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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EBQns6eCp7ImA9WhRbF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459</id><updated>2012-02-09T16:20:53.510+08:00</updated><category term="Poring" /><category term="Le Meridien" /><category term="Snorkeling" /><category term="Kinabalu" /><title>Life's Remains....</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>85</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LifesRemains" /><feedburner:info uri="lifesremains" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>LifesRemains</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YBSX8yeyp7ImA9WhRVFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-8422046107257661242</id><published>2012-01-16T13:16:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T13:19:18.193+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-16T13:19:18.193+08:00</app:edited><title>Hoping It won't Drag(0n)...</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cW-0UwVRE1I/TxOxpd--TaI/AAAAAAAAAe4/VK9OC6ONQAE/s1600/Enter+the+dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="277" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cW-0UwVRE1I/TxOxpd--TaI/AAAAAAAAAe4/VK9OC6ONQAE/s400/Enter+the+dragon.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Feng Shui wise, I am in for a turbulent year. The coming Chinese new year is the year of the Water Dragon and me being a wood dragon born in the month of the water dog on the day of the horse in the hour of the rat, will have terrible luck next year. In fact, I did a whole life cycle forecast and it seems that my luck will only change when the stars are in my favor when I am 120 years old..... I can't wait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This is the my 4th cycle of the zodiac. For the uninitiated, the Chinese Zodiac has twelve animals in it. They are Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog &amp;amp; Pig (source: wikipedia.... where else).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ok, enough of that. I actually have a lot of hope for this year. I need to have this year to be a good year. According to this website I was using to assess my luck (using a fake name) I have to find a good Chinese name for myself to change my luck. I was thinking Alan Tam, or Donnie Yen... Or Jackie Chan. I'll give it a good thought.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What I've decided to do this year is to finish some of the stuff I started to do, some of them 4 or 5 years ago. One of them is this novel I am writing. Actual, two novels, both are crappy.. that I'm sure. One is in Malay and one in English. I will write it in between my Applied Business Research (ABR) Paper... because, ABR is so boring, I need the distraction.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK. That is the scariest thing I have done today... to actually declare that I will finish something I started. To set a goal... To make a (gulp) commitment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I should do this more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-8422046107257661242?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JA8YcUUKDn0/Twhl4svHbnI/AAAAAAAAAew/pVbm9_1RNFE/s1600/2011+reflect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="291" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JA8YcUUKDn0/Twhl4svHbnI/AAAAAAAAAew/pVbm9_1RNFE/s400/2011+reflect.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
End of week one in the new year. This will be a challenging year, with Afiq, Ija and Aiman sitting for their major school exams, and I will be in my final semester for my MBA course (God willing).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I planned to write this earlier, to look back on the year that's passed.... Which I do not often do since I have decided, somewhere in my life that I will live only in the present. There's too many regrets in my past.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I decided to do this because Dr. Paul Jambunathan, clinical psychologist on Lite FM said we should, and also to reflect on how each incident affected us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ok... 2011 negatives. I can think of only one devastating incident....&amp;nbsp;the passing of Kak Esah, my beloved sister, on 14 November. How this affects me? Sad of course. But, death puts us in a dilemma of sorts. You want those you love to always be around... at the same time we know for every beginning there must be an end. That's the will of Allah. As for Kak Esah, I believe she's had a wonderful fulfilling life, a loving husband, three successful children, great friends (as evidenced by the number of people at the mosque who turned up for her last rites). I owe her a lot. She put up with me when I was in standard 5 and 6 and during my diploma and my degree days at ITM and paid me allowance. My father spent his last days in her house in Bangsar. I crashed her three month old Proton Saga. I tried to pay her back, but got scolded instead.... she said she was just carrying out her responsibility. Allah bless her soul. I LOVE YOU, KAK ESAH!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The positives...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sent Kak Long to college. Happy and sad at the same time. That's how your children make you feel. You want to hang on to them for as long as you can, but you know you will have to let them go and some point. Let them spread their wings.... learn about life, make their own mistakes, feel their own pain and create their own memories.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Went to Kota Kinabalu (without Kak Long, which is a negative). I like KK. I don't know why. But, I must say, staying at Le Meridien helped. Touring and snorkeling at nearby islands and travelling up to the foot of Mount Kinabalu, letting fish nibble at your feet at Sungai Moroli in Kampung Luanti, the canopy walk at Poring.... enjoyed it all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Got a double increment this year!! Thank you, Brig. Gen. Dato' Ahmad Zahudi... my CEO.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Almost got a 4 flat for my second semester. (Maybe this should be a negative). But, I got the full spectrum of As.. A+ for Financial Management, A for Econs and A- for Marketing. I have resigned that I am destined to never get 4 flat..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Went to Langkawi on Christmas... nice but, KK was better. There were some anxiety when we suddenly realized that we went crazy spending about RM500 on chocolates, and we have surpassed the excess baggage limit set by Tony Fernandez. But, it turned out we didn't have to pay extra.... The highlights for me are the mangrove tour and the Laksa at Teluk Yu.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was a great year. This year.... I don't know. I forecast stormy weather up ahead. Emotional for sure. High anxiety..... Not only because of the children's exams, but I think Sapiah will continue her position as acting head or perhaps she'll be promoted to be the head of Subang BC. Either way, balancing work and ensuring the kids (the boys, especially) keep their focus on their studies will be one hell of a challenge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, if the world doesn't end this December.... I hope to reflect on this year with more positives....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
See you on the other side......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-1443374662649988308?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTcbbYLrZ0xkYdWR2y-yF5YpNNfpRyetmDQ5Q-jL7G6_0DyGmyl" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTcbbYLrZ0xkYdWR2y-yF5YpNNfpRyetmDQ5Q-jL7G6_0DyGmyl" width="180" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I think I have read all the how to get rich books. I know how the rich thinks, I know what it takes to be a rich dad, I know about the millionaire mind set. They all tell the same thing. You need to have a passion and work on it. In fact, all the advice from the wealthy people who became wealthy from telling other people how to get rich is the same. Work on your passion, satisfaction is your real goal, the money is a bonus.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's an article I read about one very rich man who said that he does not know how much money he made. Because, he didn't really care for it. But, it's the thrill of making money that drove him. In fact, it's an addiction that he now goes to therapy to learn how to relax.... and enjoy the money he's accumulated.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The problem with me is that, now that I'm broke, I start to read all the emails I get from these business 'gurus'. Other times, when I feel that I am well off, I have money in my wallet, I sometimes just click to open it, so it will marked as read. (I hate having unread mails in my in box). When I am broke, again, I go to meet people who promise me "an extra stream of income". I go to those multilevel marketing talks that riles you up, and burns your desire to become wealthy. I read those adverts with people posing next to their luxury cars to show they've made it.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I want to be rich, too!! I can do this!!... Yes!! Yes!!..... then I get my monthly pay and... well... I can "do" this later.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
