<?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-37786434</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:10:46.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hic</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>62</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-8321244960110043826</id><published>2007-10-30T21:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T21:28:38.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>you left me with tat stinging remark, unaware that how much it hurts, letting the cold rage boil in me&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-8321244960110043826?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/8321244960110043826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=8321244960110043826' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8321244960110043826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8321244960110043826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/10/you-left-me-with-tat-stinging-remark.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-3680500519222192685</id><published>2007-09-23T05:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-23T05:26:24.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dun stick to stuff. nice one. its the other way round i guess. u nv cld have train hard enough. even if u did'nt wan to compete in a san shou contest, you still wont train as hard. i train hard. i trained harder. i got injured. permantly. u? u reap what u sow. now, u're reaping wad you sow. Hah as for the newbies, sure they look up to me. then u? dun make me laugh. you nv trained as hard. In life when you see people not working as hard, you work harder. i did. you did'nt. i bothered to wake my ass to drag my body to training. you? only slough through the night, drink like dunno what. who would be a better model. and no they're not goin into my steps, they're just learning what i noe, cuz there's someone to teach them. rather then experiment with no one to teach. at this point of time. and they have their own things to pursue. Joshua- Pike. Avriel- V kick. We're not the same. weng tat and wilson are pursueing different things in dance too. only you thinks they're all becoming like me. sure they may look on me. at least it beats lookin up to you. you say wilson have no varies, actually he have. you have lesser. you just think up whatever you do which do not come out nice. you never did put in much effort. it was just a come and go thing. and yes you dun think bout the consequences, i do. i make logical decisions. you dun. its not bout living in fear. its bout making the most of ur life, which i dun see any bright future. nicholas was there holdin the wire mesh, close to the damn pit. if the flames got into his face. will you pay? you cant. he's so tat close to the pit. we're just lucky. think? Lol you always think. in a radical way. fabian todl me before. its not that we are boring, its because you think up of stuff that only you will do. why? because you dun mind getting your ass kicked. you dun mind getting into trouble. and yes, you changed. you did'nt fall apart. i was wrong. you changed. for the worse. not only i agree with that. and its good you're leaving. as for goin back to training? haha wen fu told me before. you're hopeless, even fabian was goin to overtake you. As a friend i kept that from you. now i dun see why.&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-3680500519222192685?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/3680500519222192685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=3680500519222192685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3680500519222192685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3680500519222192685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-dun-stick-to-stuff.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-1515593416023558254</id><published>2007-09-20T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T08:41:55.958-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Chalet's over and it made me pondered through a lot of things. which i'm probably gonna write it in my blog. which will affect people. and no peter DO NOT QUESTION ME OR ASK ME TO EXPLAIN ANYTHING IN HERE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after the chalet i got a different view point. Sel- u're affecting the crew. enough said.true u have an analytical point of view, but that is not worth the trouble you give. break into WWW? i asked you if you have learnt ur lesson last time and u shrug it off. have u no concern to the consequences? and to the exploding pit, sure its right to have a laugh, but if some1's injured? would u have laughed? and u jus brush it simply aside that 'we got fined' truth was: Peter got Fined. we did'nt pay a single cent. so wad do u think. but that's not the main crux of the matter i want to discuss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;u think u want to stop bboyin. truth be said. i think you should. no offence. what are the 3 foundations of a bboy? toprock footwork and freezes. you have no toprock, not even decent ones. you know it urself. for footwork. Sure you have ideas, but u have messy footwork. you go through set like its agony. your footwork being not clean, and ur ideas springin out only last minutes, which does not come out as well as u think it would. your hips aint high, blah blah blah. you know it yourself. freezes. I shant go there. u know it. suicides, yes it looks painful, prolly you got your portion of wad you want, but we know it hurts for u, u're gonna say i got used to it or it does'nt really hurt. but the fact is you did'nt grasp the falling part or the real tech to suicide. you jus go n fall. which is precisely not the point.&lt;br /&gt;Think back on the things you did. None of it tat I know of u did it well. sparring? bboying?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and now to life. i dun like it when everyone comes to me for every single little detail and every single thing to check with. it stresses me. and i do not like to talk much even though i may seem sociable. enough said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-1515593416023558254?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/1515593416023558254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=1515593416023558254' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1515593416023558254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1515593416023558254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/09/chalets-over-and-it-made-me-pondered.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-5665522107700922484</id><published>2007-08-21T21:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-21T22:03:02.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Congratulations!! you've been forced to do this meme by Adel!!! Now that you've read it, you have to undertake the following task of..Naming 6 weird FACTs about yourself!! (be as honest as humanly possible):&lt;br /&gt;1.I have very flexible ears DUN TOUCH THEM&lt;br /&gt;2.IAM NOTAN AH BENG even though i look like one or ACT like one&lt;br /&gt;3.I have weird dreams and wake at periodic times like 1am, 3am, and 5 am&lt;br /&gt;4.I look short though i'm 174 cm. cuz i wear big clothes&lt;br /&gt;5.i dun like emo songs though some catch me&lt;br /&gt;6.i hate to appear weak to others. period&lt;br /&gt;Oh wait.. but thats not all.. Now that you're done, you get to arrow 6 other ppl to do this meme as well (make sure they read it). LOL i dun feel like arrowing any1. peeps, come get this if u wanna&lt;br /&gt;Erin™&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-5665522107700922484?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/5665522107700922484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=5665522107700922484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5665522107700922484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5665522107700922484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/08/congratulations-youve-been-forced-to-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-4544821502022869574</id><published>2007-08-09T01:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T02:32:01.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It is better to die alone then to die surrounded by those who never truly cared. The one may be a tradegy, but the other a lie.&lt;br /&gt;'Yet to die in the arms of the one you love, to grow old and watch your love do the same, that is the greatest gift of all, for it is not death we fear so much as the circumstances in which it shall come.' &lt;br /&gt;-Wulfsign&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I agree, as from what my teacher told me, there was a particular teacher in my school who goes by the rule of reaching ON TIME and knocking off PROMPTLY either. not a minute early or late. but by doing so she offended her Boss, as to being questioned by her Boss of why she did'nt come early nor work ovetime. she answered with a simple question, ' If i'm on my death bed, will you be there with your heart, sincerely? or wil my family be there?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'I've been told by many people, usually those who claim to be close to one diety or another, that to find true happiness one must abscond from all of Earthis pleasures. 'What?' i would implore ' are these things which you deny?' Wealth, Promiscuity and power over masses, they tell me.&lt;br /&gt;'It is those people whom i feel the most pity . Not because they have denied themselves life's pleasures, but because they know not what pleasure is.'&lt;br /&gt;' When you love someone so much that even their imperfections move you, and they love you the same, that is when you learn true pleasure'&lt;br /&gt;-Wulfsign&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say i agree with this too. many religious people tell me that you cant bring your toys to the other world. but in wad right do they have to say that of us when they have not yet experienced the pleasures we talk of, for all we know, when they start to feel the kind of enjoyment we do, they get more addicted or they feel that its a truly great feeling. you never know. For one denied, If he/she gets it, the outcome might be overwhelming&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When peoply say they wish to go back in time to do an event over, they assume that to do it a second time they would not repeat the same mistake.&lt;br /&gt;What they do not consider is that to erase that mistake is to erase that lesson it invoked, and thus more mistakes would follow.&lt;br /&gt;'If i could go back in time to do an event over, i would choose to go back to the best time in my life, and rather than change it, i'll live it over again.'&lt;br /&gt;-Wulfsign&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Self explainatory. but i wont choose to go back in time, rather i'll go forward in time, to see hwo my chapter called life will end. I'll not prepare myself to avoid death. as I know it'll find me no matter how hard i run, rather I'll choose to lavish in it so as to embrace it in the time to come&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-4544821502022869574?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/4544821502022869574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=4544821502022869574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4544821502022869574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4544821502022869574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/08/it-is-better-to-die-alone-then-to-die.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-1369832321451427279</id><published>2007-07-21T21:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-21T21:37:37.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dislike it when people blame others because we dun follow or approve their way of life. and yes i'm hurt by ur thinking. especially ur tag on his blog. how long have u known him? true you may be closer now but that's because u choose to distant myself. after all there are different goals that we're after, further more our lifestyle aint the same. and you also said the even for friend's sake? oh please. you have ur perception on this particular hobby different from mine. forget it. the road has split. i dun feel sad or regret. I just feel that u're gonna walk on that road.. n walk n walk. you know for urself. jing zhu ze zhi, jing mo ze hei. or something liddat. my hanyupin yin sucks. you know what i mean. Some people have to learn to get up on their own and learn from their mistakes. friends are there to support. but not before the person WILLING to stand up, walk away from the path of hatred, and live a brand new life again. you also noe the answer bout the lateness, jus avoidance as what you say of me&lt;br /&gt;Erin»&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-1369832321451427279?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/1369832321451427279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=1369832321451427279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1369832321451427279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1369832321451427279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-dislike-it-when-people-blame-others.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-8053118297737060689</id><published>2007-07-09T08:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T08:59:08.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;someone once said: "In life you will experience two kinds of pain,the pain of discipline and the pain of regret."the pain of regret hurts more than the pain of discipline...'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Very meaningful. I've had regrets before. but on the other hands. too few to mention XD. the pain of discipline is Gruelling and little can take it. but i've gone thus far, there's no U-turn or stopping now. I cant let all my efforts go to waste now. I've put so much hard work and effort into this crew. i wont let anyone just ruin it. I've chosen my members now and i hope they wont let me down. One for all, all for one. to those that commit themselve to the crew and me, I give you my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-8053118297737060689?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/8053118297737060689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=8053118297737060689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8053118297737060689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8053118297737060689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/07/someone-once-said-in-life-you-will.