tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357957952024-03-12T20:21:48.613-07:00childgoodhood: happiness is about writing and drawing sillychildgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-76750686370028976332012-12-12T03:44:00.005-08:002012-12-12T03:44:52.824-08:00Child Labour part 5: a child used as a mail box<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(STOP CHILD LABOUR)</div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-68252770572480922172012-12-12T03:44:00.002-08:002012-12-12T03:44:19.586-08:00Child Labour part 4: a child used as door holder so the dog can walk back into the house after pissing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(STOP CHILD LABOUR)</div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-62420772381478628482012-12-12T03:43:00.003-08:002012-12-12T03:43:35.175-08:00Child Labour part 3: a child used as a bike <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(STOP CHILD LABOUR)</div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-79736034687106868342012-12-12T03:42:00.004-08:002012-12-12T03:42:44.915-08:00Child Labour part 2: a child used as a ladder so people can climb the tree and pick the apples <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(STOP CHILD LABOUR)</div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-55298677103004579062012-12-12T03:41:00.002-08:002012-12-12T03:41:53.262-08:00Chid Labour part 1: a child used as a broom stick <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(STOP CHILD LABOUR)</div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-33909898631402884372012-06-22T21:17:00.000-07:002014-09-27T20:46:05.307-07:00Love Story, a Stop Motion Project<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DwxbhLilNwg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #71767a; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px;">Story & stop motion by Karin Wijaya<br />Edited by Frederic Gluntz (<a href="http://www.fgluntz.ch/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #112233; cursor: pointer; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">fgluntz.ch</a>)<br />Music: Under Your Spell by Desire<br />For Bitha & Dharma</span></div>
childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-70217160910278045932012-01-05T00:38:00.000-08:002012-01-05T00:38:17.835-08:00FOSSIL FANTASY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4p7cvjR_B1g/TwVg2Cx7xGI/AAAAAAAAAIw/hXODTwSVHxg/s1600/387780_10150496655536505_563936504_8429565_472599083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4p7cvjR_B1g/TwVg2Cx7xGI/AAAAAAAAAIw/hXODTwSVHxg/s400/387780_10150496655536505_563936504_8429565_472599083_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Hi. My name is Saddie. I don't want to be a doctor or an astronaut. I want to suicide on my backyard with my cat Polo as soon as possible so we can become fossil as soon as possible so my brother doesn't have to die in Iraq that soon that possible just for an oil. Just promise not to put us inside silly coffin when we die.</span></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-71160683612560828512012-01-05T00:27:00.001-08:002014-12-06T00:49:12.467-08:00FREEDOM OF APPETITE: FROG JAM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-89369066007760236302012-01-05T00:26:00.000-08:002012-01-05T00:26:30.132-08:00FREEDOM OF APPETITE: 10 WATT ENERGY DRINK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-szCMhA7mrYk/TwVeqwvNhMI/AAAAAAAAAIY/wTFXoB0qGLc/s1600/391906_10150431484001505_563936504_8220640_1274821747_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-szCMhA7mrYk/TwVeqwvNhMI/AAAAAAAAAIY/wTFXoB0qGLc/s400/391906_10150431484001505_563936504_8220640_1274821747_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-49301266571184986902012-01-05T00:24:00.000-08:002012-01-05T00:24:54.816-08:00FREEDOM OF APPETITE: GRAVITATION FLAVORED CHEESE BALLS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L20-dBrtDmo/TwVePsA9V0I/AAAAAAAAAIM/ABIlXIgFuvg/s1600/391225_10150431484436505_563936504_8220647_1870047394_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L20-dBrtDmo/TwVePsA9V0I/AAAAAAAAAIM/ABIlXIgFuvg/s400/391225_10150431484436505_563936504_8220647_1870047394_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-27211216658678447442011-08-27T08:10:00.000-07:002011-08-27T08:19:42.449-07:00FLOWER UNIVERSE: A RED ROSE JOURNAL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<br />
If you think I'm beautiful because I am born as a red rose, I would say so. I'm luckier than most of other flowers.<br />
Red rose is popular.<br />
Ok. Sometimes we are cheesy, or contemporaries and avant-gardist call us a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Baskerville;">cli<span class="hsb"></span>ché </span>flower.<br />
