<?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-7113655176773071605</id><updated>2011-07-08T08:02:26.019-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Namida no Toka-ta</title><subtitle type='html'>a tear's toccata</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-90789445672699709</id><published>2010-08-17T12:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-17T13:27:09.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kenapa?</title><content type='html'>I always wanted to blog, to jot things down. But something is stopping me to do so. Writing a diary is never my forte. Publishing whatever I wanna say is not something that I want to do. Somehow, I don't want people to read, because I don't want people to know so much about me. In a way, I am scared. I am scared that people will use it back on me. To pull me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I can't control my emotions. I am really tired of this. I guess, I am really not happy with who I am. It takes a great deal to actually change myself. I need to open up to somebody. I need to talk to somebody. I want to spill everything out. I want people to really understand me. Knows me, and to guide me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't wish to always see people being friends with me because they need something from me. I want a real friend. A genuine friend. Someone who really listens to what I gotta say. I always find myself listening to others, analyzing people. I really don't want to do that. Because I am scared of being used.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been trying to build a tough image, nothing can take me down. I don't give a flying fuck to anybody. Deep down, I care. A LOT. I have a pile of shattered pieces of my heart, being mend together. I've tried very hard to put all the pieces together, but lately, something is tearing the plasters off. Every time, I can feel there is something slashing my heart. The pain, is unbearable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody is willing to lend me an ear, to hear me out. Not even someone that is close to me. I can only show my dissatisfaction to this world. The angry side of me. The sad me. I can never project any happiness. Because, I feel lonely. All I want is a genuine friend, that is willing to listen to what I wanna say, a little sympathy will do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of making the image where, I can handle my own stuff and I don't need your help. Actually, I need everybody's help to pull myself together. But how? my very own bf don't even understand me and complains about me. It made me feel utterly useless. I am a piece of junk that nobody wants. I shall just die, isn't that better in a way? I wanted to. I wanted to die, as soon as possible, just like my brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the thought of my parents, hugging together and cried made me think that I shouldn't do this to them. But I am in great pain. I was there to console everybody, to act tough that everything is ok. But I am not ok, nobody is there to console me. I don't need you to pity me. I only need you to understand how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but I can say, nobody knows how I really feel. Nobody knows what I am going through. people around me only knows how to use people to get what they want. And I am tired of judging people. i am drifting myself apart as well. Because i really hate to be used by other people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not really that bad whatever I said may sound sarcastic but that is not what I meant. I do not be friends with you just because you can give me benefits only. As I said, I just want a genuine friend. A real friend. I find no point doing gatherings, yumchar, or whatever. Because I know, in reality, people don't give a fuck about you. We will go to our separate ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also don't want to think too much, just that I am tired of being used. tired of being scared of being used. tired of losing whatever I have. tired of being misunderstood that I am such a bitch. If you treat me good, of course i will treat you good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even my own bf thinks that I am a demanding bitch that only be friends with people because of my own benefits. what more can I say? i am tired of trying to change the way he thinks. but I gave up. there is no point. the things that I said to you, is about you. Is not what I really think. Because I don't want other people use you. and whatever you do, doesn't make sense to me. you do it, because you like it. but all i can feel is disrespect to me. if you ever think of me before you do something, whether I will be angry or not about your action, then think about, are you respecting me just like how I respect you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;clearly you are not. just admit that you do not value me at all. you only think about what you wanna do, don't care about whether I am ok with it or you respect me or not. you clearly do not think of me, at all. because you just wanna satisfy yourself. In a relationship, trust, mutual understanding, respect and others. I think, you should know. But I think you don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There must be something that you can do, so that I can trust you. If whatever you do respects me, of course I will not be angry. But lately all I get is, we are from 2 different world. you are too sad. In a relationship, you need to accept each other, be it from 2 different world. is because you don't accept me, that's why you said it's 2 different world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of explaining, analyzing for you why you should or shouldn't do this when we are in an argument. I just hope that you actually try to analyze yourself. but you never, I analyze for you because I wanna save my own relationship, but clearly you never put any effort. you can just give up on me, that easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can't I be sad? you broke my heart last year, my brother died, my friends are shit, my bf do not try to understand my feelings at all. I do not deserve to be sad? Are you even there to console me and ask me if I am ok lately? Never right? And here you complain that I am sad? After listening to such comment, of course I will be more sad!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How am I going to save myself? I do I stop being so sad? How?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-90789445672699709?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/90789445672699709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=90789445672699709' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/90789445672699709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/90789445672699709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/08/kenapa.html' title='Kenapa?'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-718357168810439074</id><published>2010-05-18T12:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-18T12:51:21.734-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pain</title><content type='html'>ahh, i can still feel the pain, from last year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-718357168810439074?