<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429</id><updated>2009-10-14T12:01:54.519+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying to Make Sense of it All</title><subtitle type='html'>30 years in existence.. there must be something I learned.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>43</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-8682639695900157303</id><published>2007-07-16T22:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T22:17:22.982+08:00</updated><title type='text'>only after...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;it is only after a busy day in the office ends..&lt;br /&gt;only after i've packed my things..&lt;br /&gt;only after we walk silently towards your car..&lt;br /&gt;only after you hold my hand tightly..&lt;br /&gt;only after our lingering kiss goodbye..&lt;br /&gt;only after i see you driving away...&lt;br /&gt;it is only then that i allow the sadness to settle in.&lt;br /&gt;it is only when i let myself feel the emptiness of my soul.&lt;br /&gt;it is only the time i let the tears fall quietly,&lt;br /&gt;wishing on every drop that things were different between us.&lt;br /&gt;but it's not.. and it will never be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-8682639695900157303?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/8682639695900157303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=8682639695900157303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8682639695900157303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8682639695900157303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/07/only-after.html' title='only after...'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-1780404539059931910</id><published>2007-07-12T17:44:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T18:15:00.568+08:00</updated><title type='text'>take me away</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;i am exhausted, and that is still an understatement. i need to be alone for a while and relieve myself of the stress and pressure of work, deal with my inner struggles and muster enough courage to face the consequences of my actions. i wish i could just pack my bags and leave the city for a while. go to the beach maybe, or hide somewhere, i don't care. i just need to get away. can someone take me, please?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-1780404539059931910?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/1780404539059931910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=1780404539059931910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1780404539059931910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1780404539059931910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/07/take-me-away.html' title='take me away'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-6606856159455811562</id><published>2007-07-11T19:30:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-07-11T19:37:06.629+08:00</updated><title type='text'>calling you mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;i sit here in my usual spot, having my morning coffee and cigarette. i watch the people hurrying to get to work - anxious to start a day of paper-pushing. while i try to enjoy the silence and the loneliness that eventually settles in, i push aside memories of you that come every now and then. it steals a minute or two from my silent reverie, wanting me to remember.. as if remembering you can actually make you mine. well... maybe you are... in my heart, you will always be mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-6606856159455811562?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/6606856159455811562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=6606856159455811562' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/6606856159455811562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/6606856159455811562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/07/calling-you-mine.html' title='calling you mine'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-7623793370657474860</id><published>2007-07-10T18:58:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T19:10:27.708+08:00</updated><title type='text'>daydreaming</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;this morning, i pretended i was having coffee with you. i imagined you sitting across the table, sharing a moment to express our thoughts. this morning, amidst the noise of early traffic and the street that is slowly coming to life, i imagined seeing you smiling at me. i saw your hand reached out for mine, unmindful of the people around us. you told me how much you miss me, even if i am just inches away. you held my hand, your fingers intertwined with mine. this morning, i imagined we were free and we were together. i closed my eyes to savor the moment and when i opened them again, you were gone. there was no trace of you except for the dull aching i felt inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-7623793370657474860?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/7623793370657474860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=7623793370657474860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/7623793370657474860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/7623793370657474860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/07/daydreaming.html' title='daydreaming'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-1851748332582862769</id><published>2007-07-08T22:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T23:18:43.229+08:00</updated><title type='text'>complicated affair</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i never meant for this to happen. i never planned to let things get this far. when i entered this affair, i knew where my place was. i had kept my emotions at bay lest i forget reality. it was a game i'm supposed to know how to play. but ever since i started spending more time with him, i find myself losing control.. and so is he.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he broke our silent, mutual agreement. he opened the dam of emotions that's been building inside us that we had no choice but to let it go. everyday, he tells me he misses me when i'm away. everyday, he tells me how much he's wishing i was with him, beside him. everyday, he would go out of his way to show me how much he cares about me. when he holds my hand, i feel that he doesn't want to let me go. when he looks at me, it is with so much longing that it makes me want to forget all else just to be with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but i haven't forgotten.. no.. everyday, i am reminded by the ring on his finger that he has a family. everyday, i am reminded by the stories he shares about his children. and everyday, whenever we kiss each other goodbye, i am reminded that he will never be mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-1851748332582862769?