It's the latest breakthrough! Install a trial copy or order today!









But, the bad news is, the software is still in beta and it is developed by a company named Myscrewedsoft.







Just be grateful you didn't got the blue screen of death instead, that's a cardiac arrest..


Let's see if they'll come up with a "Restore Keith" next. LoL

Weeks passed into months since the light bulb burned a fuse and died.

In the midst of my personal mourning to the absence of light in the bathroom, I found it hurtful: the bulb had to go away, meaning I had to find a replacement, and I was a freaking procrastinator.

It was such a huge commitment. Each time there’s thought of walking down the aisle of the electrical appliances section in a department store, I had cold feet; which I am exaggerating, which was fine at the time; as my age then, everything seemed exaggerated, I rest all the blame on the wobbly hormonal development.

I was 19 at the time, I was invincible, I had superpowers. Nevertheless, a superhuman with superpowers still has flaw: procrastination was my kryptonite damnit.

With big powers, come huge responsibility, with huge responsibility, comes major procrastinity--it is the Zen of teenage prosperity.

Though it wasn’t about not being responsible.

Since starting working side jobs as a side thing since fourteen, I have discovered the satisfaction of earning what I worked for in physical terms--as in money--and not the freight of philosophical hibbie-jibbies of the saying all teachers and adults seemed to preach.

At the age of 19, I’ve already applied the principles of budgeting and the responsibility of managing my earnings: by working my arse off, then spend it senseless while the repercussion of such an act can hurt me: in adult life, when I’m working and had to make it on my own for real, heh.

What I found most valuable was discovering the meaning of what’s behind the term hard-earned money. It was hard to earn money. By then, I wondered no more, why people could go mad to have it, sometime even when they have to cross the boundaries of humanity. Just so they could spend it senseless afterwards. Heh.

As for being responsible, I bought most of my teenage can't-live-without-or-heck-I’m-not-a-properly-functioned-teenager-items out of my own pocket money: my comics, my clothes, my shoes. And no one in the house could say anything about it.

For the rest that I couldn’t afford to buy, I either stole it or extort it out of some pitiful bloke.

Just kidding.

I pitched in paying the house bills, contributed groceries allowance to my mother, monthly, just so she could have more money, and cook more food, so I could eat more.

As with the chores around the house, my mother did not even have to say a word, I did it voluntarily, sweeping the house, watering the garden, setting up the table, washing the plates and I even help around with the cooking.

I just needed space, a moment before I could fully commit myself—alright it was just to replace a freaking bulb, what’s so big-a-deal about that?

At that time, I had bigger issues to deal with; like what to do to ease up the zits development, how to get bigger biceps, and how to appear cool; timely relevant within the society being one of the ambassador of the next generation or some bullshit like that.

Today, I am able to say that I can look back to my teenage years and say: I was someone who discovered responsibility early in life, but one heck of a procrastinator.

Nevertheless the light bulb incident, I almost had a lesson of what's the meaning of repercussion.

To be continued.

This is a day when you thought wrong.

Lately I found myself in a situation, you know, the sort of day when no matter how bright it is you still feel down out of no reason? A day that even when you're at a place like Disneyland you still feel gloomy and lonely?

Well that's just it. I didn't have that sort of day today.

You thought wrong.

I procrastinated a lot, for a reason. Well, several.

Most of the time it is due to personal reasons--in my opinion--a valid rationale; impediment based on hierarchy of importance that have no need of immediate action; that does not cause any crisis or bad implications should it does not get done.

If I am asked to do the dishes, when I am watching something that interests me on television, I would decline to do them right that moment. For me the value of that moment is important.

I enjoy being told a story as much as telling; the interest is reciprocal.

Observing elements of a story in television and movies, in their capitulary, because I do not posses the understanding, it fascinates me.

The decision was according to my set rationale: as the show is played on television, I could not pause or rewind, it could be a one-time opportunity, I can’t risk that. The dishes will be dealt with in time--dishes can wait this, can’t. Okay?

In my case with the light bulb, it was not due to the said reason in fact, to think of it now; my inaction did not make any sense. The priority just was not the highest priority on my list; it wasn’t in my list at all.

Since the evening the bulb had burned out, I have put up the effort of not getting it replaced immediately.

Instead, I disciplined myself in planning my daily schedule around the time when I need to use the bathroom: during the daytime.