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/718357168810439074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=718357168810439074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/718357168810439074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/718357168810439074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/05/pain.html' title='pain'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-2961756397251797859</id><published>2010-05-03T13:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T13:51:57.497-07:00</updated><title type='text'>missing</title><content type='html'>didn't blog for quite some time now. been keeping myself very busy with things. which, is a good thing for me. final exams season, though i don't feel scared at all with my papers. eventho i do not know anything at all and my knowledge is zero. and i'm still not worried. weird me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;been very tired. very very tired. feel like dozing off during the day. but couldn't really sleep at night when i am all alone in my room after i switched off my lights. have not been hearing my brother's name for a week i think. maybe that is why i don't feel much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;suddenly his name pops up during one of the conversation. felt a pinch in my heart. mum gave me 3 missed calls. so i called her back when i reached home. i asked whether she want me to go back celebrate her birthday with her. she said she don't wanna have any birthday this year. will wait for me to come back after finals. maybe have a decent meal. her voice was shaky, can burst into tears any minute by then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel good too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the other day when i was leaving my shop with my dad, a friend of his passed by and said "Hi". Then my dad introduced me as the 3rd one (as in third child in the family). I felt uneasy, i am never the 3rd. i'm always the 4th. is daddy trying to wipe things off or trying to avoid the conversation that will head to things like what is your son doing? what is his job? where is he?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;simply just to avoid those questions coming? feeling really tired. sleep cannot take away this tiredness. felt the pinch in my heart tonight. ignoring is not a good choice. the feeling will just come back. everybody is just trying to keep themselves busy. so am i. so that i will not think what happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i just wanna think what i wanna do later. what i wanna do tomorrow. i don't wanna think what happened. i wanna get out from the past. and keep on moving forward. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you left us without even saying goodbye. keeping your stuff, not wanting to throw them away. your room is still there. your clothes are still there. but the bed is always empty. the door is always open. something is definitely, missing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-2961756397251797859?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/2961756397251797859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=2961756397251797859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/2961756397251797859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/2961756397251797859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/05/missing.html' title='missing'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-8050443981509151915</id><published>2010-04-13T05:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T06:33:53.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>it all sums up.</title><content type='html'>first, i want to apologize for the way that i have treated you this evening. i am really grateful for your help towards me. i do. and i hope you know this. you helped me a lot. even from the very beginning of this relationship. i am very thankful for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but i don't know why you don't seem to understand me that well. when i projected it very well, i do not want you to do this, its because i really don't want you to do it. you should know, there is a reason why i don't want you to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;from the very beginning, i already told you not to flip through my documents. its because i really don't want you to see it. until last week, i still refuse to let you to check my documents, can't you respect me? i already showed you that i do not want you to look or read my documents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you even offered to do and check all the ptptn procedure for me. the normal me of course i will let you handle it. i would be happier because i do not need to care about it at all. but this, i showed you that i want to do it by myself and all i needed is your advice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why can't you understand?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't mean to say all those things to you in the heritage hall, i am really thankful that you are there to help me. i really do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is, i don't want you to look at my results. i am not you. i don't have so many A's in my spm. and i hardly have an A in my foundation result. i can't reach 3.0, never in my dreams. i am not up to your mark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can pretend to be smart as much as i can. but deep down i know, i am not any better than bt. all my friends from foundation, they were just borderline pass. some can't even make it. i am just one of the lucky ones. i was so depressed last year because of my general maths. i am really ashamed of it. how can you not know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i am not smart. you do not know how envy i am towards you. you have such supportive parents. my parents pays attention towards a dead guy more than me. i wanted to show them my life in kampar, but they never have the time to come and see me. and said i will not gain anything at all even if they visit me. all i want, is just to let them see how my life is. but it seems like a very difficult task for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;unlike yours, your whole family helps you. from fengshui, shift rooms, decorate. they are there for you. i really have none. i only have you. i am really not happy today. and you know that. maybe that is you. you just like to do things that i don't like even after i clearly said that i don't like and don't want you to do. you still do it. maybe you think it is funny. i certainly not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe our level is really that far apart. i already tried to learn from my friend. don't think about the future, just care about what is happening now. i did try, but still, do we really have a future? your parents are so strict. i am no way up to the mark. i just have to admit that, i am just not smart enough for you. my results stated so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my friends asked me whether i can handle this or not, having a bf that is good in studies. while i can't even get through general maths without the lecturer's help. how much pain i went through just to change course. how much pain i went through during the break up. how much more pain i had at home for these 2 months. how ashamed i am towards myself. my friends will be graduating soon. you already in year two. where am i? every time mummy said things like i will be wasting another three years. all i feel is shame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that is not really what i wanted. do you really think that i want this? i already made it very clear that i don't want you to look at my documents, but why you just never listen? i was so busy trying to make sure all the documents are right, but you keep on flipping my documents when i am so busy. how am i suppose to react?