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/1851748332582862769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=1851748332582862769' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1851748332582862769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1851748332582862769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-never-meant-for-this-to-happen.html' title='complicated affair'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-8555120504028876144</id><published>2007-06-26T22:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T23:52:18.916+08:00</updated><title type='text'>envy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;an overheard telephone conversation..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"i'm still in the office.. but wait for me, ok? i'm just finishing things here.. (pause) i'm not sure how long it will take... (pause) are you sure? it's raining.. do you have an umbrella with you? (pause)...... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;yes, it was my engineer talking to his wife. i didn't mean to listen, but i was waiting for someone who was waiting for him to finish with his phonecall. i didn't hear the end of it though. i needed a break so i went out to have a smoke and spend some time alone. when i went back, i saw him at the lobby with his things, waiting for the elevator. we were both surprised to see each other that we didn't even talk. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i received a text message from him a few minutes after. he said he had to go home to pick up his wife. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i felt disappointed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i wanted what i overheard in that conversation. no, i'm not wishing i was his wife or anything like that.  i just wanted the idea of having someone caring for me and worrying about me the way he did with his wife. someone who would drop whatever he was doing so he could keep the promise he made. it's been a while since i last felt genuine concern from anyone. i sulked the rest of the night that i didn't text him back. i suddenly felt the big void that's been hovering my life for the past years. i felt empty and lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the next day, i tried to treat him with nonchalance, willing myself to stay away so as not to cause myself more disappointment. but he suddenly pulled me aside and asked why i didn't text him back the night before. i came up with an acceptable excuse and he smiled with relief. he was worried and thought i was angry with him over something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe there's no need for me to feel envious after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-8555120504028876144?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/8555120504028876144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=8555120504028876144' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8555120504028876144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8555120504028876144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/06/envy.html' title='envy'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-313730351377976235</id><published>2007-06-25T21:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-06-26T22:37:43.820+08:00</updated><title type='text'>making things work</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;the fiance and i haven't been in good terms lately. i can't remember the last time we ever had a conversation without ending into an argument over something i couldn't recall after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7 years we've been together. we separated twice and i still found myself going back to him both times. he promised me marriage on several occasions, but it seems the chances of it ever happening is nil. the longer i wait, the harder it becomes for both of us to make this work. i don't want to believe that i made a mistake... i've lived most of my life without regrets, i don't want it happening now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we have our differences. and for some strange reason, we can't seem to come up with any compromise to make these differences unnoticable. i'm beginning to wonder if we were really meant to spend a lifetime together... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm running out of tears.. and he's running out of excuses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-313730351377976235?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/313730351377976235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=313730351377976235' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/313730351377976235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/313730351377976235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/06/making-things-work.html' title='making things work'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-307354160438747157</id><published>2007-06-25T16:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T18:41:25.318+08:00</updated><title type='text'>i am tired</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;since i moved to our main office, i found myself overwhelmed with my new surroundings. i am now dealing with more people and should they decide to pester me with their questions, they can just walk over to my little cubicle and fire away. i would have 2 to 3 people asking me different things at the same time that i am seriously considering giving them numbers and ask them to wait until they are called. i have, after all, spent one year of my employment with this company tucked away in a small unit they called "the warehouse" with only 3 men as my officemates.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;for the past three weeks, i have been spending more than 8 hours at work, 6 days a week. i come in before 8am and punch out no earlier than 8pm. i would spend my day entertaining queries on the status of shipments, following-up deliveries, answering emails and doing what my boss would ask me to do. i hardly have the time anymore to surf the net, let alone update my blog. by the time i get home, i would be so exhausted and hungry, with a nagging headache to remind me of the stress that i had just gone through.