I have shortened my daylight activity, rushing home earlier in the evening to take baths before sundown, and set my alarm so that I got up when it was dawn--which was the easy part (what alarm?).

Should I need to use the bathroom for a short time at night, I used my bedroom’s light source by making it a habit of locking the bedroom’s door, so I could leave the door to the bathroom opened. It would be embarrassing to be caught by surprise with your pants down in your own bathroom and then, while in haste trying to cover it up, frantic, ended up pissing on yourself.

For longer usage, I used candles that I kept in stock, to use during the darkest hour. As it occurred to me now, it’s strange how I could spare the effort of buying those candles when it ran out but not the bulb.

At first it was tough getting used to the routine, but as weeks went by, life was good.

However, a few weeks after, I began slacking off, the routine was too fussy to maintain. I quit trying so hard and just being jolly taking baths lighted by candlesticks.

One night while enjoying my bath, I had a frustrating time hunting down a soap in faint lighting. It managed to slip away from my hand and went into the drain hole underneath the sink--perhaps that day, my bodily odour wasn’t anything pleasant and the schmuck decided it had enough and decided to rebel.

It got my imagination breezing through an entire morbid life of soap: being left alone all day only to be swiped by hands that who-knows-where it had been, being thrust against your will at filthy skins, somewhere between the butt crack perhaps, smelling nice with fragrance, but roughly treated, appreciated only when its needed.

When it is all squishy and ran out of its soapy vigor, faced the fate of being thrown into the bin or flush down the toilet—why, seemed that a soap have not got much of different life than a bitch!

I plunged my hand down the damp mossy pit of a drain hole but the soap went submerge and succeeded in claiming its liberty--lucky sod; left me with a hand splattered with what seemed a body tissue of the Swamp Thing, I could almost hear its bubbly laughter.

A thought ran through my mind at the time. It was one of my life’s “light bulb” moments, a discovery of discovery, an epiphany, the eureka moment that brought the--finger-snapping-wide-eyed “Ahah!”—expression; which strangely, often occurs while I’m in the bathroom especially, while residing atop of my throne attending to business.

*Fart* “Emphh, well that’s my answer to your crop problems, now begone peasant!” *Fluuuush*

Maybe that’s what drove the stigma of people eluding from being receptive to new ideas, it probably was a product that freshly being brought out of a toilet.

I thought: had enough bathing under candlelight: it was also because I had ran out of pocket money to buy pack of candlesticks. I resolved in going out and buy a new bulb the next day.

Finally there was determination and more importantly, a good excuse for getting a new bulb after the will of flames had flickered for quite sometime.


But naaah. I didn’t.

And I still haven't got to the part where I am sure the soap made a return to burn my bathroom--it was the revenge of a soap arsonist.

To be continued.

It started out as decent, something ordinary, the light bulb in my bathroom burned out. All I needed to do was get to a store and buy a new one, it was that simple. I don’t drive but there was a store about seven minutes walking distance and I always at the town everyday.

Still, nearly a month later, I’ve managed to get around from getting the light bulb changed.

I was a chronic procrastinator, an aficionado of the art, constantly discovering inventive ways to delay doing something right away, not that I am a lazy at doing things, only not right away.

Speaking of lazy, there was a housemate whom I’ve met many years ago, who was a master in the art of laziness. I think so far, he has to be the laziest person I had ever met.

You could tell where he’s been around the house judging by the trail of stuffs he left on the floor. As for cleaning up, I don’t think that he hated it; it’s that he just didn’t do it, even after his own things. Regarding the condition of his room a housemate once chuckled, no one would have noticed if an elephant died in his room.

He reached the pinnacle of his art when one day as we’re about to eat as we usually do: in front of the television, on the floor in the living room, he put a pillow on the floor and tried eating while lying on his belly—just because he was too lazy to hold the plate!

A housemate smacked his head and told him to sit down. He just grinned at us, got up, washed his hand, went to the shoe rack at the front door inside of our apartment, got rid of all the shoes, put a newspaper on it, and then he covered the floor with sheets of newspapers, put the rack, wash his hands, placed his plate on the rack and resumed eating.

The rest of us watched in awe witnessing a true master at work (all hail lazy King!)