That's why I am a failure. My motivation is money. Rich people do not see money is the motivation. Did Bill Gates created Microsoft to make money? Did Steve Jobs produce iPhones and iPads and iPods because he wanted to make money? As far as Warren Buffet is concerned, picking out stocks is just like picking out the winning horse in the next race, or picking out the winning team in the next football season. He likes that, some he loses some he wins, but the satisfaction of picking the winner far outweighs the rewards that winner brings.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
All I need to do is to find that one thing that I am passionate about, and I'll be on my way to unimagined wealth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm still searching.......&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-1204842005635369608?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EyC0XSo_ogQ/TsHTbkJc_8I/AAAAAAAAAcs/payxD0tA0_k/s1600/rainbow+over+BJ+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EyC0XSo_ogQ/TsHTbkJc_8I/AAAAAAAAAcs/payxD0tA0_k/s400/rainbow+over+BJ+small.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;And life goes on....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Yesterday, Allah took my sister Kak Esah (Hjh. Aishah binti Jaafar).&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
At first, I was inclined to write something about her.... then, I suddenly realized, that I am more concerned about us, who need to continue living and get use to losing the ones dearest to us.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
I start to imagine how Abang Haris feels. Perhaps, partly relieved that Kak Esah's battle with cancer is finally over...and partly, anguish and hurt, when he lays down in bed to see the empty space next to him.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Kak Sarah, my eldest sister lost her husband, Abang Raya, about a decade ago, and how she copes with life after he's gone, the loneliness, the emptiness..... takes amazing inner strength and courage.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
It's unfortunate, for us who are still on this earth, that we have to continue to struggle in a world of sin. A world full of temptations that comes to us in the most subtle of ways and on every side.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
No... I am not suicidal. Just in a melancholy mood.&amp;nbsp;Losing a loved one, knocks me on the head, and for a while I see the world clearly. The shallowness of worldly things, and the filthiness of my worldly existence.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
I love Kak Esah and Abang Raya, and I will miss them sorely, as I will my father and my mother. But, what can I say about them that we don't already know? They've made it.... They are in a better place.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
While we sat outside the room where Kak Esah was being bathed, my nephew, Ahmad Fadhil Dhafri said to me,&amp;nbsp;that Tok Aki (my father) and Tok Wan (my mother) are probably waiting for her now in heaven. Yes, I believe that, too. And what a lovely moment it is, to see them together again. And, how happy would they be to be together again. And, I imagine, next to my mother and my father, Abang Raya stood welcoming Kak Esah...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Selamat Datang...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Ahla wa sahlan...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Makes me want to be there....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-2371825113526412223?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_UI99rDId2E_ck8lIJnQw8-vBW0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_UI99rDId2E_ck8lIJnQw8-vBW0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_UI99rDId2E_ck8lIJnQw8-vBW0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_UI99rDId2E_ck8lIJnQw8-vBW0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/r33X9BIwGOY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/2371825113526412223/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/11/9-1.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2371825113526412223?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2371825113526412223?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/r33X9BIwGOY/9-1.html" title="9 - 1" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EyC0XSo_ogQ/TsHTbkJc_8I/AAAAAAAAAcs/payxD0tA0_k/s72-c/rainbow+over+BJ+small.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/11/9-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEBQHY9cCp7ImA9WhRTGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-8702563024815612039</id><published>2011-11-11T12:51:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-11T13:00:51.868+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-11T13:00:51.868+08:00</app:edited><title>Eleven, eleven, eleven....</title><content type="html">In the eleventh day of the eleventh month in the eleventh year of the second millennium.... nothing happened.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I just decided I wanted to write something in my blog so that in the archive, there will be a post on 11.11.11.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, I would like to give a shout to the 20 in front of the 11. Today nobody gives a damn about you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Until the Sunday two weeks from now when it will the 20th of November. Only then you will be recognized.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When it will be 20.11.2011.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-8702563024815612039?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yeVRiUYskakSVvzTIMWyIr0P7aI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yeVRiUYskakSVvzTIMWyIr0P7aI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/UIFq8YdTOCQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/8702563024815612039/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/11/eleven-eleven-eleven.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8702563024815612039?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8702563024815612039?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/UIFq8YdTOCQ/eleven-eleven-eleven.html" title="Eleven, eleven, eleven...." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/11/eleven-eleven-eleven.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMERn4-eCp7ImA9WhdbGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-7486514008514587550</id><published>2011-10-17T12:56:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T12:56:47.050+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-17T12:56:47.050+08:00</app:edited><title>Laziness, I am you...</title><content type="html">Of late I have been feeling tired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Walking up the stairs, up the incline towards my MIS class, I wished I was at home planning the a day out with my kids. Hanging out at the mall, or go see a movie. Haven't done that for quite sometime. And, soon, they won't want to do that anymore. Soon, and the signs are already showing, it's no longer cool to hang out with your family members.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Going up to the 5th floor in the ancient lift I told my good friend Sukman that I'm running out of steam. No stamina. He just smiled.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The prospect of another semester to go, and to come up with a research paper within the next 9 months or so, brings out a sigh out of me. I'm too old for this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, I have committed myself, and I will see this through. But, it's not just the MBA program. It's everything else, too. It's my work, too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe I'm just going through the low point of my life cycle. It's that point in your life when you started to reflect on your life and compare it to those who've made it and suddenly realize how much you could have achieved. It's a cycle, and tomorrow or next week or next month I'll be happy again with the smallest of achievements and thank God for my pathetic existence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For now, I am in this pensive mode, where, more often that not, I find myself staring out into space, contemplating the past and having no hope for the future..... because all I see is more of the same of what I am doing today.&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