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;but this doesn't come without any consolation. aside from the extra cash i get from doing OT, i also get to spend more time with my engineer (yes, this is about him!). i now see him everyday. though we don't really talk the whole day, we still manage to spend lunch time together with the other guys. when almost everyone's gone home, we'd take a break to have dinner. and when it's time to leave, it has become routine for him to drop me off at galleria where i take my ride home. it's just a five-minute drive from our office, but it is the only time we are actually alone - together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i don't know how long i can keep my strength in coping with the daily stress of being part of this company, or if being with my engineer can compensate for the exhaustion of having to deal with so many issues and problems that seem to come my way relentlessly. i can only hope and wish things to be better. meanwhile, i need to save energy for the coming weeks.. we'll be moving to another location again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-307354160438747157?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/307354160438747157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=307354160438747157' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/307354160438747157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/307354160438747157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/06/i-am-tired.html' title='i am tired'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-173539373993243424</id><published>2007-05-25T09:01:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-25T09:06:01.026+08:00</updated><title type='text'>never again by kelly clarkson</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;*iris, i know you don't like it when song lyrics are posted in blogs, but i just had to post this! :) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope the ring you gave to her&lt;br /&gt;Turns her finger green&lt;br /&gt;I hope when you're in bed with her&lt;br /&gt;You think of me&lt;br /&gt;I would never wish bad things&lt;br /&gt;But I don't wish you well&lt;br /&gt;Could you tell&lt;br /&gt;By the flames that burned your words&lt;br /&gt;I never read your letter&lt;br /&gt;Cause I knew what you'd say&lt;br /&gt;Give me that Sunday school answer&lt;br /&gt;Try and make it all okay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[CHORUS:]&lt;br /&gt;Does it hurt to know I'll never be there?&lt;br /&gt;Bet it sucks to see my face everywhere&lt;br /&gt;It was you who chose to end it like you did&lt;br /&gt;I was the last to know&lt;br /&gt;You knew exactly what you would do&lt;br /&gt;Don't say you simply lost your way&lt;br /&gt;She may believe you&lt;br /&gt;But I never will&lt;br /&gt;Never again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she really knows the truth&lt;br /&gt;She deserves you&lt;br /&gt;A trophy wife, oh how cute&lt;br /&gt;Ignorance is bliss&lt;br /&gt;But when your day comes&lt;br /&gt;And he's through with you&lt;br /&gt;And he'll be through with you&lt;br /&gt;You'll die together, but alone&lt;br /&gt;You wrote me in a letter&lt;br /&gt;You couldn't say it right to my face&lt;br /&gt;Give me that Sunday school answer&lt;br /&gt;Repent yourself away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[CHORUS:]&lt;br /&gt;Does it hurt to know I'll never be there?&lt;br /&gt;Bet it sucks to see my face everywhere&lt;br /&gt;It was you who chose to end it like you did&lt;br /&gt;I was the last to know&lt;br /&gt;You knew exactly what you would do&lt;br /&gt;Don't say you simply lost your way&lt;br /&gt;They may believe you&lt;br /&gt;But I never will&lt;br /&gt;Never again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I hear you&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I miss you&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I fall to you&lt;br /&gt;Never&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I kiss you&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I want to&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I love you&lt;br /&gt;Never!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[CHORUS:]&lt;br /&gt;Does it hurt to know I'll never be there?&lt;br /&gt;Bet it sucks to see my face everywhere&lt;br /&gt;It was you who chose to end it like you did&lt;br /&gt;I was the last to know&lt;br /&gt;You knew exactly what you would do&lt;br /&gt;Don't say you simply lost your way&lt;br /&gt;They may believe you&lt;br /&gt;But I never will&lt;br /&gt;I never will&lt;br /&gt;I never will&lt;br /&gt;Never again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-173539373993243424?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/173539373993243424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=173539373993243424' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/173539373993243424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/173539373993243424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/never-again.html' title='never again by kelly clarkson'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-304030241615034196</id><published>2007-05-24T17:01:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T17:01:47.678+08:00</updated><title type='text'>boradise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I miss the long walks on the beach.. the feel of the sand and water. I miss the strong wind blowing against my face... I miss the waves... the men flying.. I miss the hand that held mine.. I miss the arms that kept me warm.. but most of all, I miss the one I couldn't call mine....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-304030241615034196?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/304030241615034196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=304030241615034196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/304030241615034196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/304030241615034196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/boradise.html' title='boradise'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-3435201781526748758</id><published>2007-05-24T17:00:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T17:00:56.529+08:00</updated><title type='text'>almost paradise</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;       &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;She thought that paradise can make him learn to love her.. but paradise wasn't enough. Instead, it was the other way around. She fell in love with paradise and with him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Half the time she feels he's wishing he were with someone else... but maybe so was she.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-3435201781526748758?