Do not forget that hydrangeas and lilies stole our fame lately. Honestly I don't really care, I'm born as a red rose and we are as classic as red lipstick. We have spikes and that is more killer than your studded leather jacket. On top of that, our lives are full of drama.<br />
We are the object for those human in love, lovers, haters in love, and lovers in hate. Being c<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Baskerville;">li<span class="hsb"></span>ché </span>is a good sign, because it means everybody understands why we are there. Don't need to over analyze us. Thank you.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that is not my actual journal.<br />
I'm a red rose inside beautiful transparent bucket located in this one of popular flower shops in town. My florist is a fat mid-aged lady with charming face. She always smiles and lot of people visit her shop mostly because she always stands in front of the door whilst carrying colorful flowers inside her arms and greets them with funny words. I can hear her shaking voice. "Good morning! Some flowers for your widow mother? Some flowers for your happy pregnant girlfriend? Some flowers for your son coming back from war? Flowers for your father whom you have not talked with for fifty days? Or some fresh flowers for your far from fancy but homey comfortable flat?"<br />
She's a very nice lady.<br />
<br />
It's my first day inside the transparent bucket. Everybody must be in their first day. That's why customers love this lady's shop. All flowers are fresh from garden.<br />
<br />
I am waiting almost in vain because nobody looks at me today. I have told you about our fame is getting lose lately, but don't worry somebody must be still in needing of red roses.<br />
<br />
An old grandpa walked slowly into the shop. He walked with a stick, he looked so tired. The fat lady cheered him up. "Hello, Sir! Can I help you today? Any flowers you looking for?"<br />
The old grandpa didn't change his tired expression that much. "Yes. Chrysanthemum."<br />
The fat lady rushed to the rack and picked a chrysanthemum which positioned right next to me. "This one Sir. Beautiful chrysanthemum. Any special occasion today?"<br />
The old grandpa nodded. "My wife's 78th birthday."<br />
The fat lady clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Oh! Let me decorate it with special ribbon, it's a compliment from me!"<br />
The old grandpa shook his head. "Don't need. Thank you. My wife has died since ten years ago and she didn't like ribbons. I actually bought this chrysanthemum for her grave. How much?"<br />
I felt sorry for the old grandpa, also for the chrysanthemum.<br />
The fat lady shook her head in an awkward sorry face. "No it's free, Sir. Still I would like to give a gift for your wife. Happy 78th birthday for your wife."<br />
The old grandpa only nodded his face. He looked grateful even though he still didn't change his expression that much. I love how old people is more static with their expressions and we could read their feelings from their eyes or wrinkles.<br />
<br />
Five minutes after, my scene came by. <br />
<br />
A middle aged man wearing formal suit walked toward me. He looked at me behind his turtle-skin glasses just for few seconds, not studying to discover the aesthetic side of me. His face looked in a hurry, a happy face but temporary one. From his feature, I know he's a man, a husband, and a father. I tried to smile. Nothing such as lips in my nature of course, but I can grow shine and smells. This man doesn't care at the end, he just picked me from the transparent jar and walked hurriedly to the fat lady. <br />
<br />
"Good evening, Sir," the fat lady looked at me then moved her eyes to the man. "Is that it? Nice choice. You are a conservative romantic man."<br />
The man smiled while dropping some money to the lady. "Yes I think I am."<br />
The fat lady smiled back. "It must be for your wife?"<br />
The man went silent for a while then nodded in his wider smile. "Yes for my wife. Thank you Madame."<br />
I smiled too. He looked like a nice husband to buy a red rose for his wife. Made me feel happy to be inside his fingertips now. I don't know where we are going, he walked so fast. I can see dark clouds above us, I breath happily, absorbing carbon dioxide as much as I can. I will play my red rose scene my best this evening.<br />
<br />
Few minutes after we arrived in front of this shiny navy blue door. The man looked nervous now. He stood there for a while while pressing my spiky stem tightly. I hope his fingers are not bleeding against my spikes. He's doing fine, I have checked. Now he's checking out his tie. It's still in good position. His suit has also been ironed very neatly. His perfume smells masculine. I don't like it but it smelled right on him. Then I could see his index finger slowly pressed the door bell. He pressed it three times, but each of one a very quick press. "Ring. Ring. Ring."<br />