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-6494677277143457651</id><published>2007-07-05T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-05T08:58:53.531-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="left"&gt;now hear this&lt;br /&gt;what did you learn at school today&lt;br /&gt;that's what the teachers used to say&lt;br /&gt;but they don't know don't understand, do they&lt;br /&gt;why do they always give advice&lt;br /&gt;saying just be nice, always think twice&lt;br /&gt;when it's been a long time since they had a teenage life&lt;br /&gt;what did you learn at school today&lt;br /&gt;that's what the teachers used to say but they don't know don't understand, do they&lt;br /&gt;why do they alway a give advice saying just be nice, always think twice&lt;br /&gt;when it's been a long time since they had a teenage life&lt;br /&gt;dwelling on the past, from back when i was young&lt;br /&gt;thinking of my school days and trying to write this song&lt;br /&gt;classroom schemes and dreams&lt;br /&gt;man they couldn't save me&lt;br /&gt;cos my days were numbered when i signed down on "avy"&lt;br /&gt;teenage kicks running out what could we do&lt;br /&gt;i still show respect to my boys who made it through&lt;br /&gt;and getting told off MR T how my life would be&lt;br /&gt;then giving him a signal&lt;br /&gt;so everyone could see&lt;br /&gt;sunshine and shade&lt;br /&gt;those girls i'd serenade&lt;br /&gt;thinking of thoses sixth form chicks that misbehave&lt;br /&gt;hoping that those days would go on and on forever&lt;br /&gt;every day something new&lt;br /&gt;just friends running together&lt;br /&gt;but suddenly school ends&lt;br /&gt;your teenage life gone&lt;br /&gt;all your mates are growing up now&lt;br /&gt;they're moving on&lt;br /&gt;and now i'm looking back&lt;br /&gt;i'll tell you what i know&lt;br /&gt;do you listen to your teachers&lt;br /&gt;no i don't think so&lt;br /&gt;what did you learn at school today&lt;br /&gt;that's what the teachers used to say&lt;br /&gt;but they don't know&lt;br /&gt;don't understand, do they&lt;br /&gt;why do they always give advice&lt;br /&gt;saying just be nice, always think twice&lt;br /&gt;when it's been a long time since they had a teenage life&lt;br /&gt;now if you treat the kids fine, together they will shine&lt;br /&gt;ooh ooh ooh shine&lt;br /&gt;and if you give the kids time, they won't do the crime&lt;br /&gt;won't do the crime&lt;br /&gt;now my bad old ways&lt;br /&gt;were during my school days&lt;br /&gt;messing on those grade A's&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;my life is just a haze&lt;br /&gt;i'm going through the struggle&lt;br /&gt;five ten and kicking back&lt;br /&gt;so i could lock my flow&lt;br /&gt;lace it up now on the track&lt;br /&gt;oh yeh i felt the pain&lt;br /&gt;whilst chasing all the fame&lt;br /&gt;i'm being told i'm nothing&lt;br /&gt;just a player in the game&lt;br /&gt;but now i walk tall&lt;br /&gt;stand proud for you to see&lt;br /&gt;i'm driving these fast cars&lt;br /&gt;it's five stars for me&lt;br /&gt;what did you learn at school today&lt;br /&gt;that's what the teachers used to say&lt;br /&gt;but they don't know&lt;br /&gt;don't understand, do they&lt;br /&gt;why do they always give advice&lt;br /&gt;saying just be nice, always think twice&lt;br /&gt;when it's been a long time since they had a teenage life&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;this song is very meaningful. It brought me back to the good times in secondary school. When I had fun, grew up from a nerd to wad i am now, To be stronger and to be a leader as what others said i am. Everyone tells me. Adults especially, that teenage life is the best where we get to enjoy. since that is so why are we studying so much. I dun mean we should not study, but at our own pace? In our whole life its just this time that we make the most friends, find out who're we're gonna be with as best buds, good friends. This time where we jus goof around. After this, when we all grow up and yes&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'but suddenly school ends &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;your teenage life gone &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;all your mates are growing up &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;now they're moving on '&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reflecting back on my life till now, I'm glad i cherished my friends. true i made mistakes and i lost a few good pals and brothers. but now i realised, after this I'm going NS. Then when i come out in this harsh world. True, I'm used to being alone. I can survive. But as they always say, things will be much easier if you know people or have many good friends to back you up when you're down. How i wish time will stop here. where i can just be like Peter Pan and never grow up. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'oh yeh i felt the pain&lt;br /&gt;whilst chasing all the fame&lt;br /&gt;i'm being told i'm nothing&lt;br /&gt;just a player in the game&lt;br /&gt;but now i walk tall&lt;br /&gt;stand proud for you to see&lt;br /&gt;i'm driving these fast cars&lt;br /&gt;it's five stars for me'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;I'm glad I've found what i've liked. my passion. And this song just spurs me to drive on even more. Harder than ever. True. Hardships will always be there. Especially the road to Fame. The road I'm on now is rocky. But the rockier the road, the hardier i get. And nothing's gonna stop me. I noe my priorities and wad i need and want in my life. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'now if you treat the kids fine, together they will shine&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;ooh ooh ooh shine&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;and if you give the kids time, they won't do the crime&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;won't do the crime'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Nowadays, parents blame the Child for the wrong things they done. but well have they ever thought that they're partly at fault too? I'm not saying the child's not at fault. But The main reason that i see that dawn on me. " There's no such thing as an unteachable Child. there's only a parent who cant teach." Its because the Parents dun pay enough attention or dun give enough love and care to their Child. That's why they go astray. sometimes, when the kids dun go astray, but find a passion to do, to excel. Sometimes to show the Parent that they can do them proud. But No, Not all parents will like that. To them an A in a paper is the best. Let's face it. Now not everything depends on results. Results aint everything now. Everyone is Unique, different, and definitely an individual worth the effort to nurture.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'now my bad old ways&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;were during my school days&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;messing on those grade A's'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;This means Nothing. It goes to show that we teenagers are more than wad you adults see on the surface. We're actually think more that you adults, yet think more simply than u guys. True, You adults have seen more of the world. But, you've turned cold and unfeeling, missing out on the simple pleasures in Life. You think too deep, thinking that everyone's out to backstab, hurt, kick, gossip about u. If everyone just tot bout doing their part and having a peaceful way of life. Without a life of hate. Things will be much simplier.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'why do they always give advice&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;saying just be nice, always think twice&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;when it's been a long time since they had a teenage life'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;The teenage life you've had is a far cry from wad we're experiencing now. You think studies is easy? its different. Now we're learning more, with technological advances we learn more, the more we learn, the more we burden. and you place curfews on us. but have you ever tot of the time of ur 'time' and the time of our 'time'. We're more open now. we socialize more. Last time you adults in ur teenage life were jus to ur own kampong. due to transportation restriction and others. but now things have changed. we socialize more. we make more friends. so dun think that teenage life is still the same. we're experiencing things much faster than you adults. Prolly you guys got a girlfriend at like 20+? but for us getting one at 14 is nothing special. I'm not saying i support this puppy love. but then face it, times are different now. so accept it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'i still show respect to my boys who made it through'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;This shows that you've gotta show respect to you urself and to the others around. Ever heard of karma. Wad you reap is wad you get. never lament on how unfair is life. Because the fact is Life Is unfair to everyone. And when all is wrong, all is right. So just get up and face it. To measure how strong a person is to measure how fast he climbs back up from failure, not how far he've climbed. To my crew. Respect. I love you all.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;'sunshine and shade&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;those girls i'd serenade&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;thinking of thoses sixth form chicks that misbehave'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;This, Shows that Girls are always there. There's always time to have fun =p&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'what did you learn at school today&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;that's what the teachers used to say'&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Lastly this question should be corrected. Its 'what did you learn from Life today?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-6494677277143457651?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/6494677277143457651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=6494677277143457651' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6494677277143457651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6494677277143457651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/07/now-hear-this-what-did-you-learn-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-9126416329958408241</id><published>2007-07-03T08:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T08:37:56.346-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>No sacrifice. No victory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This meaning opened my eyes to what was hidden from me. Today my friend, my only friend that encouraged me to quit school as he found school as a waste of time. he's not beign a bad friend. Listen. you're sent to school to learn and discover wad you'll wan to do in future. If you're that sure you got a grasp on wad you wan to do now. wad's school for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This few days i've been lacking a lot of sleep. well it seems 24 hours aint enough for me. i hardly get enough slp then i crawl to school. Sorta got used to it. Hah. but still feel irritated by the fact that actual staff work time of Tp start at 8.30. so WHY THE FUCK is our lessons at 8am?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And i got a performance coming up. with this comes the crew issue too. Last time there was the core 6. now its more or less core 5. the others have more or less become or was forced to turn inactive. i'll like to stress to you guys that please please find your priorities. If bboying is something u can put time aside for, no i dun mean sundays only. i mean like a lot of time for. then tell me. if its aint part of ur life. dun give me bullshit that its part. you know wad i mean. Tell me. I'll understand. I feel that now the crew is going up, and with a few members putting in the time and effort to improve themselves, i feel that the crew is good enough to have people who are comitted to perform and people who are not to just come and train/chat/slack/dunno wad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-9126416329958408241?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/9126416329958408241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=9126416329958408241' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9126416329958408241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9126416329958408241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/07/no-sacrifice.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-7381177574425171735</id><published>2007-06-19T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T09:18:36.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>How much are u willing to put down? to grind your teeth as u push off the ground to get up? How much pain blood and sweat are you gonna give? to achieve it? how much are you willing to push into the dusty floor, or the smooth dance floor to prove your worth? how much time are you willing to give to hone your skills? how much heart are you willing to put in to make sure you succeed? How much ounce of strength are you willing to squeeze out of urself, till you break? how much are you willing to pay? each failure, each setback just lets you reach your goal faster, but how many u think u gonna do?&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-7381177574425171735?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/7381177574425171735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=7381177574425171735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7381177574425171735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7381177574425171735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/06/how-much-are-u-willing-to-put-down-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-2343367123830812561</id><published>2007-06-11T09:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T09:05:36.561-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>24 hours aint enough. and you complain that i come home late everytime. You say i sleep late and this and that. I train and such, dun you understand. I train MORE. i still have other things in life. that's the thing. you think i'm engrossed in this and i think there's only this in life. and what's wrong with going home late. I'm safe back home. I dun have enough time for my things in my life. and you blame me for going home late. School's not as simple as you think. Its not your kind of lifestyle. you think its that easy? to go school and oh so happily come back. haha change your thinking alright? cement head&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-2343367123830812561?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/2343367123830812561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=2343367123830812561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2343367123830812561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2343367123830812561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/06/24-hours-aint-enough.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-7307808081910831575</id><published>2007-06-02T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-02T08:44:47.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Stop comparing urself to drifterz and gamblers. they have the discipline do u?! ask urself this simple question. then u'll noe the answer. every excuse u use, make, fabricate, was just to weasle ur way out of things. How willing are you to step down into the cypher and prove ur worth, how much are u willing to push ur feet into the damn dusty floor, jus for that much of sweat exchanged? Its not just a dance, its more than that. this proved you did'nt accept it into ur way of life. its something extra, its not something you LOVE. its something you you do when it comes. methodical. robotic. a routine. if that is so you mihgt as well stop doing it cuz u're jus plain wasting ur time. No matter how much u have, how much u get, or wadeva equipments you have. if you dun practise, if u dun put in the effort to learn, create, think, innovate. you're jus gonna be a souless creep. you gotta have soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yea, advice is best given when its taken, cant do it, shut up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those that cant make it out in life, they teach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You gotta have soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-7307808081910831575?