tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34789699016691518842023-06-20T21:56:10.165-07:00sample me thisAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-46516621916250751732009-06-03T20:09:00.000-07:002009-06-03T20:12:14.627-07:00walking awayThey were sitting right beside each other, fabric upon fabric yet the nearness does not reflect their want for each other. No one was making the slightest indication of their pain. One was fluttering his eyes from each single detail of his home, passing through furniture and appliance without care and the other one looking down running shaking fingers through the faded jeans. Shadows of the darkened room felt their sorrow and the bellowing pain that was palpable in the air. Then faded becomes dark blue as the jeans were kissed gently by tears marking small circles upon its rough surface.<br /><br />“I didn’t think things would end this way,” with eyes from the details of the house to the bowed head of the one seated there, crying. Dark somewhat wavy hair, wanting and urging, the craving to run loving fingers upon those strands just one more time was overwhelming. The room was still.<br /><br />“I really, really, don’t want this to end. Please,” head still down, voice breaking, tears flying down. Memories of wonderful evenings together, late dinners of rummaged whatnots from the fridge made into something worth eating, sunsets of the kissing breaking the silence. All of those thoughts slowly etching painful heartaches as each veils and takes over consciousness at the moment of rain and the cloudy afternoon.<br /><br />“I don’t know where to go from here, you see? I said I love you. You didn’t say it back. I said it was ok. And believe me I tried for so long for it to be ok. But I guess it isn’t because it hurts,” eyes still taking in every feature the hair of that person. I gave myself to you, every single part of me, mouthed those agonized lips. “But I guess it’s not enough,” said softer than a whisper.<br /><br /> “What’s not enough?” finally looking up, tired eyes filled with tears, asking.<br /><br />“Nothing, nothing. Oh you don’t know how much I want to touch you one more time, stroke your beautiful hair, just one last time,” the longing upon those words was plain it was almost visible. The rain echoed the suffering and bawled louder.<br /><br />“I won’t stop you.”<br /><br />“I know, but I need more than that. I need more from you, unfortunately much more than you’re willing to give,” the once dry constant eyes finally giving in to the emotion that flowed.<br /><br />A thunder roared.<br /><br />“I guess I can just look at us and say that my love for you was an attempt for all that that word is worth. Yes, you can’t spare me the same devotion but I think it was a beautiful attempt. And I’ll learn from this, for that I’m sure. But I can’t take anymore of the pain. I’m sorry but what I really want to say is, I’m leaving,” standing and slowly walking towards the door.<br /><br />“Wait.”<br /><br />“No, I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to do this for myself. It’s some sort of self-preservation. You don’t need to say anything. Just know that I love you, with all my heart.”<br /><br />A door was closed, and rain slowly drenched the thirsty and ailing heart of a lover unloved walking away from tears and pain.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-40641050545441331292008-10-27T15:12:00.000-07:002008-10-27T15:16:17.074-07:00i would like to say sorryi would like to apologize to myself for not having time to do one of the things that i love to do, and that is to write. i've been preoccupied with work, study and other stuff that when i get home, writing a story would just take too much of my energy. i often times just want to sleep.<br /><br />so to all and most importantly to me, sorry.<br />-----<br />written produce are on a pause.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-46557649807614588182008-10-08T17:58:00.000-07:002008-10-08T18:31:31.649-07:00what is there for me?<p class="MsoNormal">wrote this after speaking with someone i thought i had a chance with. good looking, eloquent and smart. things i found attractive on someone. what i wanted on someone. 1 guess on what happened<br />-----</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">is it too much for one person to dream?<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">is an escape from reality and the harshness of life so bad to ask for? what makes a good man break his sanity when he aims for the sun and end up in flames? is a long shot really that hard to make when part of you still longs to take it ever so desperately? what assurance does one have to risk it? a picturesque vision of the perfect life, a far fetched reality, far from me, i think.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">when do i hear the voice? when do i feel the soft brush of each whisper along my cheek as we dance through an old corny love song? when will all this be mine?</p><p class="MsoNormal"> is it too much to ask?</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-51872928104620343742008-10-06T23:48:00.000-07:002008-10-06T23:54:33.700-07:00something of the pastwell who was to say that something i thought was so good could end so fast. this was written during the times when i felt so uneasy with my ex. it's not finished though, much like my relationship with her.<br />-----<br /><br />I’ve wanted to set things right. But the truth is such an inconvenient necessity to accomplish that I I’m not sure whether or not I could give it to those whom deserve it. And as I continuously live under the veil of unspoken truths, lives strive through each hardship, my own and the others that I affect in some way. How do I tread the path when I set for a journey to be straight and unwavering yet decisions I make keep on springing out curves and forks? How do I stay strong when I live unsure of what I want in life?<br /><br />Wanting to see things done with its just ending, I waded through the waves of time. But the unspoken continuously remains to be hidden and the lives carry on. I’ve lied none but I might have well done so, for I am afraid. I fear to hurt and get hurt. I believe that I am a coward.<br /><br />Promises are meant to bind the person in essence to the one whom he wishes to share himself with. I have been promising and I have been bound to a lot of people. So far, I live vicariously and free of guilt. But how do I get over a promise of love, when I know in myself that love is dwindling. The pain of wanting is denting a love that should have been perfect in every way.