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/3435201781526748758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=3435201781526748758' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3435201781526748758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3435201781526748758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/almost-paradise.html' title='almost paradise'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-5540108969738529193</id><published>2007-05-24T16:57:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T16:59:07.630+08:00</updated><title type='text'>no more</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;       &lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have no more tears to cry for you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I spent them all the last time you broke my heart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I wasted my day yesterday just thinking about you,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;wondering why I let myself fall for the same lines.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have no more interest in seeing you again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I heard your voice this morning and I felt nothing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I laughed and I joked and I teased,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;but if you were sensitive enough, you'd know that they're not real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have no more words to say to you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I said them all when I laid my heart out to you to trample on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have no more love to offer you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I will not give you the power to hurt me again....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;No more.... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;this time, I will let you go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-5540108969738529193?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/5540108969738529193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=5540108969738529193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5540108969738529193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5540108969738529193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/no-more.html' title='no more'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-5749957677090900298</id><published>2007-05-24T09:08:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T10:21:42.512+08:00</updated><title type='text'>coffee and cigarette</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i found myself smoking early this morning while having coffee. i don't usually have my first cigarette until after eating lunch, but today i was compelled to drag on a stick, hoping it would alleviate the loneliness i was beginning to feel. i think i woke up at the wrong side of the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or maybe it's because i received another text message from the lawyer guy this morning, asking me if i was free to meet him for lunch today. i said no, of course, and he had the nerve to ask me why. or maybe it's the way my youngest sister mercilessly teased me on the way to work about how unpretty i am compared to her and my other sister. sometimes, i just get tired of hearing people say that that i am starting believe it. or maybe it's because i have reports to submit and deadlines to meet and i have not started anything yet. i am blogging away instead... or maybe, just maybe, it's because i am missing something - or someone - and my heart is starting to long for it. *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this is one of those days when coffee, cigarettes and blogging are not enough to ease the feeling of loneliness and fill the emptiness of my soul...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-5749957677090900298?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/5749957677090900298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=5749957677090900298' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5749957677090900298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5749957677090900298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/coffee-and-cigarette.html' title='coffee and cigarette'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-2077577874157696661</id><published>2007-05-22T23:33:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-22T23:51:14.334+08:00</updated><title type='text'>painting a picture of you</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i want to create a picture of you in my head. i want to remember..... how you nudged me when you finally sat beside me in the van. and when i looked at you, you gave me that secret smile. you pretended to talk to A who was seated at the back, while casually stretching your arms so it would rest on my shoulders, and i didn't pull away. it was your first attempt to show me affection in public, and i wanted to savor it. i felt your hand stroking my neck, touching my ears. i had to restrain myself from touching you as well. then you rested your cheek on my right shoulder, while playing with my hair, and you said how glad you are that you were with me. all this, with J and A inside the van too. when we got to the office, i saw how you hesitated to leave when they called you to eat. you looked at me and asked if i weren't coming. if i had not made earlier arrangements, i would have gladly gone with you. you gave me a lingering look, and raised your hand to say goodbye...  ah, yes... i want to paint a picture of this day in my head as it may never happen again. i want to remember how, for one day, i felt that it was possible you could love me too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-2077577874157696661?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/2077577874157696661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=2077577874157696661' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2077577874157696661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2077577874157696661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/painting-picture-of-you.html' title='painting a picture of you'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-6199110934437752710</id><published>2007-05-21T13:05:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T18:04:37.655+08:00</updated><title type='text'>burning</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;today, i got the chance to be near you again. and being in the same place with you burns me. it took so much strength to keep myself from reaching out and touch you, knowing that if i do, i may not be able to stop. the longing i have to be with you always has become tangible, that i can now taste your mouth on mine every time i close my eyes. it isn't supposed to be this way. i did not plan to let my emotions free, and yet, here i am, agonizing over the fact that i have not been with you for quite a while. how do i let go now? how did i let myself forget that you could really never be mine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-6199110934437752710?