Well I never would have guessed a few years later, I almost reached the pinnacle of my art of procrastination by nearly having my parent’s house, along with the entire neighbourhood of our terrace house razed to the ground.

If not a neighbour decided to put out his trash that evening, it would have been.

To be continued

‘Be regular and orderly in your life like a bourgeois, so that you may be violent and original in your work.’

- Gustav Flaubert

The world was still the 20th century as it happened, when I experienced a few incidents involving a light bulb and witnessed how it changed a person’s life.

One evening I came home from spending the entire day of what had been a productive youthful activity of going many places doing nothing much, when I found the light bulb in the bathroom had taken its final journey to reach the ultimate light at light bulb’s paradise.

I thought to myself then, I need to get a new bulb tomorrow. Time moved on and nearly a month later, I still haven’t replaced the bulb.

It wasn’t because I had a unique love relationship with it (you can banish the thought of me schmoozing a light bulb now), or not having the time or not being near any outlets to buy a new one, neither because our house didn’t have a ladder and the bathroom ceiling was around 10 feet high: I could stack a couple of chairs on top of the toilet lid to reach the socket or just borrow a ladder from our neighbour.

What made it hard for me to reach my hand to the socket at the time was the priority wasn’t at the top of my list.

I was a chronic procrastinator. There was a time when I procrastinated going to a bathroom to pee.

Being a chronic procrastinator is like being a drug addict: finding pleasure in doing something that I shouldn’t be doing only to regret it later on, but as the consequences wore off, I was sucked back into the habit in no time.

I tried so many things, counter measures, mission statement, action plans to overcome my problem with procrastination, but the resolutions ended up being countered by the problem, remaining in the habit was an incredible bliss.

The level of efficiency I’ve had with procrastinating have developed to the point of it becoming an art, with the case of the bathroom bulb turned out being the highest point of my creative endeavour: I almost produced a masterpiece of high surrealism: for nearly getting the entire family house and the rest of the neighbourhood on fire, literally.

The fire started from the bathroom.

To be continued

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear.
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off, and none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that is second nature to me,
but don't be fooled.

I give the impression that I am secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness is my game--'
that the water is calm and I'm in command,
and that I need no one.

But don't believe me.
Please.

My surface may be smooth, but my surface is my mask.
Beneath lies no smugness, no complacency.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear,
in aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness
and fear of being exposed

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant, sophisticated facade, to help me
pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation.
My only salvation. And I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers that I painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me of what I
can't assure myself, that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by
acceptance and love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh,
and your laugh will wound me.
I'm afraid that deep down, I'm not much,
and you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my pretending game,
behind a facade of assurance.
So when I'm going through my routine,
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen, listen carefully, and try to hear what
I'm not saying, what I'd like to be able to say, but can't.

Who am I you may wonder.
I am someone you know very well,
Every man and every woman you will ever meet.

---

- "Hear What I'm NOT Saying"
Legge, Peter. "What are you hiding?" How To Soar With The Eagles. London, England: Janus Publishing Company, 1995. 40-41.

Found this quiz at Elisa's so I took it. Punched in my real name tho. Here's the result:

What *Censored* Means

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection. You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive. You have the classic "Type A" personality. You are confident, self assured, and capable. You are not easily intimidated. You master any and all skills easily. You don't have to work hard for what you want. You make your life out to be exactly how you want it. And you'll knock down anyone who gets in your way! You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people. You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts. You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals. You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life. You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you. At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself. You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out. Success comes rather easily for you... especially in business and academia. Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. You're a strong person. You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing. You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long. You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start. You are incredibly wise and perceptive. You have a lot of life experience. You are a natural peacemaker, and you are especially good at helping others get along. But keeping the peace in your own life is not easy. You see things very differently, and it's hard to get you to budge. You are a seeker. You often find yourself restless - and you have a lot of questions about life. You tend to travel often, to fairly random locations. You're most comfortable when you're far away from home. You are quite passionate and easily tempted. Your impulses sometimes get you into trouble.

My verdict:
- Although I do strive for perfection, with my meticulous obsessive-compulsive behavior, still I am not best at everything. And being a perfectionist is not always a good thing. It is what holds me back.

I am not sure about:
-You are confident, self assured, and capable. You are not easily intimidated.

-You master any and all skills easily. You don't have to work hard for what you want. (Although I find that I can quickly adapt to any new things, places, people, but I had to work my ass off for what I want and still don't have it)

-You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.