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/7307808081910831575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=7307808081910831575' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7307808081910831575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7307808081910831575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/06/stop-comparing-urself-to-drifterz-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-4270814901626465670</id><published>2007-05-24T07:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T08:16:33.771-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dun care if u guys are reading this. I'm gonna get this down once and for all. dun blame me for being heartless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zen&lt;br /&gt;you have spent too much time talking and slacking during training. u see! even fabian has surpassed u. wad u giving to us is the sight that u came jus to slack, and u joined cuz ur friends joined. Last time u say its weight but fabian proved you wrong. If u have the passion there. u can learn. Fabian got some freezes down. u? I dun blame u for not trainin at home. i blame u for not training enuff at training. True u say u have little stamina. but i noticed that everytime u fall, you stay fallen for a long time. that's has nothing to do with stamina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Selwyn&lt;br /&gt;Your standard is neither here nor there. I'm not saying I'm good. but can u recall When was the last time u really trained? i dun even remember now. and u come to 'stretch', Hindering others in the process. your mistakes, be it with ur past gal or ur dance. whenever i tell u, u dun seem to listen, and you have this thinking that those who dun follow ur way of life does'nt have a life. do some soul searchin' man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nic&lt;br /&gt;you have too many commitments at hand. I can assure you that you are not ready for main comm. i cant say these things right in ur face. so i have to do it here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;strong&gt;too indecisive&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Too many commitments- Look at ur previous hobbies. and think&lt;br /&gt;3. Always give politically correct answers and stand on the fence, not a very stable one at that&lt;br /&gt;4. TRY to be Mr nice guy. its not gonna work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever heard urself said, ' hmm i guess so.' ' ya think so'. and seriously no offence but whenever i pass a grp to you to chereo, the progress is slow. And you never ever seem to stand up to ur own points. I remember clearly during the gathering at my hse when u suggested morning trainings, i gave tons of points about why we shld not have it in the morning. In the end wad did you say? ' but i feel its good la.. i dunno this is just my opinion' Then u listed me under those that may come late. you did'nt take into account that you will also turn up late. I shant say who turned up late k? soul search plz. And you also have this habit to ask ppl to help you do simple stuff when u urself can do it. More often than not u do not take into account ppl's feeling. whenever we just trained finish n we start slacking at mac, whenever the drinks' finished and you still wan a drink, you'll ask ppl to help you do it. When asked the reason why dun you do it urself. ' i tired la' this and that. have u forgetten that ur comrades trained equally hard or maybe harder? then at that cineleisure comp. i jus sat down on the railing, not even having enuff time to let my butt warm the railing, and you ask me to go take your fone. cant you consider your friend jus sat down?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;shant say more. i expect you guys to flame me. but yea i'm sick of taking all these n doing most of the stuff for the crew. you guys wont noe how taxing its on me. I'm falling already. last time i tot i cld lean on a few of you guys. I'm wrong. Proven. or maybe i just have too high expectations&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-4270814901626465670?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/4270814901626465670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=4270814901626465670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4270814901626465670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4270814901626465670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-dun-care-if-u-guys-are-reading-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-1837971227568280308</id><published>2007-05-23T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T08:28:43.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;One life. One passion. to be free. I live to live life the bboy style. its not about showing off. its not bout competition. its bout passion. enjoyment. and ....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;FREEDOM&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bboy Erin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-1837971227568280308?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/1837971227568280308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=1837971227568280308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1837971227568280308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1837971227568280308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/one-life.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-9163627923846379213</id><published>2007-05-20T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T08:28:42.498-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>the world's freakin unfair. period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;do u ever feel like breaking down?&lt;br /&gt;do u ever feel out of place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm stressed. u guys aint listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-9163627923846379213?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/9163627923846379213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=9163627923846379213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9163627923846379213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9163627923846379213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/worlds-freakin-unfair.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-6517560854550576912</id><published>2007-05-16T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-16T07:00:28.214-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>stressed. All the Hard work i put in i see it going down the drain. why?! i put in so much hard work, cant i expect the same from u guys? dun u guys noe that time is running out?&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-6517560854550576912?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/6517560854550576912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=6517560854550576912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6517560854550576912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6517560854550576912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/stressed.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-6105532906346038374</id><published>2007-05-12T20:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-12T20:10:36.567-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I had enough of you. Period. No more questions. No more answers. Just shut up and leave me be. I am who i am. I do not need to account to anything 'cept for my actions. I feel things in a different way from others so dun fucking stereotype me. I'm Different. You keep thinking bout things of ur side, but do you care bout how I feel? do u?! Dun make me break this&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-6105532906346038374?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/6105532906346038374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=6105532906346038374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6105532906346038374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6105532906346038374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-had-enough-of-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-2492881541404998231</id><published>2007-05-11T21:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T21:18:48.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well Nic said a few stuff that struck me. And i calarified with Li wei too. I found that before week O. Alot of people dun like/ cant believe in me. They felt that i'm not up to it or I'm those extra slacker that does'nt care bout Week O. They were afraid That i'll screw it up.  Well take Azuan for example. He, like a lot of others. Thought that i was an ah beng and i cant be trusted, but after Week O and the preparation of the LC skit. He found out that i was'nt that bad after all. Clarissa too did'nt trust me. She felt i was those that 'bo chup' week O and may be a screw up. But after Week O she too found out that i can work.&lt;br /&gt;Well this shows that my first impression sucks. and those that dun noe me or the way i work will end up dislikin me. they should learn to use their eyes to look DEEPER. Dun judge a book by its cover. I found out that there's a bunch of Freshies that dun like me, there's a bunch of freshie that likes me and there's a bunch of freshies that really like me. Li wei told me that the freshies did'nt see the amount of work i put in and further more i'm not their OL so they wont noe how i work. Well i guess for the side that likes you, there'll always be a side that hates you. Props&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-2492881541404998231?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/2492881541404998231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=2492881541404998231' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2492881541404998231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2492881541404998231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/well-nic-said-few-stuff-that-struck-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-3784145450447362980</id><published>2007-05-07T21:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T21:40:20.854-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Guys care most about the quantity of love&lt;br /&gt;But girls care most about the quality oflove&lt;br /&gt;Guys break-up when they feel love from another Girl&lt;br /&gt;Girls break-up when they feel Separation from her man&lt;br /&gt;When guys are heartbroken,they try to forget the girl by going out with other girls&lt;br /&gt;When girls are heartbroken,they try to find his Characteristics from other guys&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saw these on a friendster profile. made me ponder while waiting for my friend.&lt;br /&gt;is it my fault someone likes me? am i a jerk if a few gals liked me at a point of time when i did nothing except being their friend. True. the way i express friendship may be a bit more than wad the normal friend shld do. but this is how i treat friends. To me, there's only friends n brothers. no different class of friends n such. I'm willing to let a friend lie on my shlder n cry my shirt wet. but it does'nt mean i ahve feelings for that particular person. i am just lending my shoulders to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you said i'm a jerk. that i made 3 of ur friends liked me. I pondered hard and someone enlightened me. its their choice to like me or not. true its by the actions i did but i had no intention to make them like me.  I noe i'm not handsome nor attractive. but i still dun understand why a few gals still like me. I'm just the average joe. ture i can dance. but if that is so, then u gals only like my dance skills. not for who i really am&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-3784145450447362980?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/3784145450447362980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=3784145450447362980' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3784145450447362980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3784145450447362980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/guys-care-most-about-quantity-of-love.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-1970580350650432414</id><published>2007-05-07T07:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T07:57:54.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dunno if u dance for US or if u dance for urself. I cant make my mind. I'm torn between friendship and duty. someone ease my mind. i wan the crew to grow. not me only. I can see me having improvement. its like everytime i do a chereograph n i add something new that you guys can use in ur 'rocks. i taught u guys! but i dun see u guys using it. its like u guys 'rocks aint improvin'. And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. get ur basics down first then proceed. i dun understand that y u guys are rushing. and for the one i'm refering to. sure u are aiming for speed. but ur movements are choppy. Do u noe that the way u dance is'nt nice. n you dun train much. warm up. train a bit. fall. sit. talk. talk talk. train. fall. talk talk talk. its been draggin too long&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-1970580350650432414?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/1970580350650432414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=1970580350650432414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1970580350650432414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1970580350650432414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-dunno-if-u-dance-for-us-or-if-u-dance.