We needed to wait for few minutes until the door opened. A young girl appeared from inside, she looked too young to be his wife. She looked too fragile like a newborn flower. Her face is full of make up and her hair smelled of vanilla shampoo. Her eyes don't tell me much except she's a girl with pretty face and expensive contact lens. She looked stunning. I felt like an ugly red rose this time.<br />
<br />
"Christie..." the man called her with his romantic voice. "I miss you."<br />
Christie the young girl looked at me, not at him. "You came here only when you want me, Gary."<br />
Gary the man sighed. "I've been busy, my dear."<br />
Christie laughed in sarcastic way. "Yeah right. Busy with your family?"<br />
Gary shook his head. "I'm working us out. I mean it. But at least let me come in? It's cold outside."<br />
Christie opened the door wider and let him in. "What kind of gift you gave me this time Gary?" she asked while staring at me in disgust.<br />
Gary lift me up with his hand and showed me to Christie. "It's for you."<br />
Christie rolled her eyes. "A rose. Just put it on that table. I need to put my pizza into the microwave. I'm so hungry." Then she walked into other part of her room. Maybe a kitchen.<br />
Gary slowly put me on a small table full of dirty stuff. Keys, cards, ashtrays. Smells yuck! I don't like to be here. Gary didn't care, he walked to where Christie went. I heard them talk, a bit of tense conversation. I sighed, letting out depressive oxygen into the empty living room. My life only ends up as a red rose for a mistress? I could not think much this time. <br />
<br />
A few minutes after they came back into the living room. I heard they were still fighting over something.<br />
Christie yelled like a mad girl. "But you promised to let go your wife since last month!" Then she took me. I looked at her face furiously. Of course there is no such as angry eyebrows in my nature, but I can strengthen my spikes. Christie dropped me when I heard she yelled, "Ouch! Stupid red rose you gave me Bastard! Don't you know they have spikes and can hurt my fingers?"<br />
I bumped onto the floor like a dead leave.<br />
Gary lift me up again from the floor and walked to the front door. "That's it, Christie. You must be having PMS. Stop yelling at me like I never support your life allowance for these last months!"<br />
Christie went silent and looked sorry now. Too late, Gary already walked outside with me. I hate him too now.<br />
<br />
He walked slowly now. Same dark clouds, but different speed. I still don't know where we are going this time. I tried to absorb more carbon dioxide because I felt sick, but it's bit depressive already. I'm a depressive red rose.<br />
<br />
Some time after, we arrived in front of another door. It is an old natural colored wooden door. Gary didn't bell the door, he just knocked. Less than one minute the door opened, a middle aged woman appeared. She looked sweaty and her hair is messy. She smelled chicken and basil and a bit of curry. She smiled happily when she saw Gary. "Darling, I have been waiting for you! I tried to call you but it didn't work. I made you curry chicken for dinner." Then she kissed Gary on his nose.<br />
Gary walked inside with his tired face. "I'm sorry, Darling. I've been busy and lot of meetings. I had some hot dogs on the way here, not really hungry. Can you keep the chicken curry for my lunch tomorrow?"<br />
The woman nodded in disappointment, but still with her lips smiling. "Sure."<br />
Then Gary lift me up and gave me to the woman. "It's for you, Darling."<br />
The woman looked extremely happy this time. She almost jumped. "Darling! Now you remember even though you are a bit early, our 19th anniversary is still next week! But still thank you so much my Darling!" the woman smelled me with her nose.<br />
Gary stopped walking and looked at his wife. "Ah. Yes. Our wedding anniversary is next week, better early than nothing." Then Gary kissed his wife on her nose. "I'm going to shower, Tina. I'm so tired."<br />
<br />
Then Tina looked at me closely. Her face is happy. She took a beautiful transparent bucket from the living room. Pour some water, then put me inside my new room. She walked to her room with me along. I looked at her deeply. Her sparkling eyes, but wrinkles one. Her smiling lips, but dried one. I stand beautifully on her night desk. I let out my best red rose odor.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, soon, I'm turning into a dried red rose. I wish I could be next to Tina forever as a beautiful red rose. I wanted to keep her happy. Of course in my nature, there's no eternal life. I have to go soon.<br />