 Right now, I just want to lay in a hammock, near a beach somewhere, under a shady tree, looking out to sea.&amp;nbsp; That's it. Just idle away while the world revolves around the sun.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nothing.... I want to do NOTHING!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-7486514008514587550?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/16kSkWN8mPMbF_WP7MgHqdiI-C0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/16kSkWN8mPMbF_WP7MgHqdiI-C0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/7bSlJ2Qp3BI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/7486514008514587550/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/10/laziness-i-am-you.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/7486514008514587550?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/7486514008514587550?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/7bSlJ2Qp3BI/laziness-i-am-you.html" title="Laziness, I am you..." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/10/laziness-i-am-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkAAQHo9eyp7ImA9WhdbGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-6977132841240766703</id><published>2011-10-12T00:29:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T09:25:41.463+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-17T09:25:41.463+08:00</app:edited><title>He's not crazy, he just don't care....</title><content type="html">&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I9Fn0Z41h4s/TpuDclVoPCI/AAAAAAAAAaM/mlEFIAupXTg/s1600/heart%2527s+desire+neon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="270" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I9Fn0Z41h4s/TpuDclVoPCI/AAAAAAAAAaM/mlEFIAupXTg/s400/heart%2527s+desire+neon.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Heart's Desire by Safia El-Shams&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
There's a guy who spends his days walking up and down the road that in front of my office building. Some days, in the mornings especially, he would greet me and asks me for some money. Some days, I oblige, other days, I just shake my open palms at him. I find him annoying because when I open my wallet to give him RM2 he would up his ante and ask for RM5. Sometimes, he even goes up to RM10. But, I never give him more than RM5. After which, he would get a stick of smoke from the mamak shop, then sit at a table with some unfortunate stranger. Unfortunate because, he hardly bathes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My office mates said that he wasn't always like that. He used to help his mother at her food stall somewhere in the area. He started wandering up and down the this street after his mother died. He has no brothers or sisters, his father ran out on them a long time ago.... so now he has no one... nobody to tell him what to do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are days when he would totally ignore me. Walks past me, like we never met before, when just a few hours ago he greeted like we were long lost friends.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I would not categorize him as "orang gila". He just lost some self-consciousness. He is not aware of how he smells or what people think of him. At least, that's what I thought. I had hypothesize that, crazy are people who have lost their self-consciousness at various degrees.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today, he surprised me. As I was sitting in Haslam, he approached me and slapped my table lightly, sat down and in a low tone asked me something. It was noisy, with oldies music blaring from the radio near the cashier. But, what I could make out was that he was asking me the name of a girl. I said I don't know. And he mumbled on. Then, he touched me and asked me if the girls in this area can be flirted with..... How am I supposed to answer that. Do I look like a pimp? I just smile and turn back to continue reading my newspaper. He went on rambling for a while. Then, finally, he thanked me, like I've given him the best advice ever, and left. He did not ask for money, or bummed me for a cigarette, or asked me to buy him his usual teh-o ais.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He left the table.... and left me wondering what's that all about.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, he maybe he doesn't care.... but, everybody has desires.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-6977132841240766703?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2zzPxuazTql_pNVfjVVHmD3MZZ8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2zzPxuazTql_pNVfjVVHmD3MZZ8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/PvVRLAim27w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/6977132841240766703/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/10/hes-not-crazy-he-just-dont-care.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/6977132841240766703?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/6977132841240766703?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/PvVRLAim27w/hes-not-crazy-he-just-dont-care.html" title="He's not crazy, he just don't care...." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I9Fn0Z41h4s/TpuDclVoPCI/AAAAAAAAAaM/mlEFIAupXTg/s72-c/heart%2527s+desire+neon.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/10/hes-not-crazy-he-just-dont-care.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QCRXc6fSp7ImA9WhdWE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-2190362958185253294</id><published>2011-09-07T15:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T15:09:24.915+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-07T15:09:24.915+08:00</app:edited><title>The road to hell is paved with good intents....</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2LyZdebURk/TmcX3oseYnI/AAAAAAAAAXM/n1hGqN2fMY0/s1600/dilema+1+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2LyZdebURk/TmcX3oseYnI/AAAAAAAAAXM/n1hGqN2fMY0/s400/dilema+1+copy.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Once there was a man who all his life have nothing but good intentions. But, everybody in his village said that he was the devil. He robbed and maimed. He killed and destroyed. When he was caught and brought to justice, his defense was that he was only trying to feed his family.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he was growing up, he was not good at school. The teachers all say he was hopeless, his father thought he was an embarrassment, his siblings thought he was a burden, society keep reminding him that the world would be a better place if he wasn't in it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Only his mother saw him differently. Only his mother loved him because he was her son.... and for no other reason. And later, he met the woman of his dreams and married her and had beautiful children and he vowed that they will never ever go through life as he did. He swore on his life, that he will do anything to ensure his children go the best schools, eat the best foods, wear the best clothes, grow up to have the best jobs, to be whatever they aspire to be....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he was sentenced to death for his evil deeds, he smiled and said, I have given back to society what society have given to me. There was not a single doubt in this mind that he is destined for heaven.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The records will show that we was a murderer, a terrorist, gangster.... And this record will remain for many decades.....until somebody (for one reason or another) decides to rewrite history and vindicate him. Show the benevolent side of him and put the fault on society for creating a monster. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What about those people he killed? What about the children he orphaned? What of the women he widowed? And the parents who buried their children? Did they deserve it? They, too, were part of the society that shunned this poor man, that sent him to the gallows, for trying to provide for his family.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Is he a hero or a villain?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-2190362958185253294?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2S-PNctebJ0W8mP7z6LlVtg0i0c/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2S-PNctebJ0W8mP7z6LlVtg0i0c/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2S-PNctebJ0W8mP7z6LlVtg0i0c/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2S-PNctebJ0W8mP7z6LlVtg0i0c/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/6n_xwM2akN8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/2190362958185253294/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/09/road-to-hell-is-paved-with-good-intents.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2190362958185253294?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2190362958185253294?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/6n_xwM2akN8/road-to-hell-is-paved-with-good-intents.html" title="The road to hell is paved with good intents...." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2LyZdebURk/TmcX3oseYnI/AAAAAAAAAXM/n1hGqN2fMY0/s72-c/dilema+1+copy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/09/road-to-hell-is-paved-with-good-intents.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8CRno9fSp7ImA9WhdWFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-8530248126265240583</id><published>2011-09-05T11:33:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T14:37:47.465+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-08T14:37:47.465+08:00</app:edited><title>Puncak Alam...through my iPhone...</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J7nw6bsbWrU/TmRBmNg7NqI/AAAAAAAAAXA/mptTnyxzFzE/s1600/palam3+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J7nw6bsbWrU/TmRBmNg7NqI/AAAAAAAAAXA/mptTnyxzFzE/s400/palam3+copy.jpg" width="298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: Times,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Faculty Building 1&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NP0YpzMq-2c/TmRBmd59vrI/AAAAAAAAAXE/vZ2QW_EuPlQ/s1600/palam+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NP0YpzMq-2c/TmRBmd59vrI/AAAAAAAAAXE/vZ2QW_EuPlQ/s400/palam+copy.jpg" width="297" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;Rafflesia Corridor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tThtMU-oNfw/TmRBm3ITKgI/AAAAAAAAAXI/OwMddOIJXlY/s1600/palam+fakulti+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="291" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tThtMU-oNfw/TmRBm3ITKgI/AAAAAAAAAXI/OwMddOIJXlY/s400/palam+fakulti+copy.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: Times,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Faculty Building 2&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-8530248126265240583?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8-qppLNllepD9mmO3OxOj7XgTo8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8-qppLNllepD9mmO3OxOj7XgTo8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8-qppLNllepD9mmO3OxOj7XgTo8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8-qppLNllepD9mmO3OxOj7XgTo8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/UvJB-WIJ3Ro" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/8530248126265240583/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/09/puncak-alamthrough-my-iphone.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8530248126265240583?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8530248126265240583?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/UvJB-WIJ3Ro/puncak-alamthrough-my-iphone.html" title="Puncak Alam...through my iPhone..." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J7nw6bsbWrU/TmRBmNg7NqI/AAAAAAAAAXA/mptTnyxzFzE/s72-c/palam3+copy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/09/puncak-alamthrough-my-iphone.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQARHg5cCp7ImA9WhdRFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-5697856403780740862</id><published>2011-08-05T17:25:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-05T17:25:45.628+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-05T17:25:45.628+08:00</app:edited><title>Not Doing Nothing</title><content type="html">I have been on compassionate leave since Wednesday (Kak Long was hospitalised with acute gastric, but she getting better now). Although, the first and second day I was busy ferrying people and stuff to and from the hospital, but the third day (since Kak Long was discharged late Thursday afternoon) I woke up in the morning and wish I was going to work.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, my wife said since I'm entitled to the three day compassionate leave, why not take it all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every weekday, I wake up and count the days to the weekend. And Sunday evenings, I dread to think that I have to go to work in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, today, I get a glimpse of what happens the very next day after my retirement. I woke up in the morning and find that I have no goal for the day. On weekdays, the goal is to get through the day. The work that I do, monitoring my staff's work, signing checks, making decisions... I take for granted. And I dread doing it, and worst still when I realize that I have to do it all over again tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, once I stop doing that..... my life have no purpose. I mean, I can only look forward to.... what? Sleep all day? Watch TV? Play computer games? Ok... what about tomorrow? More sleep? More TV? More games......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So today, I ended up cleaning the house.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, I know now that, while I often dream of doing nothing and earning a lot... I really have to do something.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I need to plan from now, for retirement.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-5697856403780740862?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xtn199SuH5oG7tu23QkkjpJGzK4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xtn199SuH5oG7tu23QkkjpJGzK4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xtn199SuH5oG7tu23QkkjpJGzK4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xtn199SuH5oG7tu23QkkjpJGzK4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/3slRo2awydU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/5697856403780740862/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/08/not-doing-nothing.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/5697856403780740862?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/5697856403780740862?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/3slRo2awydU/not-doing-nothing.html" title="Not Doing Nothing" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/08/not-doing-nothing.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEADRHg-cCp7ImA9WhdSFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-3311286666839457</id><published>2011-07-26T17:28:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-26T17:32:55.658+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-26T17:32:55.658+08:00</app:edited><title>Skyline Series</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YdbvKER3-68/Ti6CW5wE0gI/AAAAAAAAAWE/DWqsq4F__7U/s1600/KLSkyline1-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="227" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YdbvKER3-68/Ti6CW5wE0gI/AAAAAAAAAWE/DWqsq4F__7U/s400/KLSkyline1-copy.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;A view from my office window&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYesAE8TUfg/Ti6FpPSp4JI/AAAAAAAAAWI/qypXQYxNaPM/s1600/KLSkyline2-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYesAE8TUfg/Ti6FpPSp4JI/AAAAAAAAAWI/qypXQYxNaPM/s400/KLSkyline2-copy.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Another perspective...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5F600hN_Ig/Ti6IlXtyZwI/AAAAAAAAAWM/wqdRh47viaY/s1600/morning+mist+251106-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5F600hN_Ig/Ti6IlXtyZwI/AAAAAAAAAWM/wqdRh47viaY/s400/morning+mist+251106-copy.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Using my old Nokia 5800, I took this in after my dawn prayers....&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-3311286666839457?