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-5950398463708065337</id><published>2007-05-04T02:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T02:52:17.399-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sorry guys for not blogging often. i guess this blog's rather dead. I've been too busy with life and dance. Well. things are rather busy for me now. its like i dun have enough time. no matter how much i try to time manage I still find myself with too much things to do and too little time to complete it. and i've been deprovin. Not as in droppin' of standard. its like i'm not improving as fast as before. anyway i got to work as batman n robin de robin. LOL. they say they wanted a 1.8 batman. soo... Nicholas! xD haha we had fun la. we took pics with like 16 aunties then this auntie came over n put her arm around my waist. i was like wth! go away. i dun like aunties! arrr! but we had good food man. calamari, prawn, damn creamy cream of mushrooms with full mushrooms inside not chopped up ones in Tp. Fish chicken n italian desert=). and we sat the hippo bus n drank a $90 wine. LOL so fun can. then on the deck of the bus when we're supposed to pose for photos they wanted batman n robin to climb up to pose. i went up, accidentally stepped on my cape n nearly fell off the bus. LOL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this few days had many rumours goin on about me. that many freshies find me cute n such. i was like wth. and  i finally can do my windmills cleanly=) and u noe wad, on a particular sunday i say a few malays dancin. i saw them better than me. that seriously stressed me out. i found out that there are a lot of ppl who can dance better than me, its nota problem that they can dance better than me. its the prob that i see them nearby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and liwei saw us training today. she came out with a sentence,' why must u torture yourself?' i asked her why are u torturing urself by studying. she replied,' that's not a torture.' well to me dance is not a torture too. to me every fall i get is an improvement. it shows i'm making mistakes to mark out the right path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i'm torn between sides. i dunno what led me to this predicament. i hope i get out of it soon and dun fall deeper in it. its like there's no way to choose..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and my butt hurts now. i tried too much flare=p&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-5950398463708065337?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/5950398463708065337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=5950398463708065337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5950398463708065337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5950398463708065337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/05/sorry-guys-for-not-blogging-often.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-6821635911821564887</id><published>2007-04-20T19:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T19:38:38.386-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ok this's bout theory G's outing..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;first off we went sentosa to ogle at gals. LOL not bad but nah not interested, just eyecandy. Then the dumb sel suggested that we swim across the channel. LOL we did but halfway through the dumb security guard was like please do not swim across the channel if you do not have confidence. we were like halfway through. then we just swam across and wrote this super big theory G on the sand. so big until the opposite channel can see the words. YES! theory G will rock the nation, breaking it down!=) then we ate and naturally did all the dumb stunts. backflips. frontflips. jumping off friends' shoulder and of cuz talking to the fishes. no i mean handstanding with the head in the water. LOL. trust me its hard to talk to fishes ok. then we went for steam boat at night&lt;br /&gt;guess wad u do with eggs. or rather wad WE did with eggs. LOL. we fed clams with eggs n cooked them. we tried cooking ralmy burgers. we tried french toast. tried almost anything we can find with eggs. and we washed our chopsticks in the chicken soup. HAHA then the dumb ben went to drink it. he thought we were stirring the soup.LOL then when he drank the first few mouths he thought it tasted funny. shhhhh. then we put dozens of prawn heads into the tom yum soup. and the soup turned out so sweet it rocks. LOL. I'll post the pics up soon peeps so dun worry=)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-6821635911821564887?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/6821635911821564887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=6821635911821564887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6821635911821564887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6821635911821564887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/04/ok-thiss-bout-theory-gs-outing.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-1020461422853797360</id><published>2007-04-08T08:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-08T08:49:52.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;When all has forsaken me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I stand&lt;br /&gt;When all tries to hinder me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I crawl&lt;br /&gt;When all gives up upon me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;When others ask me what's my religion. i tell them i'm an aetheist. Some know. Some do not. Well i actually believe there is a God out there. and its me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When people believe in a God, they feel that that God will give them chances, will help them, SOMEDAY, SOMETIME, SOMEHOW. when is this three S's coming. you'll never know. everytime you go hard in prayer. you ask for this and that. In the end you do not get excatly what you want. then u tell yourself that God gave you this because God feels you need this more even though you want the other type of it more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well I'm my own God. That way i believe that no matter what, If i wan to get this thing, I'll give myself chances, meaning i'll strive to it. I'll work to get it. That way i'll give myself what i want. Rather than wait aimlessly for that God to give you what you really want. Why not give it yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I am my own God&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I stand on my own&lt;br /&gt;I give myself what i want&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-1020461422853797360?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/1020461422853797360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=1020461422853797360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1020461422853797360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/1020461422853797360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/04/when-all-has-forsaken-me-i-stand-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-5568516673247245662</id><published>2007-04-06T05:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T05:35:58.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table style="BORDER-RIGHT: black 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: black 1px solid; BORDER-LEFT: black 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: black 1px solid" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="410" border="0"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-SIZE: 12pt" align="middle"&gt;philosopher&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr height="20"&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;&lt;img alt="QuizHeaven.com" src="http://img78.imageshack.us/img78/365/raveninflightvh3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr height="20"&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;your partner will be a very deep thinker. most likely not concerned with fashions or popularity. they care about whats important to them. but one thing is sure the one thing that means the most to them will be their soul mate..you! remember that when their deep in thought, it may be about you!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr valign="bottom" height="30"&gt;&lt;td style="FONT-SIZE: 8pt" align="middle"&gt;&lt;a style="COLOR: #0099cc" href="http://www.quizheaven.com/quiz.php?id=45"&gt;Take this quiz&lt;/a&gt; at &lt;a style="COLOR: #0099cc" href="http://www.quizheaven.com"&gt;QuizHeaven.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-5568516673247245662?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/5568516673247245662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=5568516673247245662' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5568516673247245662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/5568516673247245662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/04/philosopher-your-partner-will-be-very.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-3622453314321355955</id><published>2007-04-03T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T08:02:42.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>GREAT. right after my camp i lose my fone. HUANG YU XUAN. why u fucking blur. HUH?! go lose ur fone right after camp. very funny is it? still in camp mood to be hyper ar?! so good at bboying for fuck when u cant even look after your own stuff. next time girlfriend also lose la is it? anyhow misplace your things. how can anyone trust u?! so fucking blur. got skills no trust also no use! you idiot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then can even help out in black pearl banner design. LIKE handicap person like dat. wan to help out in LT design. others also can do that wad. you think u wad. big shot ar? can help out in wad? also fucking sai kang warrior. you cant draw for nuts n you cant sing for nuts. literally useless in artistic value!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-3622453314321355955?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/3622453314321355955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=3622453314321355955' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3622453314321355955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/3622453314321355955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/04/great.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-2835246170057031052</id><published>2007-03-29T08:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T08:55:53.859-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Talked to my Mum. FINALLY. i told her everything that i was not happy about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. She being not sastified with my O's results even though i had tried my best&lt;br /&gt;2. being disastified with everything i do after O's&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and many more but i'll get to the most important one. Ever since she complained that i was wastin money on seeing the doctor everytime i got injured during sanda matches or trainin, it hurt me. Gradually i decided not to tell them of my injuries as time passed. Whenever i got injured i'll keep it to myself and just let the pain consume me. Let it hit me and pass away like a wave. This also let to the behaviour change in me. I tend to keep things to myself and not let other people know of my problems. Ever since i got injured during national sanda training, i had nervous damage down the right side of my body. And i found out that during trainin of vigourous activities my right bicep will have this gnawing pain in it then renders my right arm near useless. Like i cant grip something tight, let alone have the power to do a simple freeze like the handglide.&lt;br /&gt;I talked to my Mum about it. i told her that this was becuz of the remarks she scoffed at me when i got injured during sanda training, it was due to her that i learnt to keep things to myself, to not tell her of my problems and injuries, leading to the weak right arm i have now. i cant over exert my right arm now during trainin, and it feels bad to know that i have the extra mile to make just that i cant do it due to my arm. i have the potential but i'm hindered by my arm..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time i tell myself that i am very well to do, seeing other's families and such. right now as i look back. i ask myself the same question. i do not feel the warmth in this family, much less the care. everything that i do is wrong. when i was young i got used to the fact that the home that i return to was nothing but an empty shell....&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-2835246170057031052?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/2835246170057031052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=2835246170057031052' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2835246170057031052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2835246170057031052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/03/talked-to-my-mum.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-846948208656102773</id><published>2007-03-27T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-27T08:52:49.678-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>seriously. FUCK MY COM. it really went to screw every single fucking thing i had. i lost all my information due to some unknown fucked up reason. or so it seemed it was lost. the fucking cpu went to hide all my information in some ulu place of the C drive. hide n seek is it? NBCCB. and i nearly went nuts over the lost of all my bboy-ing pics. - cries-. Now i got to find wad the hell is wrong with my MSN. which does'nt want to let me in for some reason, apparently it does'nt like me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and back to today's trainin. Well as usual we trained freestyling, and later on at like 5+, supposingly its supposed tp be at like 4, those buggers nearly stood us up. finally they came.. to disappoint me=(. He told me how good he was... yea BS. Those two buggers are like soooo...rawwhhhh.. in the end we owned them... they seriously cant dance for nuts. To think they bragged in front of me. wth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and to Moron. HAHA. u make mask? LOL u sure turn out to be mask not?=p&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-846948208656102773?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/846948208656102773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=846948208656102773' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/846948208656102773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/846948208656102773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/03/seriously.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-2043158729340771533</id><published>2007-03-19T19:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T19:01:48.438-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.flarn.com/~warlock/tarot/winged/15.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h2 align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;You are The Devil&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;What Tarot Card are You?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flarn.com/~warlock/tarot" target="_blank"&gt;Take the Test to Find Out.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-2043158729340771533?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/2043158729340771533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=2043158729340771533' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2043158729340771533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/2043158729340771533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/03/you-are-devil-materiality.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-891299801361625063</id><published>2007-03-18T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T08:11:42.894-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Seriously the first thought when i watched the people in Floorskillz nokia. I found out that i'm comparable to them in 'Rocks. Then their footwork i was also comparable to them too. But still I'm afraid, not to face the crowd. IS to face my fear. Self inferiorment. Whenever i see others dancing i can see that i'm weaker, more useless. It comes naturally, no matter what i'll come up with excuses to think that I'm weaker. I asked a few people of what they think of my 'rocks..