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/6199110934437752710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=6199110934437752710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/6199110934437752710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/6199110934437752710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/today-i-got-chance-to-be-near-you-again.html' title='burning'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-1573146835509887762</id><published>2007-05-18T13:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T13:02:14.255+08:00</updated><title type='text'>i got bruises to show, but i survived!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;May 16 saw my family and me travel from Manila to Sta. Rosa, Laguna to celebrate Kevin's 9th birthday in Enchanted Kingdom. yep, it was the celebran&lt;/span&gt;t's request, so we happily obliged. we all braved the heat at 2:30 pm because we didn't have the right sense to bring an umbrella, unlike my mom, who casually brought out hers and walked with her chin up and a smirk on her face! shheesh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;our first stop was the paintball thingy. we've always w&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;anted to try it out. how hard could it be to shoot at someone, right?? wrong! the shooting itself was effortless.. you just point, close your eyes, pull the trigger and pray you hit someone - or something! but it was the heat that got to us... and the fear of actually getting &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;hit by the paintball! now that was scary. after a few minutes, it was over. my sister, kevin's mom, had a huge bruise on her right elbow! nnngrrr! apparently, she got hit by my fiance, while hiding behind a huge balloon wall! imagine that?? we all went out of the field laughing and exhausted, specially when my mom showed us our picture.. we all &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;looked like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! hahaha!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RlEjOJPiNZI/AAAAAAAAABc/D-7Y0_lOVKA/s1600-h/IMG_0003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RlEjOJPiNZI/AAAAAAAAABc/D-7Y0_lOVKA/s200/IMG_0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066869781674734994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;next was the flying fiesta... now, i particularly do not have a fear of heights. but heights combined with swinging around while on an angle is a different story! surprisingly though, i did not scream nor let out a single peep.. i just sat there. my eyes and mouth wide open, silently praying that it be over soon. after 2 minutes or so, my prayer was answered and we slowly descended. if flying would be like that, then i'd rather stick to walking, thank you very much!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RlEjf5PiNaI/AAAAAAAAABk/CMyJbicMbPk/s1600-h/IMG_0019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RlEjf5PiNaI/AAAAAAAAABk/CMyJbicMbPk/s200/IMG_0019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066870086617413026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;and now the highlight of the trip... they made me ride the popular space shuttle! my mom literally pushed me to join my siblings and fiance.. the nerve of that woman! had i died that time, it would be on her conscience! hmp! i didn't die, of course. but they saw me white-faced, teary-eyed and with quivering jaws. i think my fiance felt guilty because he looked concerned when he asked me if i wanted to go down? he asks me after the "seatbelts" have been locked??? duh?! no, i didn't go down either. i just sat there, forever cursing at my fiance, and closed my eyes tightly. when the ride started, i started screaming. i held my fiance's hand so hard  i think i broke his pinky.. serves him right for forcing me to ride the damn shuttle.. but in less than 1 minute, it was over. unfortunately, i have no pictures to show. no evidence of my bravery, but still, it was an experience i will never forget. i have bruises on both my elbows, probably from trying keep myself upright the whole time. i promised myself that the next time i ride, i would keep my eyes open. what could i possibly see in less than a minute, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the rest of the day was spent trying out the other rides. i had to excuse myself from riding Anchor's Away. like i said, i don't like swinging (and i mean that literally.. haha!). we went bump car driving, which wasn't really that much fun for me, and rode the roller skates - which only lasted for 30 seconds i think. and of course, the grand carousel where my mom finally consented into riding. the last we tried was the rio grande. and we all left the amusement park soaking wet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it was a good day for all of us, specially for kevin, who also braved Anchor's Away... (clap, clap!) now, i'm actually considering spending my 31st birthday in Enchanted Kingdom! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-1573146835509887762?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1573146835509887762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/1573146835509887762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-got-bruises-to-show-but-i-survived.html' title='i got bruises to show, but i survived!'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RlEjOJPiNZI/AAAAAAAAABc/D-7Y0_lOVKA/s72-c/IMG_0003.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-5367109154808738164</id><published>2007-05-18T11:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T13:05:46.381+08:00</updated><title type='text'>lawyer, liar!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;my lawyer guy - no, wait.. let me correct that - THE lawyer guy is used to having relationships with married and/or separated women. he lives off their vulnerability, savoring the lavish attention these women bestow him (not to mention the material things he gets from them). he, in turn, makes them feel he's god's answer to their problems. he would make these women believe he loves them, when in reality, he doesn't really know how to love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after we "separated", he was with a woman whose marriage was falling apart. he didn't really tell me this, but i did find out that she was the reason he decided to leave home and rent a small room somewhere near their place. they were having an affair and it was going to be their tryst. i thought it had ended when i learned he started seeing someone new. but as fate and luck would have it, i just found out that they're back together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm not judging him, because i don't want to be judged either. but knowing what i know now makes me shudder a little. he's living a life full of lies. he would waste his time, effort and little of his money just to make a woman believe that he's telling the truth. it has become a cycle for him - after a year or so with someone, he gets restless and starts looking for a new target. he would then again go through the motions, like a con artist would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can't believe how some women would fall for his act - i did once, and it's something i'm not proud of, but lessons must be learned the hard way. he's not even good in bed, for crying out loud! he's an amateur pretending to be a pro.. a con artist indeed. now, i just find myself feeling lucky somehow, that i was able to detach myself from him before i got burned. pity his new conquests... :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-5367109154808738164?