<?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-1211796457587894855</id><updated>2011-07-07T16:49:46.204-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Define Happiness</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-8073048066827233039</id><published>2010-07-04T08:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T08:30:57.441-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday, July 04, 2010</title><content type='html'>I like maybe.  Maybe is safe because nothing is for certain.  Anything can happen in this lifetime.  I'd love to know how to trust but how does anyone really know for sure?  Yeah faith.  Well, I prefer maybe.  Its my way of being fair.  Its fifty fifty.  A way of protecting myself.  I can believe and also not believe.  The benefit of the doubt.  I hope because that's all I can have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-8073048066827233039?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/8073048066827233039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/07/sunday-july-04-2010.html#comment-form' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/8073048066827233039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/8073048066827233039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/07/sunday-july-04-2010.html' title='Sunday, July 04, 2010'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-5032687728049200302</id><published>2010-01-09T01:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T01:41:46.032-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturday, January 09, 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You last stopped here, 039. I thought it was nice that they took note, I appreciate it. But I remember it wasn't that far away. I remember it was much before that. I know that I had to go take care of the cat and mom took a look and then dad did. So yeah, why isn't there a possibility that the number was mixed up. I said I didn't, so I didn't. It would be nice if they took the benefit of the doubt. Then again, maybe I forgot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How stupid to be upset over something so petty?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I feel like when I am upset, its so very wrong? When other people start debating, yelling, degrading and shit? Its like I cannot be upset. I don't think I was very rude when I left the computer room. I just wanted things to proceed even when I am upset. I already made somewhat of a mess I guess. Yeah, that mess I made was just trying to defend the fact that I didn't stop at 039 and my two sisters insisted that is where I stopped?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its not about the pictures. I am upset because I feel like my word, my thought and my say doesn't count. I am upset because both sisters gang up on me and it didn't matter what I said because what I believe is wrong anyway. Its not the first time. I remember things through the years. I guess that just triggers old wounds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I know very well that there is a possibility that I am very wrong and it is 039 C:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-5032687728049200302?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/5032687728049200302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/01/saturday-january-09-2010.html#comment-form' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/5032687728049200302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/5032687728049200302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/01/saturday-january-09-2010.html' title='Saturday, January 09, 2010'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-7846020305073289369</id><published>2010-01-06T07:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T07:19:45.925-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, January 06, 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Am I truly ultimately happy..I sometimes wonder.. I suppose stuff happens to make me feel extremely sad..that I feel like I am not ultimately happy..when I actually am. I typed a couple more words and backspaced. I guess that's all. Maybe later, when I feel like it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-7846020305073289369?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/7846020305073289369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/01/wednesday-january-06-2010.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/7846020305073289369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/7846020305073289369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2010/01/wednesday-january-06-2010.html' title='Wednesday, January 06, 2010'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-1922126671847562869</id><published>2009-12-22T07:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T08:20:47.725-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, December 23, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I do not like being around boastful or proud people. I can't stand it. Its so awkward. How do you deal with people like that? I usually just stroke their ego so that they will feel better. I act stupid or become stupid. I feel intimidated. They enjoy the spotlight. When you talk to them about yourself, that topic will not drag on forever like theirs. They are probably only interested to know about you when it involves them "knowing first". So might as well shut up about yourself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I feel like just ignoring these people. Why don't I just severe my ties with these people? Ah, sometimes I wish I could do that. But with the bad, there's the good. No one is perfect. So I guess I gotta remember that before I start ignoring these people. I think the best thing to do is just to somehow distant yourself from them but be there for them too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Expect nothing. I always tell myself to expect nothing from anyone...  Plus why expect something that I can't exactly give -- although I do try my best in that department --. I don't wanna expect. People get hurt expecting. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-1922126671847562869?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/1922126671847562869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/12/wednesday-december-23-2009.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/1922126671847562869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/1922126671847562869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/12/wednesday-december-23-2009.html' title='Wednesday, December 23, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-2557924372711243238</id><published>2009-12-16T08:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:43:19.616-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday, December 17, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was thinking of deleting my blog. Again. I guess I'll just leave it here. Lately, I feel very off. That feeling has been gradually building. I just cannot put into words how I feel. I guess what really changed things was when I got sick (mild sickness) and my mom was angry and upset because it will cost money. From that, I have decided that I shall only ask for money when I truly need it. I shall not buy any Christmas presents with my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;parent's&lt;/span&gt; money. My mom wanted to get me something today but I made some excuse up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't blame her. She has a lot to worry about. I do admit, I should take better care of my health, I should sleep earlier I guess. I would sleep early if I could but I can't. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am tired of putting on a show for people who clearly do not deserve any form of attention from anyone. I am tired of caring the way I used to care about people in general. I am tired of paying attention to my emotions. I am tired of using my parent's money. I am tired of being a burden. I am tired of crying.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I shall only keep in touch with people who are worthwhile. Sure, when I see an old friend, I'll say, "hey". I'll smile. I may ask you "how you doing"? But I am not gonna go around hugging you and shit if you never actually liked me. If I ever posted any Facebook comments like, "oh I miss you" or "its been so long". Well, that was very stupid of me. I seriously wanna stop doing that shit. That's only meant for people who deserve it. I'll be polite. I'll talk to you if you talk to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I hated my primary school life. Six years of hell. I was such an idiot. It was all so embarassing. I remember crying for my mom when I was in primary one. I didn't want to be left alone. So so silly. Oh well. In time I got used to things. I think that I was too stupid and too nice to people. If I get bullied now, well, it was worse back then. The girls would mess with my hair. They'd take my lunch. Tease me. Man I hated it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also hated high school. Another 5 years of hell. I hated how I slowly fell apart in my studies. I couldn't do anything about it or rather I wasn't strong enough to handle it. I hated making my parents sad and worried about my grades. I hated how 99.9% of the girls were all power hungry. They were all so interested in being the star of the school and shit. All so dramatic and shit. I seriously do not find anything significant in St.Francis. All I remember were the whiny b*tches, dirty toilets, disgusting canteen, crappy old buildings, stupid rules, and of course my stupid grades. I am disgusted with myself if I ever participated in anything that would label me as power hungry. I doubt it anyway, I was plain jane. I am still plain jane but more wise I guess. Yes, I guess. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I feel like my whole existence is a waste of time, money, energy, oxygen, and whatever's similar to that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wished that I was not born. It would mean less money spent. Less energy. Less worrying. Less trouble. Less burden. Less carbon dioxide and less carbon monoxide (coming soon). HAHA. Less a lot of bad things. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-2557924372711243238?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/2557924372711243238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/12/thursday-december-17-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2557924372711243238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2557924372711243238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/12/thursday-december-17-2009.html' title='Thursday, December 17, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-2807612842873792908</id><published>2009-10-11T22:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T22:59:56.642-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday, October 12, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've been wanting to write about this. Have you ever had a friend who uses you? Someone who just calls you when they need your help but treats you like shit. Yes, we all have those friends. Its fine to complain about them. They are a bunch of asses afterall. But why bother complaining about them and saying that "enough is enough" when the next thing you do is help them out. I admit I have done that and I probably still do it. But my opinions and ideas about friends have changed in the recent years. I'll make as much excuses as I can but if I get a chance to dump these sorry asses, I will.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-2807612842873792908?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/2807612842873792908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/10/monday-october-12-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2807612842873792908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2807612842873792908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/10/monday-october-12-2009.html' title='Monday, October 12, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-516095553161751089</id><published>2009-10-03T23:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T04:41:41.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday, 04 October, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've been wanting to write about this particular topic for a while now. "Friends".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I recall one time where you wanted me to try smoking some shisha. I don't smoke anything. All I smoke is oxygen. I also remember telling you that I don't drink -- which I don't but do so only occassionally like Christmas -- and you said something like this, "but at Oscar's birthday you minum juga tu". I felt sensitive when you said that. It was as though I was lying? That is one of the very very rare occasions. I do like sacramental wine, sherry and screwdrivers afterall. That is alcohol but I really don't drink much. It was as though I was lying? I mean I told you that when we were at the "getting to know each other" stage.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;We went out one night to Cempaka Square. I remember that I was sensitive -- yea I know, a lot of sensitive issues -- because I was teased for wanting milo. I felt sad that you were teasing along with them too. I felt like you should support me. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I talked to you about it when we were in front of 7/11 waiting for Memah and Affidz to talk it out in the car. We ended up arguing and when we dropped you home, you left without saying goodbye. I wanted to get out of the car and say goodbye but you walked away. You said afterwards that you thought I didn't want to say goodbye. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;We talked more about the "milo" topic. I think -- as I am not sure -- that on that day itself Rajpal made things worse. I remember this one particular thing you said very clearly. You talked about how sensitive I was and said something like "how la this when we're with my friends". Don't worry, you will never have to worry about what your friends think of me because I will act in front of them. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I felt sad when you said that. It was as though you were worried about how they perceive me instead of how I feel. Sure I would probably be somewhat affected if they were in any way unfair towards me. But I would be silent about it for your sake and because it would be inappropriate to make an issue of it in front of them. Afterall, I care more about what you think of me rather than what other people think of me. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;From what you tell me, they don't treat you very well. Well, they don't deserve your friendship. They don't deserve your presence. They are -- forgive me for saying this -- a bunch of low class @ssh*les. You are in my opinion above them. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Its alright if someone finds me boring. I don't really care. So what if I wanted milo over beer or margarita? That is my right and my choice. If people have a problem with that, they can skidaddle. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Sure if I am surrounded by people who are drinking and smoking, and if they start pressuring me, I have the choice to say no thank you or not be there in the first place. But if I get caught there anyway, they will just have to understand that I don't drink or smoke.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I feel that I am a loner and to be honest, that is fine with me. I am not saying that I am a complete loner because I do enjoy company but I just stopped enjoying company from my friends. It started when I was 13 I believe. It just gradually went down hill from there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Don't get me wrong, I do think and believe to a certain degree that friends are good. Some "can" be dependable, loving, loyal, interesting and whatever you can hope for in a friend. I am neutral, I try my best to be nice to anyone but I just don't click with anyone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I mean who wants to be friends with plain jane? Who wants to be friends with someone who gets nervous when talking? Who wants to be friends with someone who stays home all the time? Who wants to be friends with someone who doesn't go clubbing or drinking? Hey, isn't it the norm now to be out drinking, clubbing, smoking and what not. People are so shallow.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;My policy is, you like me, I like you. If you don't, that's okay. I will still try to be my best to be nice to you but I am not gonna change myself. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I do have three friends I usually go to the mall or cinema with. But when I am with them, sometimes I feel like they leave me behind. They walk ahead of me or they talk without me. They tease me for being "blur" and gullible, and they tease me for not being good in Malay which by the way I think is completely useless because English is an international language. It used to somewhat bother me that they treat me this way but not anymore. I do care for them but I am just there for obligation now. Afterall, I doubt they really want me around. There is this one other very decent friend whom I don't see but just chat with. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I believe my feelings of not fitting in with people has always been there, even when I was much younger and I know it will always be there. It used to be so difficult to handle but now its okay. I prefer spending time with my little sister. Although she can be bitchy at times -- yea sometimes I wanna "pok giakai tiu" -- she is what I call a true friend. More than a friend, she is my sister. I can be who I am in front of her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Apart from Nadia, there is &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. I do truly enjoy your company as well. I can be myself but I admit that I'm still working on that. But for the most part, you are there for me in many ways. You are a sweet boy and I hope that you will always be sweet. I do remember what it was like otherwise. I want you to know that I do appreciate you. I do know that I am emotional and sensitive. I am sorry if there are so many negative stuff but I vent here. I have a lot pent up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That took a while. Lack of privacy. Oh well. I have more to write but maybe another time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-516095553161751089?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/516095553161751089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/10/sunday-04-october-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/516095553161751089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/516095553161751089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/10/sunday-04-october-2009.html' title='Sunday, 04 October, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-5068527217984551567</id><published>2009-09-30T07:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T07:30:35.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, 30 September, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My computer's clock is all wrong so ignore the time posted at the bottom. I forgot how to put space out paragraphs so I used these things *&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-5068527217984551567?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/5068527217984551567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-30-september-2009_30.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/5068527217984551567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/5068527217984551567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-30-september-2009_30.html' title='Wednesday, 30 September, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-8208526425510972702</id><published>2009-09-30T04:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T07:22:43.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, 30 September, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I hate him so much. I cannot stand his presence. I cannot stand the sight or sound or smell of him. I will rather shoot myself in the head or stab myself in the chest than go through this shit again. His anger, constant repeating and selfishness - yes that's just 3 traits out of infinity and beyond - is effecting me and will effect all the days of my life.&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;Today, he must've told me that the computer guy, Din, is coming over like 10 times. I appreciate that he is concern about the computer but for F's sake why can't he just tell me 5 times, 3 perhaps?&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;When Nadia was late for tution, his need for punctuality coupled with hunger is a recipe for - as quoted from Monsters Vs. Aliens - total annihilation. When he came home, I rushed to the kitchen to get things in order and - shit - the air-conditioner was not switched on. Mom mentioned earlier that she will put the food away because she doesn't want it to get cold, ah but her efforts were wasted because the air-conditioner was not switched on. I was thinking to myself...but the kitchen feels warm but I suppose my mind was just packed with a load of shit for me to realise that it was in fact not switched on. Too late. I realised it when he got back. Oh was he pissed. So I just went ahead and said I forgot so that it will lessen the load of crap coming out of his mouth. He started saying things anyway.