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zmr6ILaEygpyRVLJ_49_4U2jHvI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zmr6ILaEygpyRVLJ_49_4U2jHvI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zmr6ILaEygpyRVLJ_49_4U2jHvI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zmr6ILaEygpyRVLJ_49_4U2jHvI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/HVgPZ7z4dA4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/3311286666839457/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/skyline-series.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/3311286666839457?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/3311286666839457?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/HVgPZ7z4dA4/skyline-series.html" title="Skyline Series" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YdbvKER3-68/Ti6CW5wE0gI/AAAAAAAAAWE/DWqsq4F__7U/s72-c/KLSkyline1-copy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/skyline-series.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MCQ3k-cCp7ImA9WhdSEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-4365529952583354438</id><published>2011-07-20T13:29:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-20T17:51:02.758+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-20T17:51:02.758+08:00</app:edited><title>Circle of Life: Before I can do something else, I have to do the same things.</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y2KhnQ9B9Ds/TiZmYFyaYiI/AAAAAAAAAWA/3zEnSwyyJ7w/s1600/shenzhen07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="292" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y2KhnQ9B9Ds/TiZmYFyaYiI/AAAAAAAAAWA/3zEnSwyyJ7w/s400/shenzhen07.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I am at that stage of my life where I wish I can just retire and yet still draw my current income (maybe a bit more). &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Come to think of it, I have been in this stage for the last decade. It is disheartening that I am part of the majority in the &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Global-Bell-Curve-Inequality-Worldwide/dp/1593680287?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" target="_blank"&gt;bell curve&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=1593680287" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;. But, like everybody in that sector, I really have no idea of what I want to do. I am where I am because I was walking on that road of life with my eyes fixed only as far as the ground at my feet and went along with the traffic flow. My life has been a series of random decisions made, not by me, but by chance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not that I am complaining. I think I've had a great life. And, that made me a little bit more grateful to God. As a human being, there are times when I think that I could/would/should have done better for myself. Yet, at the same time I acknowledge that there are so many thinks that could have gone wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess that's why I like the poem by &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Poetry-Robert-Frost-Collected-Unabridged/dp/0805005021?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" target="_blank"&gt;Robert Frost&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=0805005021" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt; "The Road not Taken". Frost wished he could take both the roads that lay before him as he stood at the fork, but felt sad that he could take only one, and therefore, will never know where the one he did not take would have led him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, as age began to take affect on me, I think I'll prepare a &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bucket-List-Jack-Nicholson/dp/B000YAF4MA?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" target="_blank"&gt;bucket list&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B000YAF4MA" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;. In fact, I think I'll lay it out in my next blog.... Things to do before I die....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the mean time, I think I look for another job, with a higher pay.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-4365529952583354438?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HNPhr3poo1loxMpqTebqfaEqmjc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HNPhr3poo1loxMpqTebqfaEqmjc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HNPhr3poo1loxMpqTebqfaEqmjc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HNPhr3poo1loxMpqTebqfaEqmjc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/N98K_yrnYcI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/4365529952583354438/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/circle-of-lifebefore-i-can-do-something.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4365529952583354438?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4365529952583354438?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/N98K_yrnYcI/circle-of-lifebefore-i-can-do-something.html" title="Circle of Life: Before I can do something else, I have to do the same things." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y2KhnQ9B9Ds/TiZmYFyaYiI/AAAAAAAAAWA/3zEnSwyyJ7w/s72-c/shenzhen07.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/circle-of-lifebefore-i-can-do-something.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YBQX86eCp7ImA9WhdTFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-4531289182064309543</id><published>2011-07-13T17:25:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-13T17:25:50.110+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-13T17:25:50.110+08:00</app:edited><title>Movies That You Should Watch...</title><content type="html">&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B002VECM6S" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unknown/dp/B004ZGI1V0?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Unknown" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B004ZGI1V0&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B004ZGI1V0" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B004A8ZX28" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B004HO6HWA" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Mechanic/dp/B0052OWGYW?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="The Mechanic (2011)" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B0052OWGYW&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B0052OWGYW" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B0052OWGYW" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shutter-Island-Leonardo-DiCaprio/dp/B001GCUO5M?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Shutter Island" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B001GCUO5M&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B001GCUO5M" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Inception-Two-Disc-Blu-ray-Leonardo-DiCaprio/dp/B002ZG981E?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Inception (Two-Disc Edition) [Blu-ray]" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B002ZG981E&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B002ZG981E" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B002ZG980U" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Not total mindless violent affairs..... but kind of cool....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are what I'd like to watch but haven't...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Henrys-Crime-Keanu-Reeves/dp/B00553KAHA?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" target="_blank"&gt;Henry's Crime (no image available)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=btl&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B00553KAHA" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Larry-Crowne-Tom-Hanks/dp/B004EPYZQW?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Larry Crowne" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B004EPYZQW&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B004EPYZQW" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Black-Swan-Natalie-Portman/dp/B0041KKYEM?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Black Swan" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B0041KKYEM&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B0041KKYEM" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Kings-Speech-Colin-Firth/dp/B003UESJH4?