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BGirl__ Break Dancer__ says:&lt;br /&gt;erm, i think your's still nicer that them...REALLY not kidding..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls are Weird!!! says:&lt;br /&gt;around there bah...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reika:&lt;br /&gt;maybe xuan really need to improve to Shine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fBLjj (i`m as pure as u , Olen yhtä hetero kuin twistie) says:&lt;br /&gt;hmmm that i say yes coz i think they just warming up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to think i'm training so damn hard to find that i still fall short of their league. what's stopping me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-891299801361625063?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/891299801361625063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=891299801361625063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/891299801361625063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/891299801361625063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/03/seriously-first-thought-when-i-watched.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-498971880225296687</id><published>2007-03-06T03:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T03:48:59.841-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_rKel5b9JLkw/Re1VCigkLQI/AAAAAAAAAA0/Lxz1aK71BIE/s1600-h/Airbaby+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038777060208946434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_rKel5b9JLkw/Re1VCigkLQI/AAAAAAAAAA0/Lxz1aK71BIE/s320/Airbaby+2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_rKel5b9JLkw/Re1VCygkLRI/AAAAAAAAAA8/b8vt0ESCG5M/s1600-h/airchair+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038777064503913746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_rKel5b9JLkw/Re1VCygkLRI/AAAAAAAAAA8/b8vt0ESCG5M/s320/airchair+2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and this is what i just learnt. So much for hard work&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-498971880225296687?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/498971880225296687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=498971880225296687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/498971880225296687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/498971880225296687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/03/and-this-is-what-i-just-learnt.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_rKel5b9JLkw/Re1VCigkLQI/AAAAAAAAAA0/Lxz1aK71BIE/s72-c/Airbaby+2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-9022379348267759298</id><published>2007-02-26T23:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T23:41:03.927-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm seriously sick of this shit. you've changed. alright. you're not like that in the past. i dunno what happened to you. its like the exact opposite of you. man i seriously dun even recognise you now. Money talks? true but we can still be happy. I'm always happy and its not because of money. its because i can pursue my passion. its because i have my friends with me. does laughter cost money? money can never be earned enough and its NOT sick that we do not care bout how much we have in our wallet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-9022379348267759298?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/9022379348267759298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=9022379348267759298' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9022379348267759298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/9022379348267759298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/im-seriously-sick-of-this-shit.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-8480352589946528048</id><published>2007-02-26T07:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T07:27:16.380-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Every training &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;a sense of accomplishment&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;that is what i'll have&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;what I'll strive for&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Pain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Just a source of fear&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Everyone is afraid of pain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but i chose to ignore it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but bear the brunt of its effect&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;IGNORANCE is BLISS&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Every step that i take&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;is another mistake to you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and every second i waste&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;is more than i can take&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Numbed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Erin&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/37786434-8480352589946528048?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/8480352589946528048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=8480352589946528048' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8480352589946528048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8480352589946528048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/every-training-sense-of-accomplishment.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-4947464275286062107</id><published>2007-02-25T07:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T07:29:01.858-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i hate the way you guys think that of me. you guys do not know the suitation. what i yearn for you guys have not reached that level and u say i'm a flirt. i'm just merely sacrificing a little something for my goal. dun you guys get it. it's not as if i'm leaving for someone else. i nearly smashed you guys today. dun let it happen again. you guys just dun understand how badly i want to improve. i got hurt pretty badly just by the words you guys said. you know why i changed the password? READ in it. dun go shooting your mouth again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;At times when i look in the mirror&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I ask myself&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Do i even deserve the people around me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Do i even deserve to be called a man&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Now&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I know the answer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To have a clear conscience&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To be able to look into the slivered plane&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Without flinching&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Without hiding&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Without a trail of doubt&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To know all i did was through hard work&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Not through, cheating, lying and stealing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To look with pride&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;All i see&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Is the embodiment of passion&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;With a clear conscience&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;that's what makes a man&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To have dreams&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-4947464275286062107?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/4947464275286062107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=4947464275286062107' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4947464275286062107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/4947464275286062107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-hate-way-you-guys-think-that-of-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-8096159388074895565</id><published>2007-02-24T21:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-24T21:21:12.265-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;the memories, unforgetten&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;the touch, sensational&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;the warmth, full of life&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Everything that will be remembered&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and for the space&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;it'll never be taken up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-8096159388074895565?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/8096159388074895565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=8096159388074895565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8096159388074895565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/8096159388074895565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/memories-unforgetten-touch-sensational.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-6261802618566031120</id><published>2007-02-17T01:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-17T02:35:51.384-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>FIRST off, I miss breaking with the crew and BL. i seriously cant take my life anymore. not a single moment i'm problem free. Not a single moment for me to take a breather, and yes Sel i miss you too! the Funny moments we shared. the blackies we hate.&lt;br /&gt;i cant take the pressure now. Everyone's having too much expectations of me. To be better, to be perfect. I'm seriously cracking now. I always take it upon myself to shoulder responsibilities. Everytime i take load after load, It piles up. and yes it strains. Last time i can take it, but as time goes by. The breathing gets difficult, the going gets tough, the load gets heavy. yes i know it means i'm climbing, I'm making progress. But i can feel my legs giving way, then i'll slip, fall and roll down. All i wish for is to not get up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everytime when i dun reply him, i get pressurized, i owe him. i dun wish to. i know he means well but its MY life. yet i have to report to him or such&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read your blog. maybe it aint much but i did my best. i put in every single effort to do it. To do a set amount every day, the gruelling progress. If you dun appreciate it, FINE. you say i dun mention bout you at all. you know that i always keep personal issues IN my heart, CLOSE to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the crew, i know i have been pressurizing you guys to work harder, somehow it does'nt work. i have high expectations of you guys, higher expectations of myself. every single night i force myself to train more, call it that i'll like to be a model example, even though you guys haven been training really hard. I still continue. Think bout it. you train FOR yourself. Not for the crew. Not for me. not for your parents or whatever. once you learn it, you have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To myself. I'm really losing it. the stress. the strain. the pressure. the load. the toil. the buckling.&lt;br /&gt;Everytime i take a step, i do something out of the way, i dun get the praise. i dun get noticed. Everytime when i'm taking a breather, When i'm getting obsessed with trainin, it becomes a mistake. For which freedom i give, you deny. I am this way. my passion is great. No one can change it. to which its unmoving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I ain't goin' out bro &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I ain't givin' into it &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Anxieties bash my mind in&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Terrorizing my soul like Bin Laden&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I ain't fallin' down bro &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I won't lose control bro &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Shackle and chained&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My soul feels stained&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I can't explain got an itch on my brain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lately my whole aim is to maintain&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And regain control of my mainframe&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My bloods boiling its beatin' out propaine&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My train of thoughts more like a runaway train&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm in a fast car drivin' in a fast lane&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;In the rain and I'm might just hydroplaine&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-6261802618566031120?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/6261802618566031120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=6261802618566031120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6261802618566031120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/6261802618566031120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/first-off-i-miss-breaking-with-crew-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-929923111586944281</id><published>2007-02-09T19:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T23:28:12.182-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm utterly disappointed. Talk about passion. With all the bursting out, being strong and such. Passion? so it was all just a farce? Ha. To think about all the things we said before, but think it through, we all know that through hard work then we can achieve what we want. If only we want that thing so much we're willing to sacrifice for it, to do anything it takes to get what we want. Then we'll get it. To be better? to get a good freeze? to learn something new. All this comes in through hard work. not slacking at home, not having personal training and just hoping the mechanics will dawn on you. No it does'nt work that way, and neither will excuses help you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a lighter note, think this way. how many of you guys train when you reach home? i dun wish to know. Let the answer dawn on you. Then do some soul searching k?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;sometimes you just grow tired&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;feel weak&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and when you feel weak&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;you feel like you wanna just give up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but you gotta search within you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and find that inner strength&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and Pull that shit outta you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and get that motivation to not give up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and not be a quitter&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and collapse&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Till the roof comes off, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;till the lights go out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Till my legs give out,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; can’t shut my mouth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Till the smoke clears out &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and my high burn out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-929923111586944281?