00Because the Shit Has Hit the Fan<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Mcdo at 4 in the morning.</span></div><div>Where do I go now? :(</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGylRhyphenhyphenFz-t1aPv87qbulGJl5MNrjM80AJ0igo_NYfTCoX3Z2n8h0BA09rN5ddyFx8BoYroyZqwH8tawLnCmT_vL1dTKQPMmqQyViO9wr0-yVk_Lzzqxq5FIp6mPBB0qt8CIVB/s640/blogger-image--1724472260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGylRhyphenhyphenFz-t1aPv87qbulGJl5MNrjM80AJ0igo_NYfTCoX3Z2n8h0BA09rN5ddyFx8BoYroyZqwH8tawLnCmT_vL1dTKQPMmqQyViO9wr0-yVk_Lzzqxq5FIp6mPBB0qt8CIVB/s640/blogger-image--1724472260.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnZHnDZEypRm3VCf-8ijjCdt9M5ymypKD-espndXmhldvYtl3XkGgdeVuFxbbsXkL9Q1gWE8AvploFbDPzZ_IWhdobMuCfoBWkvWV6fIRDhxshXCGNuNL40jU8yLrR1hV1yt8/s640/blogger-image-1228273933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnZHnDZEypRm3VCf-8ijjCdt9M5ymypKD-espndXmhldvYtl3XkGgdeVuFxbbsXkL9Q1gWE8AvploFbDPzZ_IWhdobMuCfoBWkvWV6fIRDhxshXCGNuNL40jU8yLrR1hV1yt8/s640/blogger-image-1228273933.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuw77EI87a69ZXfNCTy-2WiYZ2PULZCC5MzBxN2_v-74q1DtCPoHUeFM9XZ9RZxkyHA9RncWoBGmYth7rSR0auhJNddE0p_3Z73c4ugzMSM0VjVgs_LxIFiJYcc9JIgqAYjAiJ/s640/blogger-image-1291792076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuw77EI87a69ZXfNCTy-2WiYZ2PULZCC5MzBxN2_v-74q1DtCPoHUeFM9XZ9RZxkyHA9RncWoBGmYth7rSR0auhJNddE0p_3Z73c4ugzMSM0VjVgs_LxIFiJYcc9JIgqAYjAiJ/s640/blogger-image-1291792076.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9343298.post-13002505663152252442014-01-13T03:09:00.001+08:002014-01-13T03:09:49.434+08:002:54 AM<br><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfBHzVxoOF1VPICugjU_7lbC_-XNwiOoBbcBwKwRBZhHqxrDVsuYEHv6eLaZL5r1xPQYsSgpaMiqkm6bXagDN8c6NVCfReXG3Za28ctJUT73Anf0For0AAoqWOt4Am4cX1-JP/s640/blogger-image-706968251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfBHzVxoOF1VPICugjU_7lbC_-XNwiOoBbcBwKwRBZhHqxrDVsuYEHv6eLaZL5r1xPQYsSgpaMiqkm6bXagDN8c6NVCfReXG3Za28ctJUT73Anf0For0AAoqWOt4Am4cX1-JP/s640/blogger-image-706968251.jpg"></a><br><div><br><div>My 4th cup - no, 1st. After all. This is a new day.</div><div>It's the 13th of the month.</div><div>13th already. </div><div>Time flies so fast and I'm battling with time right now. I <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">am not there yet - emotionally, mentally, but spiritually? Oh I'm there! God must be so happy with me. He has never seen me this often in Church for the past 6 years.</span></div></div></div><div><br></div><div>I still feel like crap. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Recent events still affect me as much as I hope they wouldn't. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">really don't like dealing with an amoral douche. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Turned out that is exactly what I was dealing with. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Seriously! What's a couple of months?! </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So freaking weird. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So wrong in so many levels. And I can't even do anything about it?! I'm stuck and I can't say anything without gutting myself as well. Oh, well. I made my bed, I should sleep on it. And sleep I'll do now - literally. It's 3 in the morning and I have work tomorrow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Why the hell are you still reading my blog by the way?!</font></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0