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/5367109154808738164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=5367109154808738164' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5367109154808738164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/5367109154808738164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/lawyer-liar.html' title='lawyer, liar!'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-3320905816133297787</id><published>2007-05-18T08:18:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T08:34:05.381+08:00</updated><title type='text'>missing you</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;i am missing you, when i know i'm not supposed to..&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you would mean that i am starting to long for something more than what i have now&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you would mean that i want something i can never have&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you would complicate things, and we both know we don't do complicated&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you would mean that i am more vulnernable now&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you puts me in a place i really do not want to be in&lt;br /&gt;..because missing you allows me to feel what i'm not supposed to&lt;br /&gt;..and because missing you makes me realize how much i really want to be with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-3320905816133297787?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/3320905816133297787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=3320905816133297787' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3320905816133297787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3320905816133297787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/missing-you.html' title='missing you'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-4924758675747612512</id><published>2007-05-10T12:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T13:37:13.426+08:00</updated><title type='text'>unbelievable!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;his call came as a surprise - the lawyer guy. i'm supposed to be angry with him because he's been holding my badminton racket hostage and ignoring me for the past months. and then the other day, he calls me. when i heard his voice, i literally waited for the tingly sensation i used to get when i talk to him, but it didn't come. but my anger didn't surface either. instead, we talked like we used to. we laughed, made jokes, he even asked me how i was. and then he said misses me and that he wanted to see me. was i free this weekend? if so, then he would bring my racket with him. if it were under normal circumstances, i would have said yes. so i was actually surprised, and proud, when i heard myself saying no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and then yesterday, i went to my former office in makati and i saw him. again, i waited for the tingly sensation, and it didn't come either. instead, i found myself indifferent. sure, it was nice to see him, but that was it. and i almost laughed out loud when, in the middle of a conversation with my other former officemates, i received a text message from him. he was asking me to meet him at the stairwell of the fire exit - our tryst when we were still fooling around. ha! the audacity!! i walked out of the room and went to chat with another guy. he texted me again and said please... *sigh* i just can't believe he had the effrontery to ask me to meet him there. i didn't, of course, and he ignored me after that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i left without saying goodbye properly, and i wasn't able to get my racket either! ggrrrr.... i swear, one of these days, this lawyer guy will find himself in court defending himself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-4924758675747612512?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/4924758675747612512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=4924758675747612512' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/4924758675747612512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/4924758675747612512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/unbelievable.html' title='unbelievable!'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-2012921973354281882</id><published>2007-05-10T08:06:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T17:22:02.106+08:00</updated><title type='text'>finding comfort in men</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;if there is anything else i would confess about myself (as if i haven't bared my darkest secrets yet), it's how much i like getting attention. but not the pampering kind though, just enough to make me feel important, somehow. this is one of the reasons i am more comfortable in the company of men than women. i get intimidated by the latter, whereas the former treat me like a "princess", in a weird sort of way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;notice how i am the only female in the picture? &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(pic unavailable)&lt;/span&gt; yep, they are my batchmates in our recent company outing in bora. i could have as well taken off my bathing suit, and you wouldn't notice the difference, right? (oh, yeah.. i'm kinda "gifted" in front, so that'll be a dead give-away! sheesh!) but really, being with these men m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;ade the trip much more fun. had i stayed with the women, i would have probably spent most of my time in d' mall, scouring the shops for earrings, bags or other girly stuffs... yyiieeww! hahahaha!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i'm not really sure why, but i do get along with the opposite sex better. i'm almost convinced that i was a guy in my past life. and i do get attracted to women as well! hhhmmm.. could it be that i am........ nah! i enjoy doing the deed with a man. that, i am sure of! hahaha!