<br /><br />I would like to point of some things in my defense, despite the fact that my uncertainty and non-disclosure of it merits no excuse. I would just like to say my piece.<br /><br />I believe that I love and I know I still do. But when the emotion and passion does not flow, how then does anyone share something that is stagnant. I enduringly give out my love and constantly show that I care but alas, all I receive in return is an untoward remark and ridicule here and there. Yes, I understand that she says that these are her ways to show endearment, mind you I myself have spells of exasperation, but I always tell that I am out of sorts that day.<br /><br />----- an excerpt of my former relationship.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-24661988409081171152008-07-18T15:29:00.000-07:002008-07-18T15:35:55.006-07:00thoughts of the untruedone midway through high-school. i made this as a sort of reflection of what life was during my elementary days. it's a little novice still (not that my writing improved, haha) but i felt very much every word put into this.<br />-----<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Thoughts of the Untrue<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">It’s the silence that faces me every night when I go to sleep that I no longer can take. I’m just sixteen and here I am, forced to tackle different phases of emotion, strive for acceptance, and endure criticism both from others and from myself. Every time I take hold of my pillow, lay my body flat on the slightly comforting mattress, at this moment flashes of events of my day race through my mind reminding me of the loneliness that I go through every single day.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I encounter the pains of reality that makes me different from my peers. I feel alienated by circumstances of life that the distinction of me from my friends makes me feel insignificant. I seek recognition. I feel that recognition may soon lead to acceptance, even though I know my friends all ready like me for who I am. But who am I?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I have successfully built this image of me for my companions to believe is the real me. Yes, I lie. What for? That I have asked myself over and over, until I no longer answered my way out of this mess.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I think it started when I was very young, simple lies from an innocent child thinking that playing a trick on his mom is funny. Then I went to school, a stage in life that molds a kid’s personality aside from the parents nurturing. Going to a private school sets boundaries in the social castes. As for me, coming from a middle class family makes me one of the “poor” students compared to my batch mates. Therefore I am pressed by the demand of staying “sociable” to make up stories that would not incriminate me into being an “untouchable”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Merely by twisting fact into fiction, I have created a world entirely different from the truth, as if trying to escape the harshness of reality. Have you ever tried to escape some kinds of conversations because you know that answering truthfully would definitely be social suicide? Well for a 10 year old child in my situation, these were it. <i style="">Grabe, tignan mo itong power ranger robot ko, ikaw meron ka ba nito? Hoy, meron ka bang tamagochi? Hey, we’re catching a movie kaya lang kkb, sama ka,</i> or simply this one, when I was in the sixth grade. <i style="">Shoot, ‘la na ko load, hey pa-text naman o.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">My string of lies soon became a web. And soon I lost all the signs of innocence, no more stuttering and sudden break of sweat. I was already what others would call a “professional liar”. I have created a life that was not mine. And I couldn’t take the burden placed upon me by myself and my conscience. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">And later in high school I made myself very confident, a defense mechanism by means of lying. Yes, I lie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Lying gave me a world for me to live in, but there was one problem, I had no one else to live with. Not saying the truth is not opening yourself with others, and they could never understand who you truly are. You run from your problems but the catch is when you start running, you never stop. You watch your whole childhood pass you by, and your innocence fly away. And every night when you lay your body flat on the slightly comforting mattress, when you are all alone and there is no one to lie to, and then you face yourself, the truth, the pain. Only then that innocence catches up with you, the child you tried so hard to hide is set free, and the only thing the child does is the only thing left to do. You cry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-14120789392460535972008-06-30T15:34:00.000-07:002008-06-30T15:41:08.171-07:00waiting<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">i don't quite remember when i wrote this, but most definitely this was 4th year college. i'm so gosh darn frustrated of being a NGSB (no girlfriend since birth) guy then. 'til my ex came along (that didn't last long too), now i'm taking things cool. step by step, i say. no need to rush.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">-----</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style=""><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >Waiting<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >He was a college student taking up nursing and he was waiting. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >He was sitting inside the classroom, listening to the lecturer, as he fought the sleep far off his consciousness. He was waiting for the time to strike noon when lunch would come, inviting. He was writing notes onto a page of his notebook, inscribing things that would remind him of the important things that he needed to remember. He was jotting down, waiting for his memory to serve him well and help him instill the things that he wrote into his learning. Unconsciously, his thoughts were freeing themselves from the confines of the four-cornered classroom, seeking the face of the girl running around his brain among the beige colored hallways of his university. He was waiting for her to leave his head as he tried to cruise through the topic on complications that could arise from intravenous insertions. He was waiting for her to leave him alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >And at lunch, when seat works were passed and food started to come into mind, he coolly left the classroom and let his feet carry him to where he usually ate his lunch. He had his eyes spontaneously moving around but not necessarily looking at anything. He prayed, he deeply prayed that she would not cross his path. He prayed for no confrontation. He prayed for no contact, none of hers at the very least.