Don't know why, for the first time, I wish I was born as a chrysanthemum.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">ps: I tried to draw a red rose with my index finger, at the same time it can get the real picture of bleeding fingers effected by the red rose's spikes. I'm trying hard to be an artiste this time. Hope it worked out.</span></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-57009697364105864252011-08-11T12:20:00.000-07:002011-08-15T07:53:38.045-07:00THE UNLUCKIEST SUPERHERO FROM SOUTH EAST ASIA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePok670FKspAu1-sG0L_gjCQSbGKiyXfL0FVI3EQaIghcH2zP7u-GCJ-Y4wS50oLy-wrmnpLy3FA_DsBBBTlzSitC2zM5n0Nq2UMlGUSvo_hQBjuCQRfTTVFDs4alaR8Xby8n/s1600/IMG01850-20110812-0152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePok670FKspAu1-sG0L_gjCQSbGKiyXfL0FVI3EQaIghcH2zP7u-GCJ-Y4wS50oLy-wrmnpLy3FA_DsBBBTlzSitC2zM5n0Nq2UMlGUSvo_hQBjuCQRfTTVFDs4alaR8Xby8n/s320/IMG01850-20110812-0152.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Life is not getting better. Especially for a girl superhero from South East part of Asia named Susan. <br />
She is not normal, because she's a superhero. She can help people and stop crimes. Her heart is honest and she never thought of corruption and capitalism. Not a single byte. That is absolutely NOT normal. She's so unlucky because she never gets attached by advertising or branding. She doesn't know Coca Cola and McDonald's and Starbucks and Apple. Her life must be tasteless. She didn't have Facebook account. How could anybody on Earth can live without any Facebook wall? She's so unlucky.<br />
One day she wanted to help one guy in Papua because he fell down into a big dark hole. A police arrest Susan because apparently she just entered private property of a gold mining company.<br />
One day she wanted to help a kid in the States because he almost got hit by a speed Porche on the street. A police arrest Susan because she wore exactly the same uniform like a guy named Superman whom Susan never heard before and the police said "you stole Universal Studio's royalties kid, you must buy that uniform in China."<br />
One day she wanted to help a woman in Italy because she almost got hit by her husband. A police arrest Susan because she needed a Schengen visa and business permit to be inside or working in Euro zone.<br />
One day she wanted to help a lady whose bag is stolen by a thief in China. A police arrest Susan because the bag she has saved was a fake Louis Vuitton bag.<br />
One day she wanted to help a little girl in Afghanistan because she was locked inside her room for years. A police arrest her because it is not right to fight for women's right.<br />
<br />
Unlucky superhero named Susan. So she stopped being a superhero and bought Ipad2 instead and seeing world through touch screen and becoming normal.<br />
<br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-91322804804059265302011-06-20T03:09:00.000-07:002011-06-20T03:09:10.568-07:00IF NATURE IS MY BEST FRIEND<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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"Brb. Need to talk to the sun. I got so many laundry on my backyard."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRprabe7y38NHOIO7ToOtPX2_Xlvkrr19JqKnTl35RaafqW9QCdmEdFN2oGontxaFyqn7EUPllobap68T9pgM3DE45exmOqHZMLcZIWOy19GyKWV7g83aHMBsIutgGV09rv7X3/s1600/IMG01297-20110620-1312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRprabe7y38NHOIO7ToOtPX2_Xlvkrr19JqKnTl35RaafqW9QCdmEdFN2oGontxaFyqn7EUPllobap68T9pgM3DE45exmOqHZMLcZIWOy19GyKWV7g83aHMBsIutgGV09rv7X3/s400/IMG01297-20110620-1312.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-40588947068563648102011-04-14T04:55:00.000-07:002011-04-14T19:38:59.390-07:008<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Mathematically, half of 8 is 4. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">But visually, half of 8 is 3.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Different point of view is fun, which leads to different level of happiness</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtuDjOO64WXc2Du-WokJkgOvFrYsF7bt0ik-xCAbP81H5_h620876lqANq54bOCt66xUTrHkzhacHScB1GyjjHBHyE5TlExyO_hC2VZq_adBLx_nCqhpeWzlClvjM2jVmUTm-/s1600/217582_10150174748241505_563936504_6464016_672080_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtuDjOO64WXc2Du-WokJkgOvFrYsF7bt0ik-xCAbP81H5_h620876lqANq54bOCt66xUTrHkzhacHScB1GyjjHBHyE5TlExyO_hC2VZq_adBLx_nCqhpeWzlClvjM2jVmUTm-/s400/217582_10150174748241505_563936504_6464016_672080_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-70224933720287262182011-04-04T06:13:00.000-07:002011-04-04T08:02:09.712-07:00LOST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">If a tiny ant lost inside a beautiful flower, does she realise she's lost in a beautiful space?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> Or she just can't wait to find the exit door and go back to dirty tiny hole</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDe4p8rTv678P1HLU1ztBbAh7VvCRHPqpCfnQKu5-u7eb3QjMBsrmsg-B3ZuS3QEliTM-21eAlu5Mz5BEdzQFlzq-na_irS8jC6ImROjRlFPnXo_cVIF72tRz5uk95joIHI0w/s1600/IMG00824-20110404-1214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDe4p8rTv678P1HLU1ztBbAh7VvCRHPqpCfnQKu5-u7eb3QjMBsrmsg-B3ZuS3QEliTM-21eAlu5Mz5BEdzQFlzq-na_irS8jC6ImROjRlFPnXo_cVIF72tRz5uk95joIHI0w/s400/IMG00824-20110404-1214.