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why won't you listen to me, for just once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-8050443981509151915?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/8050443981509151915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=8050443981509151915' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/8050443981509151915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/8050443981509151915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/04/it-all-sums-up.html' title='it all sums up.'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-1816765507727523312</id><published>2010-04-11T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T15:28:58.274-07:00</updated><title type='text'>1 litre of tears.</title><content type='html'>I have not been writing, been keeping myself very busy. Assignments and presentations aside, traveling up and down every weekend is very tiring. And I am beginning to feel very pissed off with taxi, pudu raya and the weather. Lately when I reach KL, I will fall into deep sleep. Maybe I am really that tired. I can't seem to get enough sleep in Kampar, I slept, but just not enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really that tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just finished watching 1 Litre of Tears. I knew that this drama will make me cry more than a litre of tears. Instead of copying the whole series from Lisa, I decided to download instead. Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because the downloading process will slow down my pace of watching this drama. If I just copied the whole series from Lisa, I would have finish watching within one day. And I know, I will cry a whole lot more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, watching it slowly do have some impact on me, but I didn't cry as much as I expected. Definitely not 1 litre :) From this drama, makes me think again. If, my brother is sick. Will I be able to support him like how Aya's family?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My answer is, I can't. Shall I say, he left us suddenly, is a right thing to do? Rather than falling sick, and slowly endure the pain similar to Aya? My answer is, no. I don't have an exact answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know life is unpredictable. But this is just too sudden. I did not expect my brother to pass away at the age of 27. I know he will go someday, just not right now. But there is this question that always pops up in the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Selfishness apart, will you let your family member to fall sick and endure the pain just to hang around you a bit more? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you just let him or her go, just like that. Without any pain. But he or she left you just like that without saying a goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't stop wondering. I really do not want to see him in pain. What I know is, he lived a marvelous life back then. He was working in a company in KL that he likes. He found a girlfriend that he like a lot. He is living in PJ with us, the whole family. He have a bunch of friends. Good friends indeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I imagined if I died suddenly, not much people will appear to my funeral. I know. Unlike him, people from all over the place came over just to see him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These feelings, makes me feel stranded. His name still appear in our conversations everyday. Can I say, I want to move on and forget? Ignore?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not know how to deal with this. How am I supposed to feel? How long am I supposed to be sad? When can I be happy again? Sometimes, when I smiled or laughed, I felt guilty. Am I allowed to be happy again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Restrictions? Boundaries? There is no guideline, saying if this this this happened to you, you require this this this amount of time to cry, grief, to be sad. And then when you reach about dunno how many days later, you are allowed to live like normal as in nothing ever happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Show me the guideline please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-1816765507727523312?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/1816765507727523312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=1816765507727523312' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/1816765507727523312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/1816765507727523312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/04/1-litre-of-tears.html' title='1 litre of tears.'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-4340770263301917605</id><published>2010-04-01T13:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T13:32:55.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sipping a cup of milk tea</title><content type='html'>didn't blog for a few days (got or not?). too many emotions involved, while writing down every bits of it seems like a hard task to do. and I was busy with my english essays. stayed up until 7.30am for revision, 10am english assessment. at least, I did catch a nap. I didn't want to have dinner with him last night, but I feel that I ought to make things clear a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he is the type where, if I keep quiet and let him think of it by himself, he won't even know what was I unhappy about. and probably thinking that I have nothing better to do. so, must say it face to face, send clear message, so that won't have to blame me for making things complicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hate things that doesn't make sense. when a story doesn't fits, there must be something wrong. given a chance to explain, but the story still doesn't fits, someone must be hiding something. when things doesn't makes sense, I will start to analyze and the outcome never comes out to be pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;don't wait until I start to analyze you, by the time I already have a conclusion in my mind, you just have to PROVE ME WRONG. else, you're guilty. another thing is the argument. when I can win an argument, it means I am right. if whatever you said makes sense, how can I win over you? choosing not to argue back is plain stupid, it means you give up and you're guilty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyhow you always say I will win an argument over you, it means you are doing the wrong thing. if whatever I said is not right or doesn't make any sense, how can I win over you? get it? if you choose to lie to me, be a super great liar. create the perfect lie. lie to me and don't ever let me get suspicious. if I can find out that you lied to me, you are a very bad liar indeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;either choose to let me know, or don't let me know at all. hanky panky issues, mushy issues, things that just doesn't make sense, is just not my forte. sometimes, I would rather don't want to know the truth. but, please give me a perfect lie. a lie that is so perfect, that I can never think that it is a lie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;do that, or just be honest. rather than making me being angry at you for stupid reasons. get it? that's all for tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;milk tea courtesy of lando.