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;link_code=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969" imageanchor="1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="The King's Speech" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&amp;amp;ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;amp;ID=AsinImage&amp;amp;WS=1&amp;amp;Format=_SL160_&amp;amp;ASIN=B003UESJH4&amp;amp;tag=lifesrema-20" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=lifesrema-20&amp;amp;l=bil&amp;amp;camp=213689&amp;amp;creative=392969&amp;amp;o=1&amp;amp;a=B003UESJH4" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-4531289182064309543?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/l_Hb-pEAizpZFRSucUTf6tTGiXQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/l_Hb-pEAizpZFRSucUTf6tTGiXQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/l_Hb-pEAizpZFRSucUTf6tTGiXQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/l_Hb-pEAizpZFRSucUTf6tTGiXQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/sQVSsg-8U8o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/4531289182064309543/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/movies-that-you-should-watch.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4531289182064309543?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4531289182064309543?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/sQVSsg-8U8o/movies-that-you-should-watch.html" title="Movies That You Should Watch..." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/07/movies-that-you-should-watch.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIHRXs4fip7ImA9WhdTFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-153071706742616840</id><published>2011-07-12T17:35:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-13T11:42:14.536+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-13T11:42:14.536+08:00</app:edited><title>Colors</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndtPO0RhhVs/ThvxG_VZBrI/AAAAAAAAAV4/-z1x-0kPnGc/s1600/Mega+Tani3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndtPO0RhhVs/ThvxG_VZBrI/AAAAAAAAAV4/-z1x-0kPnGc/s400/Mega+Tani3.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
When we were young, the world seemed so simple. Because our parents will try to explain the world to us in the in the simplest way. A line is drawn and all that is behind this line are good, and everything else is bad.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I was growing up, the Red Indians are bad, the Germans are bad and the Japanese are bad. The Chinese are bad, too, because they eat pork. Indians are bad because they are dark skinned. Generally, all Non-Muslims are bad.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In my simple mind then, Malays are good, and all Malays are Muslims. The Arabs are our role models because our Prophet Muhammad was an Arab. Democracy is good, and all our leaders, our Prime Ministers, our Ministers are all good.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Back then, only Pak Imams (old people) wear the "serban", and only Pak Haji (old people) where skull caps (hence the name, songkok haji), and the words of these (old) people are gospel. Policemen keep us safe, soldiers are our heroes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was little doubt in my mind, that these were the indisputable truths.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then, somewhere along the way, knowledge and experience have planted the seeds of doubt in my mind and it flourished, fertilized by the advancements in information and communication technologies. Now, the world is gray.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now we know that the Red Indians were fighting for their existence. Now we pride ourselves when we own the German and Japanese products. Today I can honestly say that my best neighbors are Chinese and Indians and my worst ones are Malays (and presumably Muslims). Now we know the rich Arabs do not think it's worth their time and money to help their poorer brethren. Pak Imams and Pak Hajis, and ministers (prime or otherwise) have been caught with their pants down and in various compromising positions.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today the corruption of and abuse of powers by those who supposedly our protectors are legendary.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While once it was rigid and steadfast, now truths are flexible and we bend them as we please to keep our hold on our stature in society, our access to creature comforts, and our decadent lifestyles.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As I get older, I realize that the only thing we can truly rely on is the fallibility of man. Being human, we are born to make mistakes. And, how we rate our fellow humans, whether they are good or bad, is based on how much we are willing to forgive their mistakes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sometimes I look at little babies, sweet and innocent...I feel sorry for them... Because they have no choice but to grow into an adult.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-153071706742616840?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Eric, the 22 year old driver who drove us up from KK to Kampong Luanti, in Ranau, suggested that Kinabalu really originates from the Kadazandusun word "Aki Nabalu" which means "Revered Resting Place". And, that the story of the chinese (Kina) widow (Balu) were made up just so people do not associate the capital of Sabah to death.&lt;br /&gt;
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Interesting, and I think that appealed to me more than the tale of the abandoned wife of a Chinese Prince, who climbed up to peak to wait (and eventually died there) for her husband who went back to China and never returned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Anyway, this was the third day of our vacation to The Land Below the Wind. We arrived on a Wednesday and was greeted by Halim. our chauffeur for the day. He brought us around KK but, since my wife and I are quite familiar with the town, we only went to the floating mosque.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NLzOmnsZP5Q/TgiTMoVkRuI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Yc1Cg6-1uxY/s1600/masjid+terapung.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NLzOmnsZP5Q/TgiTMoVkRuI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Yc1Cg6-1uxY/s400/masjid+terapung.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;because it wasn't there when I was posted here for three months in 1994, and the Sabah Foundation Building or Menara Tun Mustapha.......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWHS7zTH-zo/TgiTqIyqSOI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/OGvb5-2ggAk/s1600/menara+tun+mustapha.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWHS7zTH-zo/TgiTqIyqSOI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/OGvb5-2ggAk/s320/menara+tun+mustapha.JPG" width="214" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;because we never went there when I was here in 1994.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M4-8_9rGGhA/TgiOtPO060I/AAAAAAAAAT0/i6PIICd0UZY/s1600/makan+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M4-8_9rGGhA/TgiOtPO060I/AAAAAAAAAT0/i6PIICd0UZY/s320/makan+house.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There were other places we could visit, but we got hungry, so we decided to have lunch and Halim took us to a house, which is really a restaurant... but you'll never know it's a restaurant because there is no signs or anything that says or even suggest that it's a restaurant. We sat on the floor and ate our fill of rice with steamed fish and prawn fritters and stir fried veggies. The bill came to about RM150.. not bad for 6 persons.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnKRdMeHEt8/TgiQTaRj3iI/AAAAAAAAAT8/eoPn6v6JTLE/s1600/Frog+purses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnKRdMeHEt8/TgiQTaRj3iI/AAAAAAAAAT8/eoPn6v6JTLE/s200/Frog+purses.JPG" width="133" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After that, we checked into Le Meridien.. but we were too early. Our rooms weren't ready, so we took a walk across the street to the Filipino Market. I never really like going into this cramped market place where they sell handicraft, pearl, brooches, t-shirts and other souvenirs. Not much changed since the last time I was here. Although, what caught my attention was the frog purses which looked like they were made from real frogs... were they? I did not ask.&lt;br /&gt;
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When I got back to the lobby of the hotel, about an hour later, our rooms were still not ready. So, we went to the lounge to get our welcome drinks. Fruit juices and my mother-in-law had some tea and biscuits.&lt;br /&gt;