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-84877983995052822472011-02-25T01:57:00.001-08:002011-02-25T01:57:34.513-08:00HEADLINE NEWS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZkASxG-yVv3Re7x5KzsnEojxRvfMRbrqG8QOAM3NUtSCJ9V6IXNw34S7oUeam-mFRPpUc6HFpLum_h03CYIbDW4g40l2mUbdN2UYFmi9d5fzZsyttCI9htQyfLzfnKGhfVOU/s1600/IMG00685-20110225-1654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZkASxG-yVv3Re7x5KzsnEojxRvfMRbrqG8QOAM3NUtSCJ9V6IXNw34S7oUeam-mFRPpUc6HFpLum_h03CYIbDW4g40l2mUbdN2UYFmi9d5fzZsyttCI9htQyfLzfnKGhfVOU/s400/IMG00685-20110225-1654.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-25896577868687742682011-02-25T00:11:00.000-08:002011-02-25T00:11:21.789-08:00PHILOSOPHY GLASS OF LIFE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnHMkseYx-SCS568A2xbejq2BkEYLl32_zWuTj2K3Zos1MDmXKc8LhyphenhyphenM7BNaAIKWxU7eod5H7y6S41ua7ht4xVy5XoBkWq9X2m8ODlRpeyJHg_MNTCtRA8bJgL45hyAssBv_g/s1600/IMG00680-20110225-1459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnHMkseYx-SCS568A2xbejq2BkEYLl32_zWuTj2K3Zos1MDmXKc8LhyphenhyphenM7BNaAIKWxU7eod5H7y6S41ua7ht4xVy5XoBkWq9X2m8ODlRpeyJHg_MNTCtRA8bJgL45hyAssBv_g/s320/IMG00680-20110225-1459.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-75807617816045434272011-01-25T06:53:00.000-08:002011-01-25T06:59:07.478-08:00HOW TO DESCRIBE RACIST?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhungos6le2gIHHw6XSYeUzE_or6Vj3SRcGgivqk8lQmPNP91vyCG9AOeNHL8MjjoZcAhrI5ghSo9-Etg5C971_CuZItS3lPODCdUsdBgy6oKEVbWkhTdZpnkCYrLG_8FLDbSk0/s1600/DIET+PIG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhungos6le2gIHHw6XSYeUzE_or6Vj3SRcGgivqk8lQmPNP91vyCG9AOeNHL8MjjoZcAhrI5ghSo9-Etg5C971_CuZItS3lPODCdUsdBgy6oKEVbWkhTdZpnkCYrLG_8FLDbSk0/s400/DIET+PIG.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-43323102000803192452010-11-27T03:24:00.000-08:002010-11-27T06:36:38.277-08:00BILL<div><br />
</div>Black smoke was dancing outside my window.<br />
<div>Red fire popped out once in a time.</div><div>The sound of explosion made off beat rhythm. </div><div>I sighed and looked at the watch on my cracked wall. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It's still 3 PM. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I cleaned up the dust on my window and fogged up my breath on it. Slowly, I wrote a "B" letter on it.</div><div>The clear B letter soon disappeared. My eyes got focus again with the black smoke in the background of the window. "Bill..." I whispered to the air. Nobody would listen to my fearful and hopeless whisper, but I'm sure Bill would somehow listen out there.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Time used to run very fast back then. Especially I was a newspaper journalist, you wouldn't feel years are changing, clocks are ticking or calendars are flipping back each month. You wouldn't care about time. But now, every minute is like every year. The year 2017, I said to myself as I looked at the calendar. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It's still 3.33 PM now.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I took my mask from the hanger, wore my bulletproof jacket and do not forget my dirty leather boots. We can get fine if not wearing those stuff outside house these days. So far I have paid a big amount of money because kept not doing that, but hey... sometimes it's too hot and manic where all you going to do outside your house is only to collect the sun dried clothes from the roof for three minutes. </div><div><br />
</div><div>No more roads, it's all gone because of the bombs. No more cars and awful traffic like we used to face everyday back then, just some ugly huge tankers parked. </div><div>I crawled on the ground to go to my backyard. That's the rule, you should crawl outside your house. Or once again you will get fine from the security troupe. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I felt proud of my backyard because it could still grow some tea leaves. Not much and definitely not the best one, but at least I could still make a cup of tea from it. Bill also love my home made tea drink. He called it "Nuclear Tea", because almost in every space of deep underground is where the nuclear bunkers are buried by the government. So we had this internal joke that the tea leaves actually contained some nuclear energy.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It took twenty-two crawls to finally arrive at my backyard. I quickly pulled off 6 tea leaves and crawled back to my house. Lucky me this time I only passed 1 dead rotting cat on the ground. Yesterday I passed 5 dying birds, 2 dead dogs, and 1 human leg. What can I say if whole world is in war? </div><div><br />