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/929923111586944281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=929923111586944281' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/929923111586944281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/929923111586944281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/02/im-utterly-disappointed.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-7497418604843051660</id><published>2007-01-28T23:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T23:28:12.328-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>oh man my hips hurt like fuck. that damn bruise at my hips. I dun care. Its not gonna hinder me to MILLZ. and and i seriously want the crew to get the standard for the crew to go rocketing up=))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And you think you're that damn good, only to have people behind you talking bout what you do. You do what you're doing is nice. True its nice but not in this area. So fuck it. Dun you come lecturing me bout what i do or not do wrong. I know for myself whether i'm hitting on it or not. You should see the pathetic state you're in. To think you think you're that damn good. BS&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-7497418604843051660?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/7497418604843051660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=7497418604843051660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7497418604843051660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/7497418604843051660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/oh-man-my-hips-hurt-like-fuck.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116973965153194827</id><published>2007-01-25T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T07:40:51.543-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well I guessed its Time i updated my list of break moves:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Footwork&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 step&lt;br /&gt;2 step&lt;br /&gt;3 step&lt;br /&gt;4 step&lt;br /&gt;5 step&lt;br /&gt;6 step&lt;br /&gt;7 step&lt;br /&gt;shuffle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Freezes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Airbaby&lt;br /&gt;Baby freeze&lt;br /&gt;Elbow freeze-vary&lt;br /&gt;Shoulder freeze-vary&lt;br /&gt;Turtle freeze&lt;br /&gt;Handglide freeze&lt;br /&gt;Headstand freeze&lt;br /&gt;Airchair&lt;br /&gt;Hong10 freeze&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Spins&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Handspin&lt;br /&gt;Windmill&lt;br /&gt;backspin&lt;br /&gt;headspin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Floats&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;turtle&lt;br /&gt;Criket&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Handstand moves&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Handstand&lt;br /&gt;Solar esclipse&lt;br /&gt;Nike&lt;br /&gt;Invert&lt;br /&gt;hollowback&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not much improvement compared to last year=(&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116973965153194827?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116973965153194827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116973965153194827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116973965153194827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116973965153194827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/well-i-guessed-its-time-i-updated-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116945103144416409</id><published>2007-01-21T23:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T01:01:16.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Theory G's getting too hooot for ya! Saturday night a few of the crew went to TP to own the floor. and woohooo! we did. Almost everyone stopped to see us there. and seriously good job guys, our training really pay off. Our Rocks improved. BUT it can be better. Good job munky, u shot Kip ups down. BUT come for training u ass. Zen- ur footwork's good. Keep it up and think of more stuff. season more of your body. I know it sounds sick. but yea. Wilson- You got caught on cam! ur NIke man! and ur freeze too. aint'cha dope! you gotto improve on ur rocks really hard. then u'll get better. You're more on less catching the beat now=).Nic- good job, Just learn from sel, add more bounce to ur rocks and make it more Fierce. and YES more Trans.&lt;br /&gt;And well to me guys, i failed. BADLY. only like 4 rounds of turtles? a few hops of crikets? not to mention not even trying out millz and failing airchair. The only thing i improved in was rocks and solar esclipse. There's others i failed too. dropping on my freezes. rolling over only to cover up with a shoulder freeze. pathethic. i Need to be better. my footwork, yea sure i added more variation like criss crosses and shuffles but i haven use them before so i cant grade for myself if they're dope or shit. I'm seriously have to think bout new Footwork. and get 3 step down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cant fail you guys. I want Theory G to shine. That's why i have to push myself against pain, and my own limits. We're getting hotter, better and mroe intense than ever. WOO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116945103144416409?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116945103144416409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116945103144416409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116945103144416409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116945103144416409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/theory-gs-getting-too-hooot-for-ya.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116926438037517065</id><published>2007-01-19T19:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-19T19:39:40.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Quizes are coming their way. I dun give a fuck. Just gonna dance dance dance like no one's watching. I'm so gonna train hard, I have to. I need to. but my performance is'nt up to my expectations. I dun wan half fucked turtles. i wan perfect windmillS. and i seriously need unber dope rocks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all those haters who thinks my hair's fucked, to those who think I'm a fucking show off. get in line, there are tons of others who hate me. take a number too on the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116926438037517065?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116926438037517065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116926438037517065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116926438037517065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116926438037517065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/quizes-are-coming-their-way.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116870223137186673</id><published>2007-01-13T07:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-13T07:30:31.413-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm starting to fucking hate this family's guts. What fucking thing i do is always wrong. the same mistakes that my siblings do are forgiven, or worse, looked over. I dun even get presents from my parents now. I'm not saying it in a kid tone. they're just fucking biased. I'm probably being thought of being a screw up, defiant. Well all i gonna say is. Fuck that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When all is gone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When all is lost&lt;br /&gt;Will you be there?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;During the storm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When all break me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When all lose me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Will you pull me up?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and give me wings&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When all leave me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;when all drops me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Will you carry me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and give me strength&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I gave you my heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;But you stole my soul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&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/37786434-116870223137186673?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116870223137186673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116870223137186673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116870223137186673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116870223137186673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/im-starting-to-fucking-hate-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116860744634769008</id><published>2007-01-12T05:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-12T05:10:46.346-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Now only those that have my password can read it. XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;you tripped me really hard. and i fell just like that. When i thought i wont fall again you appeared. then we share so much in common. Not to mention liking even the same design, doing the same things, eating the same food. Are you made for me? maybe you are, maybe you're not. I'm just afraid to lose you now. the way we shared every special moment, you accept me for my past. that's all. i ask for you to be there with me, you dun have to be there for me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Erin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116860744634769008?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116860744634769008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116860744634769008' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116860744634769008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116860744634769008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/now-only-those-that-have-my-password.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116814087325280205</id><published>2007-01-06T19:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-06T19:34:33.273-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm gonna start this new chapter. This new road. I depend on you. Too much. Its time i start to accept this. I breath on every word you said.Its hard to take things as it is but I'll get used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116814087325280205?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116814087325280205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116814087325280205' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116814087325280205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116814087325280205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/im-gonna-start-this-new-chapter.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116791047913771635</id><published>2007-01-04T03:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T03:34:39.146-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm a normal human. I'm not the one who makes the crew unequal nor an alpha male. I'm still what I am. I'm the old me. I dun get the meaning of you trying to always step out of my shadow where's there's never one. Wilson's not my doormat, He's an individual, he just have not discovered his style yet like you guys. I only found my style faster. It seems jealousy can break friendships forged over years in a simple moment. do you know i cant even talk to you now without mustering courage. I've got to hide my eyes, even though i did'nt done anything wrong. It seems just being faster and a little better is a crime. If this was so i rather not be and keep you, my friend by my side&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116791047913771635?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116791047913771635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116791047913771635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116791047913771635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116791047913771635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/im-normal-human.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116764371036414979</id><published>2007-01-01T00:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-01T01:28:30.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>thanks for all the shit ass fun guys and thanks for treating Hui lin nice. although a few were *ahem* a little too nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THe night was young and i brought vodka to lighten things up. we bought like dunno how many 1.5 soft drinks and mixed them. Woot. Then we did'nt get drunk. went to the fireworks. we starting shouting like the usual buggers were where&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on the way we decided to do something funny&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: hey the fireworks are over there, we point the other way and say wa ok?&lt;br /&gt;nic: they'll all look there and wonder what's there to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the people around us thought we're mad. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then after when we're rushing to see the fireworks, a few malays were like controlling the crowd, shouting to the rushing exodus: ' saddam hussien! saddam hussien! over there! ' Like what the hell?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the fireworks were nice 'cept for the fact i'm blocked by a lil' trees. THEN ITS YEAR 2007!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we started walking and make our way, playing indian poker, cheat, and drinking like nuts. Then Hui Lin suddenly like playing POKER. as in Poke-r. I'm the one getting poked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we started walking to old market to grab a bite. there was equally insane. so fun&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly Fu lin needed the toilet so we went to boat quay mac but he had a fetish for clean toilet. In the end we went fullerton. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that we went raffles place to rest. that was like 4 nearing 5am. but in the end me and wilson were brkdancing, windmilling on the grass and such. Then hui lin started having the alcohol getting to her so she slpt on my lap. poking me as usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;will post the fotos next time i get my cam back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bros, we discussed impt things that morning. If life were like that, every night that simple. Hah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I aint better. I'm just bout the same, more or less&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116764371036414979?