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >But he waited still, that at some point he would have even a moment’s glance of her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >His breath was slowly progressing and steadily deepening. He could feel his heart in tachycardia, racing, and pacing fast. He did not know why but for some peculiar reason he was anticipating. He was waiting for the moment when words of anger that he kept inside would be allowed to flow and be screamed out loud. He wanted her to know that she hurt him then, and he is hurting still.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >He ravaged the food he bought, which he thought was always a little too salty. And as the oily viand slip effortlessly into his lips, he knew that he there was only one way to keep that girl from running around his tired thoughts. He had to find something else to compete with her relentless talk, with her perfectly soft and long black hair, with her smooth and fair complexion, with everything about her. And good thing there was this one thing that would, the party at the quadrangle tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >So he put his iPod on and listened to the music he had to master. And with the loud tearing of the riff by the great sound made by his idolized rhythm guitarist, he slowly flew into the music, with every slide, the hammerings, the strums endless. While the excitement started to build, he waited for the hour when he and his band would play. He waited for the moment of their musical glory, but all the while he too waited for her to disappear from inside him, and try though he might, there was her face that still lingered. He waited in vain.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >Lecture passed, and he got his guitar and wore on his change of clothes. He waited and lounged in the council room, wanting to savor the triumph of their set. But as life always does, and as life always is, the thing he did not wait for came.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >“Hi James,” the one who filled his thoughts came in.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >And he just sat there, with the memories of a love that has passed, with remnants still resonating, crept through his veins, the hands held together, the careless whispers of “I love you”, the kisses shared. He just sat there. His eyes were intent upon hers; he could say nothing for he was waiting for her apology. He wanted to say that she was sorry that she was untrue; he wanted her to beg him to have her back. He waited. All she gave for his waiting was a smile and a whisk of her hair as she grabbed her lyrics and then she headed for the stage. “Our band is next James. Let’s go,” that is all she gave.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >He played his rhythm guitar, he sung second to the voice of the girl who caused him much pain. The lights upon him didn’t matter as he glanced incessantly at the girl who lead the band with her glorious singing, the woman he waited for, whose back was turned to him as she delivered the music that they long practiced. He could recall, when the “us” of him and the girl he loved was still the truth, that at one line of this song they were playing, she would leave the audience sight and she would turn around, look at him and sing to him the lines that he knew was meant for him. He waited to hear “and I would never change for I am yours, I am yours, forever yours”. His heart once again in tachycardia, and he waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" >He waited but she never looked back at him. All his waiting was rewarded only by a tear that he shed as he strummed his guitar.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-53129943157954572732008-06-25T18:28:00.001-07:002008-06-25T18:28:40.908-07:00a repost from my home page - from one of my compilation of works<span style="font-size:85%;">i just felt like posting this, one of my earlier works. so... what the heck. i hope you enjoy!<br />-----<br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style=""><span style=";font-family:";" >Rejection<o:p></o:p></span></b><br /></span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" ><o:p></o:p><br />You told me things that I thought you told no one else. I don’t want to sound pretentious but you looked into my eyes, as words of pain flowed, and gave me the look of sincerity. I felt as if I was your only confidant.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I listened intently, never knowing the implications of knowing things from you far too much. I should have been able to see it, you’re a girl, I’m guy, and things like this usually lead somewhere. Was I blinded? Isn’t just one big cliché if you thought about it? How can I explain the expectations I had?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >As time went by, with every stoplight that went pass, I got to know you more… and I tried sharing some of myself. Conversations were filled with your sorrow with an old love of yours, and I grew to hate the guy. I hated him for being such an ass, for being so blind and clueless, for being insensitive, but most of all, I hated him for doing those horrible things to you. Even before noticing it, I was fighting for you. I fought with this nemesis, who was that guy, inside my head. Boy did I have some things I wanted to do to him just to make him pay for what he has put you through.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >You were always so sweet. You never turned away when I came around. I always felt special around you.