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-2012921973354281882?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/2012921973354281882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=2012921973354281882' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2012921973354281882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2012921973354281882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/finding-comfort-in-men.html' title='finding comfort in men'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-2465211778520118368</id><published>2007-05-08T22:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T22:20:45.053+08:00</updated><title type='text'>sometimes</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;i feel like giving up on you,&lt;br /&gt;on us.&lt;br /&gt;sometimes&lt;br /&gt;i find myself&lt;br /&gt;breaking into tears at night&lt;br /&gt;after a heated conversation&lt;br /&gt;with you.&lt;br /&gt;sometimes&lt;br /&gt;i just feel so weary,&lt;br /&gt;so helpless&lt;br /&gt;that i start longing&lt;br /&gt;for something&lt;br /&gt;that's not even there.&lt;br /&gt;and sometimes,&lt;br /&gt;the anger i feel is so great&lt;br /&gt;that i begin to lose my hold&lt;br /&gt;on you,&lt;br /&gt;that i begin to pull away&lt;br /&gt;just to relieve myself&lt;br /&gt;of the pain i sometimes feel&lt;br /&gt;when i am with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-2465211778520118368?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/2465211778520118368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=2465211778520118368' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2465211778520118368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2465211778520118368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/sometimes.html' title='sometimes'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-2018836675493669577</id><published>2007-05-07T12:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T10:19:49.972+08:00</updated><title type='text'>to marry or not to marry</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;as the months pass, i'm beginning to wonder if it's really a wise decision for me to get married - to him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;he's an expert when it comes to lying. he lies to me as if it were a normal thing. i would catch him every time, but since i try to avoid confrontations, i do not deal with it. instead, i let it pass and as a result, all my angsts and frustrations build up inside me. it comes out whenever we get into an argument. i would lash out at him. say things i would regret later on, but not once have i ever retracted any of my statements. we are caught in a vicious cycle - fighting, yelling, screaming, crying.... trying to convince ourselves that we still have enough reasons to make a go of this relationship. i don't think we both have enough courage to say that it's already over. but then again, there's this issue with my relatives, my grandmother to be specific. every time i get to see her, she hounds me with the never-ending question 'WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET MARRIED??'. and every time, i would just laugh and shrug my shoulders. i think that irritates her, but she couldn't get any definite answer from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;late last year, he finally decided that he was "ready" to commit and settle down with me. we talked about getting married on May 19, 2007. we actually made an unofficial announcement to everyone we know. and then last March, he changed his mind again and said we should wait until December this year. frustrated as i was, i bargained with him and requested that we do it this August... *sigh* talk about desperate huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;so what do i do now? should i get married because that's what i want, or just because it's expected of me to do so? i know i have a tendency to cheat even when married, because i have been thinking a lot on how to go about my latest affair once i get hitched. nnggrrr! and then there's him being a liar. could there really be a future for a liar and a cheater?? i guess we'll just wait and see...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-2018836675493669577?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/2018836675493669577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=2018836675493669577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2018836675493669577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2018836675493669577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/to-marry-or-not-to-marry.html' title='to marry or not to marry'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-3048628509764239523</id><published>2007-05-03T14:25:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T17:17:53.552+08:00</updated><title type='text'>analyzing an affair</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;he went offline without telling me, so i assumed he'll be going on a client-call or something. a few minutes later, i heard a car door slammed. when i looked outside, it was him - my engineer..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;for some strange reason, my hands suddenly went cold, my heart started beating faster than normal and i had to stop myself from calling his name. i counted to 20 - no, 30 - before i decided to go down with a toothbrush on my hand as props. and when i saw him, i smiled a little. i feigned nonchalance so as not to make my excitement obvious. i was waiting - anticipating, for that secret look he'd give me whenever we are within range. he talked to me a little, making nonsensical remarks that i almost told him to quit trying to making it casual for both of us. and just when i was about to give up on him, he came to me - pretended to borrow something, and then touched me. i again felt the electricity between us.. i felt the heat, the wanting.. i suddenly remembered the reckless abandon of our first time, and it felt good to know that he still wants me. to know that he sometimes imagine me when he is with his wife delights me (he admitted that much during one of our conversations). to hear him say that it was his first time to experience what i did to him before strokes my ego (well, he may be lying, but i don't really care). and to feel the effect on him of my mere presence excites me. no, i do not boast of being talented when it comes to bed calisthenics. i am only a generous lover and knows how to boost a man's ego.