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When the front desk lady came to tell us that our room is ready, I went to look for our luggage which was loaded onto a trolley when we arrived but it wasn't there. I found it neatly stacked in our room when I got there. Our room faces the sea, and below we can see the swimming pool.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-buDir1LhY08/TgidNbB5OuI/AAAAAAAAAVI/EzLX414Thq0/s1600/view+from+our+room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-buDir1LhY08/TgidNbB5OuI/AAAAAAAAAVI/EzLX414Thq0/s320/view+from+our+room.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6fAwZJAR_Wg/TgidQaVDvyI/AAAAAAAAAVM/0zjk5Vxb9O4/s1600/view+from+our+room2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6fAwZJAR_Wg/TgidQaVDvyI/AAAAAAAAAVM/0zjk5Vxb9O4/s320/view+from+our+room2.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
After taking in our spacious rooms (we got two connected rooms), the children and I get into our swimming gears and went to the 2nd floor to dive into the clear waters of the pool. A Mat Salleh couple was in the jacuzzi when we arrived. The minute they left, I climbed over into it and sat in the bubbling pool for awhile....&lt;br /&gt;
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That night, Halim came and took us to the Fisherman Village seafood restaurant. We got a table not too close to the stage at my request. A cultural performance starts every night at 8pm, Halim told us, and the performers have the habit of pulling diners from the table up to the stage to dance with them. Hence, the requested distance from the stage.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-25kAmd0bOXI/Tgid-TKY7rI/AAAAAAAAAVU/tWvt0VQGluY/s1600/cultural+show+at+kg+nelayan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-25kAmd0bOXI/Tgid-TKY7rI/AAAAAAAAAVU/tWvt0VQGluY/s400/cultural+show+at+kg+nelayan.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
My wife and I went to the front of the restaurant where there were two rows of aquariums (on on top of another) with sea creatures awaiting execution. We chose a fish... kerapu I think... three crabs, a bunch of prawns, and shellfish... We also ordered some Sabah vegetable, to be stir fried.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y0ANtC2NYJM/TgiRLYfUvwI/AAAAAAAAAUA/Ps8pyT-bTCo/s1600/kg+nelayan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y0ANtC2NYJM/TgiRLYfUvwI/AAAAAAAAAUA/Ps8pyT-bTCo/s400/kg+nelayan.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;When they arrive, we realized that we ordered too much......&lt;br /&gt;
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But, we manage to finish most of it. Simply because they are so fresh. I ignored all my self-imposed diet restrictions and dug into everything, loving every bite, especially those prawns. Wish I can have some now.&lt;br /&gt;
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Then we got the bill.. RM370.... We made a resolution... fast food only for the rest of our vacation.&lt;br /&gt;
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Back at the hotel... I fell asleep almost the second I lay my head on the soft fluffy pillows... Tomorrow, we go to the islands...&lt;br /&gt;
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KK has a certain scent. I can't really describe it... like an old building.. musty.. That's the morning air smelled like to me, as we stepped out of the lobby of Le Meridien and go next door to the mamak restaurant for breakfast. Le Meridien provides breakfast of course, but at RM47 per head, and the mamak shop so close, we declined and made some savings in the hotel bills.&lt;br /&gt;
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Restoran Mars offers the same fare as any other mamak shop plus fried stuff (rice or noodles) or Soto (which tastes like a normal soup, but nice anyway).&lt;br /&gt;
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Then we went back up to our rooms and got into our swimming trunks and suits, and wear our normal clothes over them. Hisham, the owner of the tour agency we engaged for this trip, was already waiting for us outside the lobby to take us to the jetty.&amp;nbsp; At the jetty (behind Shangri-La in Tanjung Aru) we were allocated our snorkeling masks and life jackets. My son and I didn't get flippers... they don't have it in our size.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uLqF-H6Br2A/TgiUy8Dfv0I/AAAAAAAAAUU/pdyN9rStALk/s1600/boat+to+manukan+and+sapi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uLqF-H6Br2A/TgiUy8Dfv0I/AAAAAAAAAUU/pdyN9rStALk/s320/boat+to+manukan+and+sapi.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I've always enjoyed boat rides to the islands. The wind in our faces, the bumpy ride as we skimmed over waves and wakes of another passing boat... I love it.&lt;br /&gt;
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We docked at Manukan Island and we were awed by the number of fishes swimming around the jetty area. I have been here before some ten years ago.. although, there seemed to be just as many fish (in number and variety) I saw also there isn't much corals left and there's a lot more garbage...&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--tWZ7PJHg5A/TgiVTr197uI/AAAAAAAAAUY/vZPawFseeIE/s1600/fish+at+manukan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--tWZ7PJHg5A/TgiVTr197uI/AAAAAAAAAUY/vZPawFseeIE/s320/fish+at+manukan.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
We found a spot, near a "Beware of Jellyfish" sign, plopped our stuff, stripped to our swimming suits, put on the mask and walked gingerly into the clear water.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLZh0TqhBXk/TgiWEWQXXtI/AAAAAAAAAUc/tZCbyzZxdzs/s1600/beware+of+jellyfish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="197" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLZh0TqhBXk/TgiWEWQXXtI/AAAAAAAAAUc/tZCbyzZxdzs/s320/beware+of+jellyfish.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
We had to swim quite a distance away from the shore before we can see the fishes... but, we enjoyed it.. a new experience for my children. My daughter said her official favorite activity is now snorkeling.&lt;br /&gt;
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Time flew quickly, and we got our stuff together and go back to the jetty so we can have our barbeque lunch...at Pulau Sapi. This was part of the whole package (boat ride, snorkel gear and barbeque lunch) for RM95 per head.... cheap or expensive.. I don't know...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7QBLaudSzs4/TgiWivomh1I/AAAAAAAAAUg/2PKzIWpXeEk/s1600/bbq+at+Pulau+Sapi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7QBLaudSzs4/TgiWivomh1I/AAAAAAAAAUg/2PKzIWpXeEk/s320/bbq+at+Pulau+Sapi.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
The last time I came to Pulau Sapi, the island was almost deserted... but when we got to Pulau Sapi, it was crowded.&amp;nbsp; And lunch wasn't ready yet, so my children and I decided to go snorkeling.. again. The corals and fishes are better here, but looking at the number of people there that day, I think, Pulau Sapi will soon follow the fate of Manukan.&lt;br /&gt;
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After lunch, we had a choice of going snorkeling again or go back to the main land. We were tired and full by then, so we decide to go back to the hotel.&lt;br /&gt;
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Got back at the hotel around 2:30pm... See my mother-in-law safely back to the room, then we went back down to the swimming pool. Another hour of splashing around, since we have the pool to ourselves, except for another mat salleh couple working on a tan by the poolside.. then back up to our room, a nice shower and a refreshing nap.... (sigh) this is the life...&lt;br /&gt;
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Dinner was either KFC or McD. KFC won by simple majority. We walk around Center Point, bought some more food stuff at the supermarket and then pack KFC for dinner back at the room.&lt;br /&gt;
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I thought that was the end of day 2, but my wife, insisted that I go see the seafood offerings behind the Filipino Market. I wasn't too excited about it. Our driver did not recommend it. We went anyway... I was a little curious.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cLaScfavtZ4/TgiXEC2_VXI/AAAAAAAAAUk/kUmsU9n5iQg/s1600/big+prawns.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cLaScfavtZ4/TgiXEC2_VXI/AAAAAAAAAUk/kUmsU9n5iQg/s320/big+prawns.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It's just like a night market. There's the section selling vegetables, fruits, food (fried noodles, kue teaw etc) then there's the seafood grill section. There were six or seven rows of long tables and chairs, the head of each are semi grilled seafood laid out to be chosen by the throngs of people from all over the world. Yes, there were mat sallehs and Japanese and Koreans and Taiwanese and Hongkys (I think but they didn't look local). On the menu are basically fish and prawns and squids, from the normal sized ones to giants costing as must as RM40 a piece.&lt;br /&gt;