&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;"Oh you didn't switch on the air-con"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh you didn't switch on the air-con"&lt;br /&gt;"So hot"&lt;br /&gt;"What to do...wait la"&lt;br /&gt;"You didn't switch on the air-con .. or Debra forgot she said"&lt;br /&gt;"Nevermind, what to do"&lt;br /&gt;"Wait la"&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;He went on to talk about Nadia, "she said not to hurry". My mom replied, "yes because you're always in a hurry". He paused and - I don't have to look at his face to know he is pissed - said, "I am concern about her education and you tell me that I'm in a hurry...p*kitai..I am concern about her education and you tell me that I'm in a hurry..f*ck...okay let's say prayer". I sped through the prayer. After that, once again he said, "I am concern about her education and you tell me that I'm in a hurry..kasian juga ngai".&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;After a while, he cooled down when my mom cooed him and fed him like a baby. He started talking about other things. His rage clearly gone. Yeah... How the F am I suppose to get over that shit just like that?&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;I should also mention that he does have his goodness. He does love his family. He puts a roof over our heads. The only thing he is good for is providing. Unfortunately, it just cannot balance the scale, his flaws are overweighing his goodness. But I still love him.&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;I decided to start writing again because I felt like I needed a place to vent. I do have someone to listen to what I say but I sometimes feel like I am talking to the wall. When I talk about how annoying someone is or about how stressed I am, there is response but not much. Which makes me wonder if I am responsive enough when you do confide in me. I hope I am.&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I will write again after this post. Maybe I will. I think I'm comfortable with you reading now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-8208526425510972702?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/8208526425510972702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-30-september-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/8208526425510972702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/8208526425510972702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-30-september-2009.html' title='Wednesday, 30 September, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-2649638616000097161</id><published>2009-09-30T00:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T06:05:37.595-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, September 30, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Everyone take words for granted. I know I do but I believe that I try my best to use my words well and as gently as possible. I don't know if its just me but I feel like I look too much into how people talk to me and I should just let it slide. Well, not everyone but just the precious few like my family. Then again, I care about what "&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;" say the most. Afterall, &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;if&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I do get married, I'm not marrying my family. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-To be continued -&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had to stop writing because I had no privacy. I'm tired of caring about something that's petty or meaningless to others. I'm tired of getting sensitive over how things are said. I get hurt too easily and I stress too much. Well that figures. After crying myself to sleep, - I'm a crybaby - my mom said I was grinding my teeth this morning. Nadia said her face was just inches away from mine... Man I must have looked so ugly! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I probably seem whiny but I assure you, I'm not that bad. I do appreciate my life. I'm happy that I have a beautiful home, food on the table, clean water, nice clothes, a bed to sleep in and the list goes on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-2649638616000097161?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/2649638616000097161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-september-30-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2649638616000097161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/2649638616000097161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/wednesday-september-30-2009.html' title='Wednesday, September 30, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211796457587894855.post-3738987633098051027</id><published>2009-09-29T08:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T06:05:42.374-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuesday, September 29, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I can't think of a more creative title. So I think I'll just put dates down for now even though I think the dates are provided. I have had this blog for almost a year now. I deleted my first and only post, I can't even remember what it was about now. I keep deleting my blogs because after a while, I feel that there is no reason to write. I suppose I somewhat hated the way I wrote and I didn't need to be reminded of how silly or stupid things were in the past. I'm afraid that I don't wow you my dear reader but I think I will just write the way I want to. It is afterall a place of venting for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Anyway, I think I shall write about a dream I had yesterday. I remember only vaguely what happened in the dream. I was outside and Nadia was being annoying and rude. I came into the house and she stayed at the patio. I called her over and we walked into the kitchen. My mom was seated at the table and two old ladies were there cutting vegetables at the counter. I was standing by the table and Nadia sat down. I started scolding her about how rude she was. Then my mom interrupted me, she wanted us to greet our grand-aunty. I don't really like this lady but I greeted her anyway. She turned around and greeted us as well but the other lady didn't. She was silent the whole time. I realised she was actually my grandmother, I knew that was her the whole time but I only realised that after being awake from my dream for a few minutes. I find it funny but sad. You were there and we knew it but why didn't we greet you too? Why didn't my mom tell us to greet you like she usually does. I suppose that's because you are not here anymore and we know that. My mom dreamt of you too. Does it mean you are here in our home? Well I hope so. We were more gentle if not gentlest compared to the other idiots.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am now following Nadia's blog. Yes you may read me now litto sis. Take a journey through your sister's mind once in a while C:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211796457587894855-3738987633098051027?l=sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/feeds/3738987633098051027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/tuesday-september-29-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/3738987633098051027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211796457587894855/posts/default/3738987633098051027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sergeantcuddles.blogspot.com/2009/09/tuesday-september-29-2009.html' title='Tuesday, September 29, 2009'/><author><name>Cadet Cuddles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02333121961632040215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='15' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KlzjbmiozF0/SpKrH0zKMFI/AAAAAAAAAA0/7GhRrE1vhO8/S220/lips.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