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wait.. before anyone can come up with any conclusion, let it be clear that i do not love him. love is too strong a word to describe what i feel for him. maybe it's just the idea of someone else wanting me, that i am not yesterday's menu or something. that at the age of 30, i can actually make a man cheat on his wife (i know, it's not nice.. respects, respects) and make him come back for more. i daresay that this is not love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but if anyone knows what this is called, then please tell me how to end it before it's too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-3048628509764239523?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/3048628509764239523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=3048628509764239523' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3048628509764239523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/3048628509764239523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/analyzing-affair.html' title='analyzing an affair'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-8827524943840483187</id><published>2007-05-02T13:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T17:22:07.395+08:00</updated><title type='text'>end of an affair</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i am feeling forlorn today - yes, that is the perfect word to describe my current emotion, hence the incessant blogging. for some reason, i am beginning to believe that my latest affair will soon be ending...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my engineer and i do not have a typical affair. it's really nothing serious, but i know that we have "something". i know that he likes spending time with me. he calls me sometimes, while driving, just to talk and laugh with me. he would make arrangements so that i am able to join them for lunch - just me and the boys. when we were in boracay for our company outing, i spent most of my idle time in their room, watching TV with him, talking dirty - telling him what i would do to him if there was any opportunity. he'd look at me in the eye and let out a big sigh. he even dared to ask me if things were going to change once i get married.. i told him he'd know once i cross the bridge. ha! when i send him text messages, he would immediately reply, except maybe when he's at home and within close range of his wife. when he knows that my fiance will be picking me up after work, he would ask me the following day if i "enjoyed" myself, implying that we did the deed. he would send me YM messages just to ask me if i had lunch already or what time i would be going home... basically, ours was a perfect arrangement - not much emotions involved, no strings attached, no expectations..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but lately, things are changing between us. i would text him, and not get a single reply  (but i found out that he wasn't answering his wife either because his message inbox was full already). i would send him YM messages, and he would not answer me either, only to be told this morning not to send him messages anymore specially when he's not at his desk. apparently, a nosy officemate saw one of my messages and he is now being teased about it... *sigh* yes, i have every reason to feel forlorn today..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i know that this is not right.. and it's something that really should end. but there's a part of me that wants to hold on and hope that maybe this isn't over yet. sad thing about it is, i used to know where my place is... now, i'm not so sure anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-8827524943840483187?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/8827524943840483187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=8827524943840483187' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8827524943840483187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/8827524943840483187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/end-of-affair.html' title='end of an affair'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7898673266964234429.post-2362982298772065258</id><published>2007-05-02T10:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-05-02T13:12:33.290+08:00</updated><title type='text'>finding my place</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RjgalfWj2aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/xQWrhJUgxEI/s1600-h/04292007402.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 159px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RjgalfWj2aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/xQWrhJUgxEI/s200/04292007402.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059823412724357538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i just got back from a much needed R &amp; R in La Union. for the first time in many years, i have experienced doing nothing but sit on a bamboo couch, smoke myself to death, drink ice cold Coke, eat to my heart's content, swim in an unpolluted sea, feel cool wind against my skin, watch the sunset, laugh like there's no tomorrow with my friends and not worry about anything at all. moments like the one i had in la union is definitely priceless. when i grow old and retire from the hustle and bustle of citylife, i would want to live b&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/Rjga5PWj2bI/AAAAAAAAAAk/xqauUOtkyfs/s1600-h/04292007419.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 137px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/Rjga5PWj2bI/AAAAAAAAAAk/xqauUOtkyfs/s200/04292007419.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059823752026773938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;y the sea and feel the rest of my years as it come and go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;i'm beginning to miss the ocean and the almost sedentary lifestyle it offers. now that i am back in manila, i can't help but feel a little desolate. i need to go back soon, before i lose myself again...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7898673266964234429-2362982298772065258?l=mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/feeds/2362982298772065258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7898673266964234429&amp;postID=2362982298772065258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2362982298772065258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7898673266964234429/posts/default/2362982298772065258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mysocalledlife-imai.blogspot.com/2007/05/finding-my-place.html' title='finding my place'/><author><name>imai</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03450679700819140679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10723571507738466845'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_bmHgpdPfoqk/RjgalfWj2aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/xQWrhJUgxEI/s72-c/04292007402.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>