-You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life.

- You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out. (the power part I don't agree)

-Success comes rather easily for you... especially in business and academia.(about the meanest statement I have ever read)

-You are incredibly wise and perceptive. You have a lot of life experience.

-You tend to travel often, to fairly random locations. (Ha!)

-You're most comfortable when you're far away from home. (Double ha! I won't ever want to be where I am now if only I don't have to)


Though these are true:
-You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. (tho, the fun part is, NOT)

- You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts.

-You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals.

-You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you.

-At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself.

-Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. You're a strong person.

-You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long. (Sooo very true, its due to my built-in improbability hard drive. That's what stopped me from getting anything)

-You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start.

-You are a natural peacemaker, and you are especially good at helping others get along.
But keeping the peace in your own life is not easy. You see things very differently, and it's hard to get you to budge.

-You are a seeker. You often find yourself restless - and you have a lot of questions about life.

-You are quite passionate and easily tempted. Your impulses sometimes get you into trouble.

What I wish to be true:
-You make your life out to be exactly how you want it. And you'll knock down anyone who gets in your way!

Tho, I won't worry about knocking down anyone who gets in my way, that is just not me. considering how efficient I am, I'll just shoot them with a shot gun at point blank.

Who says men are totally hopeless when it comes to showing up on time?

In fact, the best quality of men is they are most reliable to come straight away when they can't make it. 3:p~>

I've got it! I've got it!

I was surfing for books that I might want to or will read when a thought came to me.

I found that none of the books I surfed have a certainty that it would be useful to me or worth the money paid as it claims or reviewed to be.

Being in the advertising industry, I have developed a ballyhoo-phobe, and the advertisus immunius (a kind of immune system against advertising) never letting my guard down against reviews and blurbs. I'll decide if its good when I see, read, hear, experience it for myself.

Price does not constitute quality, which is different when it comes to cars or other things, but still, what matters in the end of the day is which is more useful to me, pocket-practically-speaking. When it comes to books, there are many factors that determine the pricing.

I found that lower-priced books sometimes out performs expensive ones over value and quality and oddly, it is often the case.

Although I am not a very picky reader as I can read just about anything, but
I can be quite selective of books that I want to read, especially when it involves the commitment of purchase. I had nightmares about me buying a book and it turns out to be the wrong book and then it would sit on my shelf, stalking my every move, mocking at me, sticking its dusty tongue out when I'm not looking.

Back to where I was saying earlier in the post, I have been thinking about writing a book. I already have the working title: Bad books that Managed to dupe people into buying with their cool covers and blurbs.

I'll design an ultra-funky eye-catching-cover and then just stuff about 230 blank pages, with the first page written: "Ha Ha. This is one of 'em."

I checked out an apps over at Facebook and there's this one called "what your birthday means". So I hooked it up and this is what I got:

Things don't come easy to me, even though I have the potential and the caliber. Spiritually inclined, I tend to take a step back from the world in introspection. I am very sensitive to what's going on around me, yet I remain composed. Although I am brilliant, it may take me a while to find my niche. My creativity is supreme, but it sometimes makes it hard for me to get things done.

Pretty damn accurate or so I thought. However, I am not sure.

I like reading topics of harnessing the power of the mind--perhaps this is what prompt the nickname I seem to have associated myself with online--and, reading about training the mind and psychology have become a favorite pastime for me.

I've read in psychology, about how a person's mind have a tendency to seek confirmation to what that individual believe or simply put, what their mind likes to hear. It is a subconscious process that involves selective thinking.

When someone set up a state of mind, simply put, opinion, they would associate themselves with any thoughts that their mind believe in.

For instance, if someone like me believe that I am someone creative, my mind would subconsciously seek out clues, or information that would confirm that notion, turning it into a fact; and my mind would make up a summary to believe in it that it would become real. Hence why I think the above statement about myself is accurate, because I've set up my mind to believe in it and my mind likes to hear that I am right.

So I would do things like seeking out information and involve myself in activities that is related to being creative, simply because I believe that I am.

This is also the case in what influence a person's thought patterns and opinion.

Pretty neat stuff. Now I think I just blew a socket. But I don't believe that.