</div><div>Just a few crawl before I arrived at my front door, I heard some hard human steps. It's the soldier's step. I turned around my head to check who's that. Bill?</div><div><br />
</div><div>No it's not my Bill. I got into my house quickly. I wouldn't waste my time to deal with another man in this situation, plus I wouldn't waste my tea leaves for any soldiers but Bill. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I sighed as I got into my house safely. Bill will arrive anytime soon and I should start making the Nuclear Tea so he could enjoy it as soon as he got here. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Time went by, really slow.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It's 5 PM.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Two cups of Nuclear Tea are ready on the wood table. A small circle table for my favorite spot with Bill, without chairs, so we always sit on the floor. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Bill should arrive soon, because we can only have proper light during that hour. Later than that we will run out of lights from the sun. Since electricity got shut off for safety reason, we depend a lot on sun shine. After sunset, it's time for us to lay on the bed, stare at the dark ceiling, and fall asleep. I got no more candles left. </div><div><br />
</div><div>5.15 PM.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I knocked my hands on the floor three times. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Bill! Is that you?" I shouted happily when I heard the knocks. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I opened the door and looked at nobody in front of me. I smiled. Slowly I imagine a smiling guy with dirty face in his soldier uniform, and a white daisy on his right hand. Bill brought me a flower. "Bill..." I whispered to the air.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Bill kissed my lips softly. I tasted some gas and dust, but still it taste beautiful. I smiled wider. I took his hand and we walked toward our small table. "I have made the Nuclear Tea... You must be thirsty."</div><div><br />
</div><div>I saw Bill nodded and took his cup of tea. We cheered our Nuclear Tea and drank it together at the same time. We smiled at each other. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"How is war out there?" I asked him slowly.</div><div>"It's beautiful. So you don't have to worry about me. I'm safe out there."</div><div>I knew he only said that to make me feel better, and he lied, and I could only smiled at him, and he knew that I fake my smile. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"How is your sleep last night?" I asked myself as a Bill.</div><div>"It's good. I could see three or four stars on the sky before I slept, " I answered Bill.</div><div>He nodded and finished his Nuclear Tea until none water left. "I must go back to the field."</div><div>I sighed. "Be careful, Bill." </div><div>We stood up and walked toward the front door. We kissed each other before he finally walked and disappeared into the mist of black smoke and fire.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I took a deep breath, suck some thousand of toxic components from the war zone, and shut the door slowly. My imaginary partner Bill has left me, it's time for sleep. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I know it's silly since government made this rule that we couldn't have real partner in the middle of war because it will make our own lives disaster and frustrated. </div><div>I know it's silly to have the rule that we have to make our own imaginary partner and make sure that our partner is always safe and happy out there.<br />
No real partner or you will get fine.</div><div>But it's all for our own good. Yes, for our own sake.</div><div>What can you expect from reality these days?</div><div>Losing people you love in battle of war might be worse than living alone.<br />
<br />
</div><div>I laid my back on my bed, thinking about years years ago before it all happened.</div><div>I missed traffic, I missed the real touch with my real partner, I missed a box of instant tea from the supermarket. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I looked at the window, tonight the sky has only two stars. No clouds seen, only black smoke.</div><div><br />
</div><div>7 PM. Year 2017.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I closed my eyes. It's time to sleep.</div><div></div><div></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-28088667893745188892010-10-18T07:21:00.000-07:002010-10-18T07:29:01.716-07:00SUICIDE STARHi Human!<br />
I'm a star named Spocia. Yes, I'm one of the stars in the galaxy.<br />
I'm bright, because you can see me in the dark.<br />
Our jobs are a lot, and difficult. We are responsible to bring beauty in the night.<br />