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116764371036414979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116764371036414979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116764371036414979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116764371036414979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2007/01/thanks-for-all-shit-ass-fun-guys-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116754724132962320</id><published>2006-12-30T22:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T22:40:41.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Is money really that important? i know that I'm comparatively well to do against my buddies, but fuck that. Money did'nt give me happiness. Happiness equals wearing my holey shirts at home, going out with BL, brking at the usual place with theory G. True we need money, but it does'nt mean everything.&lt;br /&gt;    I used to make straw stars and make those roses from fererro rocher wrappers. they did'nt cause much, but at least they made my Ex happy. I dun need to buy a 1000+ Dior bag for her just to make her smile. I can make people smile in the simpliest of ways. I dun need money to buy my way in to people's heart.&lt;br /&gt;    For those people who thinks gettting a branded shirt is a necessity, well fuck it. That's your way of spending money, getting FUN. to me, cheap thrill or not is still FUN.&lt;br /&gt;   I hate the way you people think of those who do not have money. So what if we have or do not have money. Does it mean that we're bad inside? does it mean that we can date rich gals? Does it mean we can never have fun. For all you know, after getting our hands on money, we may lose what we wanted in the first place, the fun we had, brking, hanging out and such&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116754724132962320?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116754724132962320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116754724132962320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116754724132962320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116754724132962320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/is-money-really-that-important-i-know.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116736297860793598</id><published>2006-12-28T19:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-28T19:29:38.616-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok people i'm back from Bangkok. the place is rather nice, but for the fact that nice things get stuck in the middle of nowhere. yea that's right. the hotel that i stay in is a 5 star hotel, guess what's beside it? run down shop houses. LOL. its like so random. Then i spent most of my time shopping, and to those people who noticed that i always wear the same few shirts to school, dun be happy too soon, I'm still lazy to find what to wear so continue hating me. oh oh. i found lots of funny pics at Bangkok. Partly due to their bad &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/457862/forearm%20hallow%20047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/772680/forearm%20hallow%20047.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;English haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;haha. anyone knows how to swim?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/663603/forearm%20hallow%20045.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/93324/forearm%20hallow%20045.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this cost only Singapore $3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/866572/forearm%20hallow%20043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/459537/forearm%20hallow%20043.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/866572/forearm%20hallow%20043.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;i saw him like this an hour ago. I went back to find him still the same. Kudos&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/99547/forearm%20hallow%20046.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/99547/forearm%20hallow%20046.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/679289/forearm%20hallow%20046.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I went for thai massage! He's the guy massaging my foot. Bet it stinks&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/867022/forearm%20hallow%20049.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/867022/forearm%20hallow%20049.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="237" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/976138/forearm%20hallow%20049.jpg" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Read the board. any kind of BALLS. you sure?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/150783/forearm%20hallow%20050.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/574885/forearm%20hallow%20050.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This is not what you think. its in the airport ok!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Erin&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116736297860793598?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116736297860793598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116736297860793598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116736297860793598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116736297860793598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/ok-people-im-back-from-bangkok.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116702278563504858</id><published>2006-12-24T19:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-24T20:59:45.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Its my birthday but I'm freaking pissed. FIrst i dun get to use the Pc, finally after much whining, begging, pleaing and whatever, I got to use it. Then my freaking father came and ORDERED me to wash the car. Like what the fuck? Its my birthday? i JUST got to used the com for a fucking five minutes. Then i told him in a NICE tone i dun wan to go and i wanted to use the com. Well being the usual ass he said no. now I'm back after the back breaking washing of the mulit purpose vehicle. Well i admit that i have a responsibilty to help in washing the car, after all i sit in it. But why of all times must i wash it on my birthday? Its ok actually but i have to wash it just before i get to use the com. Now that's idiotic. Sad to say my father is worse of a retard to know my likings. Being the miserable father he always was, Let's just say life's fucked. get use to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You know what i want. You just refuse to believe in it. I believe in what i can, though you say you walked out of it. All i want tolet you know is, i lost the meaning to my birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Happy birthday to me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;happy birthday to me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;happy birthday to mee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;*bang*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;*shoots myself in the head*&lt;br /&gt;merry xmas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Erin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116702278563504858?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116702278563504858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116702278563504858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116702278563504858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116702278563504858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/its-my-birthday-but-im-freaking-pissed.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116679996584495360</id><published>2006-12-22T06:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-22T07:36:27.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Yesterday was rather fun. Even though i got lil' presents I'm still happy. I'm a simple guy after all. I got a cap and a bottle, not to mention a freaking looking barbie Doll. LOL&lt;br /&gt;We had a lot of fun, goofing about and such. Being the usual us. Haha. Then wynne came. We started joking real nice. we said there's only 1 female around us, and that's my sister. Haha then my mother wanted the head count, i said 9 and a half. Then when i asked my Lil sis how she find wynne, she looked at me and asked, 'gal?'&lt;br /&gt;we ate lots and those buggers sure know how to polish the plates off. there were 2 plates of fish fingers and 1 plate of sotong balls, not to mention the 4 huge 14 inche pizza. I chatted a while then i turned, intending to say,' Hey leave some for wilfred' GONE. b4 i even uttered a word. haha. And we started drinking=)) then we did something stupid. You'll see &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/218598/forearm%20hallow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/570773/forearm%20hallow.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;haha the shit ass we do. no strings attached&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/1600/372787/forearm%20hallow%20040.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3584/3282/320/104513/forearm%20hallow%20040.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my present. Man those buggers sure know how to make me smile&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116679996584495360?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116679996584495360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116679996584495360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116679996584495360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116679996584495360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/yesterday-was-rather-fun.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116644691152309349</id><published>2006-12-18T04:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T05:01:51.596-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm feeling pretty bitchy today. Maybe its the rain. maybe its boredom. I dunno. I seriously need to bitch big time .&lt;br /&gt;*&amp;^*)^%&amp;amp;*$%^T@(&amp;*#*@&amp;amp;#%@$^()*@#*&amp;%@*&amp;amp;&amp;$(_@&amp;amp;!$#*&amp;^(*@&amp;amp;#$*@($&amp;@($)&amp;amp;#(&lt;a href="mailto:*%@#(@#(I)@(#_()#*@*#(*YRE()$U()$#JU@$($*^(@($"&gt;*%@#(@#(I)@(#_()#*@*#(*YRE()$U()$#JU@$($*^(@($&lt;/a&gt;#&lt;br /&gt;I'm lacking something, and i cant get that fucking balance in airchair. The only place that does'nt ache now on my body is my dick. I cant do any shit now. Too pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People ask me why i dance. I dance to express, not to impress. Its how i use my body, as a sign, an expression, a weapon, as a tool. To sculpture my thoughts into form. To give it flow. To tell others how i feel. To show what I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dun give a damn if * are commited all not. Everytime i see the same thing. I feel the same beat. I get the same tune. I cant get * together. I suck. Maybe Its all for nothing. Who said one for all, all for one. I made sacrifices but i dun get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i dun fucking care if * aint committed, I'll get what i want. NO sooner or later. Only sooner. I dun fucking care if i break my bones. I dun fucking care what things * said all these while. Its gone in the wind. I'll prove to everyone i'll make it. with or without *&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116644691152309349?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116644691152309349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116644691152309349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116644691152309349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116644691152309349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/im-feeling-pretty-bitchy-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116610717346861756</id><published>2006-12-14T06:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T06:39:33.476-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How to get free drinks from mac&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;1. order any drinks, as long as it's the macdonald cup. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;2. occupy two table. Split them apart&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;3. drain them half empty and leave them on one of the table&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;4. clutter the one you're on and make sure to act as if the drink aint yours&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;5. Hopes the staff comes to clear your drinks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;6. Look at the person who cleared your drinks and give him a big eye stare. Then say Buang&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;7. Effect's better with friends. One says, 'Good game'. The other slams head on table and say,' siao liao'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;8. Most likely you'll get your drinks. FULL. wee!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116610717346861756?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116610717346861756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116610717346861756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116610717346861756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116610717346861756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/how-to-get-free-drinks-from-mac-1.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116598094747719606</id><published>2006-12-12T19:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T19:35:47.486-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hah. the test was crappy today. and i dun think i can make my mark now. Hah fuck it. And Esther was still saying let's get As together. I wish. MAybe she can. You can do it Esther!=) One more FUCKING paper. Then i'll break till the cows come home=) or maybe till my bones break&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I see you as you are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So near yet so far&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/37786434-116598094747719606?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116598094747719606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116598094747719606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116598094747719606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116598094747719606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/hah.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116572780544209162</id><published>2006-12-09T21:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T21:16:45.443-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Do not ask why I'm Erin. Try to get the answer to why the Earth is round. Once i lived for you, Now i live for myself. Once I dragged myself to wake up, to face the terrors of life, just for you. Now I drag myself because I'm trying to live Like i never knew you. I'm trying to accept others into my life, but i'm failing. Adios&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116572780544209162?