It's raining outside and he's looking at tasks that are blacker than the dark days of thunder. The Sun is shining yet setting near the horizon. Then, the clouds dispersed, fading from the air along with the moukala-sha-sha. The people beneath rejoiced and celebrated singing the amblibouae-mukala-le-le.

"A-le-le! A-le-le! Muka la le-le!" they chant, on and on and on. "A-le-le! A-le-le! Muka la le-le!"

I found this while haunting youtube. I believe that he composed it.



Pretty amazing. For a 16 year old.

[This might be the sixth-seventh draft I had written of this part since I started it not more than a week ago. It is still in a raw form. am still thinking where to bring this story. If you got any suggestions, please do say so.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


All there was in the end was a veil, a blinding cloud of mist, white and pure. Its dazzles darkened my eyesight no less than the darkness.

“Patient, soon it will go away,” he said, smiling as he looked at me. I could see the pattern in his retinal, the eyes that enclosed many things life had shown like a cage. Of all our time together that was the closest I have seen his face.

It is not that my grandfather was not a compassionate man. It’s that he wasn’t very good at showing it, he sucked at it. It was just that. Expressing his feelings was a talent that he doesn’t have. And somehow he knew of it, which is why I thought he didn’t try to pretend that he does. All that grumpy, tough man antiques—I always thought—were just some act that he put up. The biggest show he ever played in his entire life.

The angriest I have seen him had been was, at one morning. I remembered it was late morning, a week before we celebrated Aidilfitri holidays, and I was eight. My grandfather; held aback by some villagers and my other uncles, while two of my aunties chanting prayers near the stairways, shouting like a crazy man.

From the room I was told to stay in, I’ve heard the words he hurled at my uncle; the second youngest in the family, saying how my uncle was worthless, not acting like a man while he already had a wife and children. Not worthy of being his son. He would kill him if he ever returns to the house.

When the police left, everyone got back into the house and settled back in their room, leaving my grandfather alone sitting at the verandah. No one dares to try and comfort him. From either room, I still heard whispering, discussing about what happened.

That was the most tragic Hari Raya in our family. A few weeks earlier, my grandmother passed away. She collapsed while we were on our way home from the Surau after the Terawikh prayers. I called her name and she didn’t answer. I called her name louder. She just shook her head, gritting her teeth while holding her chest. She was in pain. Blood ran cold in my face and I found myself began running to get help.

Frantic, I ran faster than I ever did in my entire life, dismissing how scared I was of the dark and the woods along the way home. All the way, I stumbled, got up and ran and screaming and crying.

I found a group of people who was also on their way home from the Surau. When I got to them, I couldn’t speak. I only pointed my finger towards where I came and repeating the same words over and over again, “Wan. Wan. Wan. Grandma. Grandma. Grandma.”

A few of the men in the group rushes off into the night. The elderly ladies brought me home. Later that night, Atuk came home with a few villagers. I didn’t remember who was it that told me, Wan had passed away. She was buried at the cemetery early that morning at the very same day before dawn. Many of my relatives weren’t very happy that Atuk decided to quicken the burial. Atuk had said, prolonging the burial would only torment the dead. To that, no one dared to say another word.

In the evening just before Sundown, Atuk, as his usual self sat at the verandah with his back to a wooden pillar next to the stairway, sipping on his cigarette.

It was the first time I had seen him looking like an old man, frail and vulnerable.

After the incident a few days before the month of Syawal, my uncle was taken away by the police for drug trafficking.

I peeked from behind the curtains of my room and saw the shadow of him reflected by the light, sitting at the verandah. He was always known as a very grumpy man, a very unfriendly man. All the people in the village called him “Arop garang”, fierce.

That night, for the first time in my life, although I hadn’t seen it, I found that strong man, was sobbing, trying to hold back the voice of him crying. Just like I thought, it was all an act.


To be continued.

Have you heard me complain? About anything? No? Let's just leave it at no.

I do realize that I always have something to say, as in criticize, but I don't complaint. Okay, so...now here's something that I would like to complain.

Just like most young urban professionals working for self betterment and for the good of the people, contributing to the young force of the nation, by accessing the knowledge to computers and the internet, I was surfing while working.