No worries, it's okay if you sleep during the night and too sleepy to watch us. No hard feelings, because real stars don't demand for publicity that much.<br />
I'm sorry if we cannot be really seen sometimes, but it's not our fault. It's pollution's fault.<br />
And the toughest job we have is when a human has an important wish.<br />
The Star God always says we have to become a falling star so you human can make a wish. That's the time when we have to suicide and fall as a proud star. I know it sounds not right, but of course we don't mind as long as you can make your wish.<br />
Oh, I'm sorry. I gotta go. A girl just wanted to make a wish on Earth. She wished God could add more polar bears, panda, smiles, shake hands, and butterfly in the stomach to Earth.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyFtZaUy_e12UdUMyIjeMQ0Wvvqr0tCSiqKNIrGV_G4WPcbeWo3ge3HeewtOnehngXNfG74t0FIcsfk1-5ZXOR3a6vfNPNDZzYcZ0AXmiws2BIdtshYHU8QQTaSDMJ0IAoKVA/s1600/IMG_0570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyFtZaUy_e12UdUMyIjeMQ0Wvvqr0tCSiqKNIrGV_G4WPcbeWo3ge3HeewtOnehngXNfG74t0FIcsfk1-5ZXOR3a6vfNPNDZzYcZ0AXmiws2BIdtshYHU8QQTaSDMJ0IAoKVA/s320/IMG_0570.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
It's nice talking to you! Don't forget me, Spocia, once a star in the galaxy and hopefully you consider me as your friend. And I'm sure my other star friends will help you when you want to wish upon a falling star. Well, I really gotta go now. The girl is waiting. And please tell how do I look when I die down there, do I still look cute and bright? Just kidding. Bye bye!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CK6K-E35HDibfozHqW3AIgC7PbxgwTa5lNODavm5khI1Jpymw3c21VhrFOjlo0EtLY8boYMtiOwU3md4PgDzTEe2IS9bf0fBkkoZAhJoILttKXFfefwknqHYO6r1tvbHtiJq/s1600/star2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CK6K-E35HDibfozHqW3AIgC7PbxgwTa5lNODavm5khI1Jpymw3c21VhrFOjlo0EtLY8boYMtiOwU3md4PgDzTEe2IS9bf0fBkkoZAhJoILttKXFfefwknqHYO6r1tvbHtiJq/s400/star2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-42453273202072116982010-09-30T08:22:00.000-07:002010-09-30T08:25:43.655-07:00WHEN I INVITE A FISH TO VISIT MY ROOM AND ASK HIM TO DRAW EXACTLY WHAT HE SAW<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9Nc_Bx8uYx8KOnKBpnS6JLL8n2NzVgx9bXe_PvkJnK4LubPDDpWN4K0-mOWYC1JL-K3Ufv6LQ8-anyDIK23n3kvaoA9WNEbs5gSI0b1fD4EwyAPvp8OfidwmgV2_XD_eAD2g/s1600/IMG_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9Nc_Bx8uYx8KOnKBpnS6JLL8n2NzVgx9bXe_PvkJnK4LubPDDpWN4K0-mOWYC1JL-K3Ufv6LQ8-anyDIK23n3kvaoA9WNEbs5gSI0b1fD4EwyAPvp8OfidwmgV2_XD_eAD2g/s400/IMG_0433.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-5840038874458878082010-09-30T07:57:00.000-07:002010-09-30T08:05:18.117-07:00A TALE OF BLIND MANONCE UPON A DAY.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKCwvuDIRsQZL_FGzpIfNAoJJHLzGbxKeZFL1NSTqhtpxmy0Z7CcbcM-LiuyC9mQ1pittvq5BkJ2vh5yW7EvmhtqLVe5-yhDytirWk39EoZqe46fGaWR6DjgRj4nfs_orhJVQ/s1600/IMG_0437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKCwvuDIRsQZL_FGzpIfNAoJJHLzGbxKeZFL1NSTqhtpxmy0Z7CcbcM-LiuyC9mQ1pittvq5BkJ2vh5yW7EvmhtqLVe5-yhDytirWk39EoZqe46fGaWR6DjgRj4nfs_orhJVQ/s640/IMG_0437.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>THE END. </div><div><br />
</div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-46625312491378473472010-09-30T07:07:00.000-07:002010-09-30T07:07:14.689-07:00A CURIOUS SNAKE<div>Hi, I'm a snake. Sorry that I don't have a name. I am doing a survey for my snakology thesis. </div><div>Human, What you guys do when you are in love? </div><div>Is it easier to feel love? Don't tell me it's easier to lose it as well? </div><div>You have good size and quality of brain and heart. We don't. We are just curious, what does it feel to deal love with those cool stuff?</div><div>You have hands and legs. We wonder what lot lot lot of things you can do with those amazing stuff around your body?</div><div>You have mouth and verbal language. We are wondering what lot lot lot of things you can say to your lover?</div><div>Because we are poor snake only can stick out our tongues while you can do french kiss, and we don't have hands and legs so we could only shape our body a love sign to show what we feel. Not much we can do about love.</div><div><br />
</div><div>We want to be human badly. Cause love life looks easier. No? </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQ2K3DujcrItrjUVgg2jISvzSGoWXhcEB3dfkUlIg3ogAfJ0uB7vBrrxcIj88NP4Wiy3xNNZv0A2De5g24_MPjOBbtu3_HLH-_K0-VmKWSpVFNx3vpfQ4iejV_nRnfxY7_Ium/s1600/IMG_0435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQ2K3DujcrItrjUVgg2jISvzSGoWXhcEB3dfkUlIg3ogAfJ0uB7vBrrxcIj88NP4Wiy3xNNZv0A2De5g24_MPjOBbtu3_HLH-_K0-VmKWSpVFNx3vpfQ4iejV_nRnfxY7_Ium/s400/IMG_0435.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div> </div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-83656654221699779212010-09-21T15:50:00.000-07:002010-09-22T03:18:41.099-07:00JUST A HELLO TO HANDWRITING<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Hello, HANDWRITING.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> I miss you.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAscpwSBtbjwTrpOzNuekMHe-O5SazfN2-BhY76nWQkk1fo2_Ryqrdnox_gpwv1cHNHn0DGi73jQJNqCT5fPCXmsnesEYGEKbBvpuBvjBky7Rpyx755HdI9eTWhKqRbAeutlS/s1600/IMG_5029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAscpwSBtbjwTrpOzNuekMHe-O5SazfN2-BhY76nWQkk1fo2_Ryqrdnox_gpwv1cHNHn0DGi73jQJNqCT5fPCXmsnesEYGEKbBvpuBvjBky7Rpyx755HdI9eTWhKqRbAeutlS/s320/IMG_5029.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