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116572780544209162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116572780544209162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116572780544209162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116572780544209162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/do-not-ask-why-im-erin_09.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116549416077548659</id><published>2006-12-07T04:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-07T04:22:40.783-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;As i reflect on the past relations i had, true, they're beautiful. Each and everyone of them. But everytime it ends with pain. scars. these few things cant run away from every ending i have. Hah. So much for my happy ending. Its time to end it all. I'll turn gay. bleahx. No way man. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm so sick of typical girls. When i found you, I thought it'll all work out. But you chose to back out. To leave and pursue something more 'real'. you took my heart with you. it'll take a long time to heal. I'll still live in this lie you made and left. as long as i want to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I've killed many things in life&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Most of them are feelings&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Erin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116549416077548659?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116549416077548659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116549416077548659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116549416077548659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116549416077548659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/as-i-reflect-on-past-relations-i-had.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116533024510593384</id><published>2006-12-05T06:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T06:50:45.113-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eboy's dead. Erin's here. Dun ask why. Just obey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To brothers: when the time comes you'll know&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116533024510593384?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116533024510593384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116533024510593384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116533024510593384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116533024510593384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/eboys-dead.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116511361381436393</id><published>2006-12-02T18:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-02T18:40:13.826-08:00</updated><title type='text'>..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;It seems one thing has been true all along,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You don't really know what you got 'til it's gone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;You did'nt give any respect for me. You Lied. Totally. You dun bother. Well now nor do I. I still like you, but Its over. I've given up fighting this losing battle. Till one day when You finally realised what you lost, I'd be long gone. Or maybe you wont even turn back to look at the memories we shared. I respected you for who you are. i guess you did'nt do the same.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sick of the ways you hurt me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Where'd you go?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I miss you so&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Seems like it's been forever&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That you've been gone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Eboy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116511361381436393?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116511361381436393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116511361381436393' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116511361381436393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116511361381436393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/blog-post.html' title='..'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116506385762934683</id><published>2006-12-02T04:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-02T04:50:58.793-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fried</title><content type='html'>Went to sentosa AGAIN. got fried, practically. Went with Esther and Alicia. Early on i was bullying Alicia like nuts, throwing sand on her and splashing water. Then the vulgarities spilt from her mouth like nothing. Ha. Then we went back up to accompany Esther as she cant go into the water due to her white spots. Then we buried Alicia into the Sand. Wee! The sun started to get hot, so we lie down and slpt, turning over at times to give the other side a tan. I so want to turn bangladeshish colour, but failed=( Esther and Alicia said i turned darker, but i doubted so. They turned darker. Can see the tan Line on them. Hah. After that we went to vivo. Man. Is it huge or is it huge? We were like browsing here and then, going into Gap and Zara. Esther still dared say the clothes in Gap is cheap. Yea right. Stepping into vivomart, we walked around and finally found the sweets section. Then the 2 gals bought their stuff and went off. Upon going out, we found CANDY EMPIRE. HAHA. We went in and really went nuts in there. Me and Esther were like comparing jelly beans and looking and say which brand taste nicer, browsing chocolates and the Hell. Alicia was like M.I.A. Haha finally got out to go Home!&lt;br /&gt;Eboy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I hate myself for believing in your bullshit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Seriously I wished i got your wish&lt;br /&gt;Now i think I'm blind&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Eboy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116506385762934683?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116506385762934683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116506385762934683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116506385762934683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116506385762934683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/fried.html' title='Fried'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116498740435312556</id><published>2006-12-01T07:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T07:36:45.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jam and Hop</title><content type='html'>Wee. One word. FUN. The starting was slow. There were a few bands jamming away. Then this band came up. LOL. Funny name : bass fish. They were good. Then came the HOP part. Haha. Everyone was grooving to the beat. Then i found a circle where people were breaking. Haha. i just took off my specs, passed to Alicia, Jumped into the fray immediately. Nuts right? There were a few pros but all in all we had fun. Haha. so fun. Finally got to see different styles of dancing for breaking=). Then we were like goofing around. and Esther finally started to hype. as in really HYPED. she started dancing like *whistles* damn sexy. is she hot or is she hot? LoL. Then came techno. Wee ahha. Everyone was still going nuts, jumping up and down. Then came Bon jovi : Its my life=). Haha, everyone was jumping at the chorus. Then me and Zack lifted Con into the air and he was like controlling the crowd. Wth?! Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm gonna give Love another try&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I hope this works&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Eboy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116498740435312556?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116498740435312556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116498740435312556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116498740435312556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116498740435312556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/12/jam-and-hop.html' title='Jam and Hop'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116463675633743258</id><published>2006-11-27T06:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T06:31:52.396-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tired</title><content type='html'>Today my mum got discharged. Note to self: Keep her from falling. she got blood twice as diluted as the normal human. Any fall and she'll bleed like a toilet flushing. Hah. Must remember what she said during her silliness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Told me to wear more as its snowing? wth?!&lt;br /&gt;2. told me she participated in Project superstar and my brother got into the finals.&lt;/div&gt;3. Used the wireless phone in her room to switch on the TV.&lt;br /&gt;4. Switched on the toilet light and wonder why the main light did'nt come on.&lt;br /&gt;5. Told me its the year 1997, 2017, 2007 on different occasions.&lt;br /&gt;6. Told me a different story everytime i ask her who came on the days when she's silly.&lt;br /&gt;7. Asked my brother to take coupon from her bag and to redeem it at her company for food.&lt;br /&gt;8. Told my brother to go online to bid for food.&lt;br /&gt;9. Told me she had a master that could fly. wee XD.&lt;br /&gt;10. Appeared to be talking to my sister when there's no one in the room except for me and her.&lt;br /&gt;11. Had weird timings to when i came or whoever came. XD.&lt;br /&gt;12. Told my sister that when her soft toy pig reach a certain age, it needs to be given a name.&lt;br /&gt;13. Thought that the company that makes soft toys are made up of a bunch of animals. i wish!=)&lt;br /&gt;14. Told my father that he discussed on the buying of a new bed the night before.&lt;br /&gt;15. Told me she went to places when she did'nt really go before&lt;br /&gt;16. Told my father i pulled a rug and made her fell on her head, causing her to have her frequent headaches and losing her memories.&lt;br /&gt;17. Told my father that there's strike outside at the doctor's when watching the news of iraq having strike.&lt;br /&gt;18. Told my brother to be careful in the competition the next day, to not get beaten on the nose. Hah. If he can fight, pigs can fly.&lt;br /&gt;19. Mistaken my brother for me. oh please!&lt;br /&gt;20. Had really slow reactions to what ever questions that were shot to her.&lt;br /&gt;21. Thought that me, my brother and my sister had been warded for same reasons as her before&lt;br /&gt;22. Asked my father why she was here and being put on drip while he was'nt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;haha. scary? u bet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I've tried living without you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I've failed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm trying to get you back&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;hard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;But you seem to be opening today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;for every star made&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;every hair-line crack&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Worsen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eboy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116463675633743258?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116463675633743258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116463675633743258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116463675633743258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116463675633743258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/11/tired.html' title='Tired'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116455516755357601</id><published>2006-11-26T07:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-26T07:32:47.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fried</title><content type='html'>LOL. Went to sentosa on Saturday to celebrate Sel's bday. HAHA. guess wad? we bough a pack of condom for him. Assorted flavour=). He did'nt see it coming. HAHA. Anyway. We practically got fried on palawan beach. And we feasted out eyes a little. LOL. I'm red as a lobster now. Then we, being the idiots we always are. Did lots of silly stuff in the sea. Not urinating ok? haha. we were doing back flips, front flips, and aerials. Dumb rite? and we were trying a couple of freezes in the sea and doing flares too.LOL. I DID FLARE OK. haha. we all did actually=) then we started sleeping on the beach. frying ourself up like nobody's business. Ouch. my back hurts now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i still wear that smile as if it did'nt affect me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I still act as if I dun mind&lt;br /&gt;But all the pain&lt;br /&gt;I'm holding it back&lt;br /&gt;whenever i take straws to make a star&lt;br /&gt;I know Its because i cant take the pain anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eboy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116455516755357601?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116455516755357601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116455516755357601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116455516755357601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116455516755357601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/11/fried.html' title='Fried'/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116453365955968871</id><published>2006-11-26T01:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-26T01:34:19.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You lied. You said you did'nt need anyone. You just wanted me to fuck off from your life. Wad did I do wrong? Is there any need to toy with me? Nvm. Wad you did will fuel my other passions. WEE. BREAK IT DOWN.&lt;br /&gt;Eboy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116453365955968871?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116453365955968871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116453365955968871' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116453365955968871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116453365955968871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/11/you-lied.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37786434.post-116446910835852060</id><published>2006-11-25T07:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-25T07:38:28.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>people this is my new blog. Its only for people i allow&lt;br /&gt;Eboy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37786434-116446910835852060?l=memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/feeds/116446910835852060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37786434&amp;postID=116446910835852060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116446910835852060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37786434/posts/default/116446910835852060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://memories-of-the-imperfect.blogspot.com/2006/11/people-this-is-my-new-blog.html' title=''/><author><name>Eboy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00624068467527150502</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