So I was surfing, I admit, I was googling for Naima Mora (hey, at least I'm not as insane to be surfing for pictures of some woman sucking up a president's dick peeeerriod), because well you know, I happen to like girls with a cute smile--but anyway, I was surfing for pictures of Naima Mora, and then I saw it. It said: "Naima Mora's picture gallery" and I was feeling "Oooh Naimaaaaaaa....galllerrrrrrieeeeeee....." and gladly click it. Now here's my complaint:

Although, I am happy, to have seen the pictures of my googling conquest, Naima Mora, but having ONLY TWO PICTURES, in anyway, DOES NOT makes it a gallery!

It's supposed to be labeled as Two pictures of Naima or something.

That's it. I'm complaining to the boards of term that, a gallery, must have more than 20 pictures minimum to be qualified as a gallery, if not just stay with "two, three pictures of blah blah blah", dot...dot.

Nuff said.

Funny.

Out of my new found hectic schedules and what's with this place behaving like a woman on a hormonal streak in the monthly cycle chronicles, which begs the question, when does it all going to stop? Until it gets to the point of going menopause?

Going through the troubles...okay let's rephrase that, let's call it "tasks", I'm sure that would sink well with most righteous cynics. So, going through all the tasks, for any that is not a designer: to play a real life role-playing game of designing--to design, starting by considering by how you want your site to look, and how the heck to get it to look like just what you had in your head.

Then came the long hours of coming up with a polite letter to be posted at forums, asking for anyone else's idea on how your site should look like, while simultaneously surfing the web collecting information, ideas, looking for sources of inspiration.

Once the theme and concept is set, then came the long hours of doing the designing, using image manipulation software applications--which I imagine in non-designer case: while constantly having to refer to manuals and "how tos"--and again spending time to write a polite sentences asking for tips and help in forums--due to that they happen to be not in anyway the dude that knows how to manipulate the software in order to manipulate the image in the first place.

But not being a designer does not stop you. No, no sirree. This a personalised blog theme you're doing. Something that expresses your inner personality, your taste, your vibe. You are going to get it done.

Then, when the task is done, comes the task of laying out the whole thing, of upholstering the canvas with the components that is made on soils that you've never step your feet on.

Again, the polite sentences comes in handy--in which I imagine there's no reason not to start turning it into a template of the: "hi and hello, I am in need of help with something..." or "heyya there, I wanted to know..." ending with, "thanks in advance" or even more cheesy "love you guys, thanks!"--queering in the forums in search for answers, which may or may not got any answers, or answers that wouldn't make you go: Huh? I am suppose to add that line under Whatchamacallit?

After getting some decent crash course in understanding HTMLs, CSS, generally about "which goes where" stuff then came the task of editing.

The process of constant tweakings here and there and then preview. Tweak, preview, tweak, preview, and then back to the drawing board again. Tweak, preview, tweak, preview.

Then when its all finally done, you click on the "publish" button and woosh! the design goes up and--like seeing a new born baby in a hospital--you take a while, sinking in your seat, admiring your own newly personalised space that you've just made from the other side of the screen.

Who cares if the color of the main body is bright yellow, with green-coloured fonts that goes with a rainbow-colored background and playing a weird music streaming on continuous replay, it's your taste and its your own personalised shit.

Then, when you are about to feel comfortable with the place, with all the gardens looking promising and the weeds just showing its greenness, KuCHoww! The sky goes dark, and there's a loud voice not knowing where it came from announcing:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking, we're sorry but we have to ask you to bring along your baggage as this ship is not going to be here any longer in this few minutes, we're moving websites, and all your design and posts won't be as they are now at the new place. Thank you."

You then realized how fragile your life are, even when its in the pseudo version of life, in a virtual space. You began to feel that all your effort is for nothing, you feel uncomfortable as the comfort zone, the blanket you just about to feel warm was ripped away, living you alone in the cold stark naked in the rain.

Then you find your inner insecurities whispering to you, nothing in life is constant, everything will be gone someday, everyone will die.

The point in all this is, it just take the desire to go through the troubles of coming up with a personalised theme away.

So for this design it will have to suffice.

That night when he woke up, it was then that he'd gotten a great idea to write a 500 words short story about people and procrastination.

It took him 8 years...

Jangan sekali-kali bergumpal dengan babi di dalam kubang lumpurnya itu. Kelak, babi itu yang akan gembira.

Don't ever wrestle with the pig inside its pool of mud. Afterwards, only the pig is the one that will be happy.