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</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I've been pretty busy with my laptop and mobile phone. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">As you already notice, me and almost everybody create words with those keypads now.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxuUpPfGsPaKe60EGBg_BsJSwrOND3wW6uh0sjtqpzyt242Wi9QJdaHJ7E0gFyotDPLMBMRFgrINaM7zI5NsF6ZMVhqsO7SWK1e3s7MUUy3pFQm7PAHC75W-5v43-ycoeUZ32/s1600/IMG_5030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxuUpPfGsPaKe60EGBg_BsJSwrOND3wW6uh0sjtqpzyt242Wi9QJdaHJ7E0gFyotDPLMBMRFgrINaM7zI5NsF6ZMVhqsO7SWK1e3s7MUUy3pFQm7PAHC75W-5v43-ycoeUZ32/s320/IMG_5030.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Don't be jealous. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Without you, we don't do greeting cards anymore lately.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Including for my birthday :(</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> I didn't get any birthday cards. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Only SMS...and some virtual networks. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Wait, I got one, but only with a signature on the bottom :p</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh how I miss that loooong hard-to-read handwriting message plus hand drawing bonus as you flip the card.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rL7L6bjrjmJkR_XwuVXAfe8tuszjjLapojjEHH_udh0JgP71Wo5KTJn6g_pxctobSumJuPDyholq3t5gEYsgVNL66W4Pddn59iOTKT9ViKZkseH5VV3zc3GTKL_dpPKSA-vD/s1600/IMG_5031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rL7L6bjrjmJkR_XwuVXAfe8tuszjjLapojjEHH_udh0JgP71Wo5KTJn6g_pxctobSumJuPDyholq3t5gEYsgVNL66W4Pddn59iOTKT9ViKZkseH5VV3zc3GTKL_dpPKSA-vD/s320/IMG_5031.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I know. I'm sad too :(</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And you just don't know how much I have pushed 'delete' button for my misspelled words here. LOL.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh wait, there is also auto spelling application. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">So my brain can have longer nap. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">But hey, it's good to meet you for a while though. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I am smiling :) </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhID3oHF4PwsxM4hCXwdy-W7SyY8-K3rEpKyB-QAWttwgLTcjwHhvHMYRlcBt_XIPzR2rsvc1auH_BEOX2hFfhtDM6Wzb_6HQ3Hbe8wg_0ShNJSqUjkFYTYuov82Qef08wRhcwB/s1600/IMG_5032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhID3oHF4PwsxM4hCXwdy-W7SyY8-K3rEpKyB-QAWttwgLTcjwHhvHMYRlcBt_XIPzR2rsvc1auH_BEOX2hFfhtDM6Wzb_6HQ3Hbe8wg_0ShNJSqUjkFYTYuov82Qef08wRhcwB/s320/IMG_5032.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I won't forget you.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I still keep all the memories together. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The best thing about you, that you are more lovely to be kept in my life box forever. Unless if I have thrown you into a garbage can :p Just kidding.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Hey, Handwriting. I gotta go.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I got lot of messages to reply, to send, and... </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, you know.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Have a good day, Handwriting!</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I hope to see you again soon.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Promise, please don't forget me and our memories together.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">* Actually I wasn't really sure whether to publish this story or not, because I don't want you guys think I'm THAT autistic. But well...I don't care at last. </span><br />
</span></div></div>childgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795795.post-70820649888651497422010-09-10T10:00:00.000-07:002010-09-10T10:00:54.634-07:00I CHOOSE ANEMIA OVER AMNESIA, CAUSE SOMEDAY YOU AND I ARE ONLY A MEMORYchildgoodhoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16217300393698917478noreply@blogger.com0