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-4340770263301917605?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/4340770263301917605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=4340770263301917605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/4340770263301917605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/4340770263301917605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/04/sipping-cup-of-milk-tea.html' title='sipping a cup of milk tea'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-7254790053379818361</id><published>2010-03-30T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T10:46:37.406-07:00</updated><title type='text'>depression restart.</title><content type='html'>but this time, no place to cry on anymore. all by myself now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-7254790053379818361?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/7254790053379818361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=7254790053379818361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/7254790053379818361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/7254790053379818361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/03/depression-restart.html' title='depression restart.'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-4203996391832859668</id><published>2010-03-29T12:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T12:12:12.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>growing pain,</title><content type='html'>Bear, is that really you? :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't understand. Bear, are you still there? Though you want me back, the cut was so deep. But the scar remains. Please don't add more pain into my life. I'm already in great pain. You just don't really know. How painful I am to get through each day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hope to see Bear through William. The comfort that I used to have. I am in so much pain, I do not know where to go. I really don't know. I agreed to get back together with you because I thought, at least, even a tiny bit, Bear will be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, will you really be there for me Bear? Are you still there? Am I just a tool? I am in so much pain, I cried day and night, but not in front of you. I cry every day and night. I cry through the whole journey in the bus. Bus trips brings only sad memories. Which means, more pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to be in so much pain. Answer me bear. Are you still here by my side?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-4203996391832859668?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/4203996391832859668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=4203996391832859668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/4203996391832859668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/4203996391832859668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/03/growing-pain.html' title='growing pain,'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-7849604256772811344</id><published>2010-03-29T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T11:31:38.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Berdiri di kaki sendiri.</title><content type='html'>You never fail to make my heart ache. You said I am not independent enough. I do not know whether I should be angry at you or scold you back. But there is no point starting a fight with you. I am very sad, this is what I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I be not independent? I know I am not independent financially, but how can you say so? What is the point of having you as my closest person on earth yet, you want me to be how we were when we broke up? If such &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;matter&lt;/span&gt; can show how independent I am to you, then you should be better off without me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ain't it? :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just added another deep cut on my heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-7849604256772811344?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/7849604256772811344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=7849604256772811344' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/7849604256772811344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/7849604256772811344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/03/berdiri-di-kaki-sendiri.html' title='Berdiri di kaki sendiri.'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113655176773071605.post-1935013807750860981</id><published>2010-03-27T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-27T12:32:20.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First post? Nah.</title><content type='html'>Hello world :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am back. I left this blog when I was 19. And I am back when I am 21. Many things happened to me for the past few years. I find that I like this blog address very much. So I decided to blog from here again. Leaving my another blog aside. Some of you do know where I blogged for the past few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 19, Facebook was not famous. I was young and immature. Not saying that I am mature now. At least, I feel that I have grown up a bit. I was in IT field, but not anymore. I still have a brother back then, but not anymore. My blogging style have changed too. From 19 to 21, really a lot of things happened. My 19 years old blog posts were kept in drafts for a few years now. And I can see the difference in myself too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am, the 21 years old advertising student from UTAR, Kampar. Here I start my blogging journey all over again. If I ever change my blog address again, which I do not hope to do so, it means that I am putting a full stop and trying to stand up again. Remember to be there to cheer me up k? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7113655176773071605-1935013807750860981?l=toccatina.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/feeds/1935013807750860981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7113655176773071605&amp;postID=1935013807750860981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/1935013807750860981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7113655176773071605/posts/default/1935013807750860981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://toccatina.blogspot.com/2010/03/first-post-nah.html' title='First post? Nah.'/><author><name>bao</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07006171628112677093</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s1Mcvc0bkNo/SLysfPOPmlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/f9Ei-QJLzpE/S220/12.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