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I always thought of you kindly, your confessions to me, even though I was never in one of them, I took to heart. I unconsciously made your problems my own. Because you made me feel special, I wanted to make you feel the same way you made me feel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >And when it finally caught my attention, I thought it through. What was I doing? Who were you to me? What is this I’m feeling and am I going to do something about it? Am I stupid? I asked myself ‘cause I’ve never courted a girl before. This would be suicide. But it would be worse if I’ve done nothing, if I just sat in our coursing jeep and listened.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I’ve prepped myself for you. I’ve gathered all the courage I could muster just to give gifts to you. I’ve left you sweet nothings just for you to notice me. I wanted to take your mind off that guy who broke your heart and make you notice me so that I could mend it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >Finally, I asked you out on a date. You said yes but I was starting to notice some kind of change. I let it slide for love made me rusty… I used to be quick with these things.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >With my letter, I asked if you would be able to return my feelings towards you, and I waited for your reply. And I waited. I waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >When waiting was no longer bearable, I looked for you, because suddenly you were as invisible as air, as hard to find as a grain of sand on a beach. And as I found you, I asked why so, and all you gave me was a letter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I didn’t know what to expect. I wanted it to make me smile. I couldn’t wait for it to change my life, I couldn’t wait for you to come into my life and make a difference.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >I expected something, that’s where I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >You said sorry, along with your apology was a rejection. I couldn’t read on.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-size:85%;"> -----<br />this was written 2007 and is dedicated to the first person whom i loved and broke my heart.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478969901669151884.post-41789273875119754462008-06-23T16:16:00.000-07:002008-06-30T15:44:08.169-07:00he had no choice<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;">hey there, here's to my new page. i'm still working up the idea on how to keep this from getting stolen. so wish me luck with that.</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">-----</span><br /><br /><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">He Had No Choice</span></span><br /><br /><span style="">Times were hard on him and he was trying his best to keep his head afloat. Jumping from an idea to another, just to be able to think of ways to earn money, and he was stuck. The guy, in his early twenties, was young and still a bit idealistic. Life has badgered him near hopelessness that it came to a point that he was almost apathetic. But by being conscious of how much his mother strived to give him the best education he could have, food on the table, clothes to wear, he could not help but feel that it was just that he find work. He dreamt of a life that was better.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="">And so he did, therefore, jobs, he sought. But, in spite of his excitement, much of his emotions were leaning on longing and regret. He was young and fresh out of sweating for a bachelor’s degree. His entire being craved the relaxation he thought he much deserved, he prayed long and hard for it. But true to the irony of life, the hiatus was not to become reality for him, he had to work.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="">He was never really told to work after graduation, but something in him sensed that his family needed the extra income, and needed it badly. And much to his dismay, his plans for going for the work he aspired having, was no longer an option ‘cause it wouldn’t be enough to keep his family from being kicked out of their rented apartment. He ended up in one of the jobs he thought that he would never be swallowed into – a call center agent.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="">Yes, he was excited, even enjoying the rigorous process of training for the job, but in his mind, he was still the young boy in college who treasured the seconds of being a student and enjoyed every single one of those seconds. He looked forward to working and actually earning money, but he feels as if he jumped from a developmental milestone, missed a step and skipped to a level after. He has concluded, with much consternation, he was already a full-fledged adult.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="">It not only his that youth was compromised in the pursuit of livelihood; he was also realized that his personal and social life was also dwindling into non-existence. He was never one to complain but he couldn’t help but feel rather lonely with the fact that he was no longer to see the people he called friends and grew to love. Worst of them all, his girl called off their relationship for she could no longer feel his presence in the relationship. But he can’t do anything about it. He was trapped between his love life and hunger - he had to make a choice.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="">Now, after a couple of months, the young man’s friends had time and money to undergo seminars of their profession. Some of them had an option of taking vacations. Some of his friends were also looking for jobs but it was not really as much of an immediate need for them, as much as it was for him. Also, his relationship with his girlfriend died, quite abruptly, for he had not much strength to keep up his routine of dates with her, now that he has work. That, his girlfriend could not understand. So she asked for a break from the relationship. And being a guy who thinks that a person is entitled to his own decisions, he agreed. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about it anyway. He had to give his all to the training so that he would be accepted for the job. A lot depended on it.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="">He was bound, ball and chain to this predicament. He knows that if wanted, there was a way of getting around his problems. But he just couldn’t figure them out. As much as he hated it, his life was strongly influenced by the problems he kept on having. His life revolved around money.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01901368505971100485noreply@blogger.com0