Tuesday, January 25, 2005


I had not thought her cry could get any worse. But I've been wrong the screams intensified and it wrenched my heart and terrified me to the depths of my soul. To hear the undiluted agony in her voice, the inhuman suffering to which her body was being subjected disturb me. This weak body and sensitive spirit could do nothing. But how could I kill her, how could I stomach to see her blood in my hands? Anger, oppression, resentment - is that enough or is it just the most rational thing to say? Or certainly this hate that divided me between vivid deformity and righteousness. It was the slime of the pit I have to blame. If my conscience was present at that moment, I am the one who supposed to be dead right now.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Questions: (level 1)

How could you possibly improve in the environmemt where procrastination is the middle name? Actually, we can if we choose not to belong, if we choose to be an outcast. Some people, like me, can't help to think about being different from the usual. I hate to say, "I'm with stupids" or rather I'm too ashamed to say that. How can I if I can't even quantify my capabilities, though I want to improve! So when the people around me discovered what I am feeling and thinking how can I explain to them what kind of persons are they, if I cannot even justify myself?