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We bought one squid and one medium sized prawn, brought it back to the room.. what's left of it.. since we ate a major portion of it while walking around the rest of the night market.&lt;br /&gt;
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End of day two....&lt;br /&gt;
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Here we are, on the trail up to the highlands of Sabah. Our first stop is a small road side town which I didn't catch the name. It's the compulsory stopping area for all tourists going our way, either to Kinabalu Park, in Kundasang or all the way to the tip of Borneo Island.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBUMDnq8ViQ/TgiXx9B8Z6I/AAAAAAAAAUo/uVuQUj1u7Ws/s1600/somewhere+alang+Ranau+Road.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBUMDnq8ViQ/TgiXx9B8Z6I/AAAAAAAAAUo/uVuQUj1u7Ws/s320/somewhere+alang+Ranau+Road.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;From this spot, we can see clearly the peak of Mount Kinabalu. And, that's all we can do... accept maybe relieve ourselves since we are not sure where or when we'll get to the next washrooms.&lt;br /&gt;
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Eric said half and hour stop, but after fifteen, we got restless and call Eric on his cell to get us (since he when off after dropping us at the viewing point).. but he was in the toilet...&lt;br /&gt;
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Off again, and one hour later, Eric stopped at a village called Kampong Luanti Baru. Our first real activity for the day - the Tagal... or Fish Spa.. or feeding your feet to fishes. I've seen these fish spa. Where you put your feet into fish tanks and and let cute little fishies nibble on them.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1D-v3R9Ewg0/TgiZbOIAycI/AAAAAAAAAU0/aO5jcHBoBPo/s1600/Aiman+and+the+fishes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1D-v3R9Ewg0/TgiZbOIAycI/AAAAAAAAAU0/aO5jcHBoBPo/s320/Aiman+and+the+fishes.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fWOCHVa-A6g/TgiYdTSEesI/AAAAAAAAAUs/9oe-r6zVrHc/s1600/fishspa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fWOCHVa-A6g/TgiYdTSEesI/AAAAAAAAAUs/9oe-r6zVrHc/s320/fishspa.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
We didn't see any fish tanks. We bought tickets; RM5 for adults and RM2 for Aiman. And some fish food... We walk up the path alongside the Moroli River, and wait our turn. After about 15 minutes of waiting and hearing screams coming from the other side of the fence separating the waiting area and the river, we took off our shoes and walked towards the river bank. And, there there were... a swarm of huge fishes splashing and writhing in the water, waiting for our feet. I was a little unsure.. but, the guide said to put the fish food in your hand and submerge your hand under water near your feet. I did that and these big fishes started to viciously attack my hand... like piranhas.. except that they don't seem to have any teeth.... It felt like a thousand kisses... My wife couldn't get herself in the water, but my youngest son... well, the fishes love him..&lt;br /&gt;
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That was fun.. just 15 fifteen minutes though, before the lady with the bullhorn told us time's up.&lt;br /&gt;
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After Luanti, Eric drove us back down to Poring.We had lunch and then took a jungle trek to the canopy walk. To get to the starting point of the walk took some climbing, but we all made it, even my 76 year old mother-in-law... bless her. We had fun here too. The walk way was just one plank wide and the drop was 30 feet. The first two bridges was ok.. but the third one gave that feeling you get in the groin area when you look down from a height...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6ljHDLDouqI/Tgiao2Zb0vI/AAAAAAAAAU4/3biMGNJ5Dzo/s1600/canopy+walk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6ljHDLDouqI/Tgiao2Zb0vI/AAAAAAAAAU4/3biMGNJ5Dzo/s320/canopy+walk.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Wish I took a picture from the the middle of the bridge but it was shaking about too much...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That's was the last activity for the day. We were supposed to stop by Kinabalu Park, but the traffic got really bad and by the time we got there.. it was closed. So we went back to the hotel....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That night, my wife said she wants to eat at the night market again. We went there, to the same stall we went the night before, took one medium fish, one small fish, ten small squids and a couple of medium sized prawns... it was enjoyable but&amp;nbsp; I can't help wondering would we eat here if the lighting was better.... Anyway, the bill was RM88. Boleh laaa....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aioZb6PWy1E/TgibGkS9w-I/AAAAAAAAAU8/k0KuImX0bo8/s1600/night+market.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aioZb6PWy1E/TgibGkS9w-I/AAAAAAAAAU8/k0KuImX0bo8/s320/night+market.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Back to the hotel.. I showered because I was smelling like grilled fish. Besides, I love the showering at the hotel... using the message option on the shower head.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sleep came easily....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
********************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;
Final day... we had breakfast in the room, pack our things.... hang around for a while, take some pictures.. then called the bellboy for our luggage, paid the hotel bill and call a cab.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Everytime I come to KK, I have a hard time leaving it. I don't know why. There just something about this place that begs you to stay. I know a few of my friends who've come here and stayed on. One friend even got married here to a local kadazandusun lady.... his wife in KL do not want to share so they got divorced because he wants to stay in KK.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xItW6Vcwd8/TgicN1h2NXI/AAAAAAAAAVE/8ipeOCAXL4I/s1600/view+from+signal+hill.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xItW6Vcwd8/TgicN1h2NXI/AAAAAAAAAVE/8ipeOCAXL4I/s320/view+from+signal+hill.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I can't speak for the rest of my family.. but, I'd come here again... and again and again...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-3329607485794762160?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nhXzau2e8R03SduWTkI4JnAl0oQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nhXzau2e8R03SduWTkI4JnAl0oQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/tscAba71NCw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/3329607485794762160/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/06/kota-kinabalu-it-takes-hold-on-you.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/3329607485794762160?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/3329607485794762160?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/tscAba71NCw/kota-kinabalu-it-takes-hold-on-you.html" title="Kota Kinabalu ..... It takes a hold on you...." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n9-jx7KCLuM/TgiS52HCDgI/AAAAAAAAAUE/1qMzjpbDx94/s72-c/kinabalu.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/06/kota-kinabalu-it-takes-hold-on-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAEQHw-fCp7ImA9WhZVGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-1643748210045536718</id><published>2011-05-31T14:46:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-02T09:21:41.254+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-02T09:21:41.254+08:00</app:edited><title>Another phase in life.... hers and mine...</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eDMtkv9ZXVs/TeW9SLReJ5I/AAAAAAAAATI/dQarhD1l9V8/s1600/14102007%2528001%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eDMtkv9ZXVs/TeW9SLReJ5I/AAAAAAAAATI/dQarhD1l9V8/s320/14102007%2528001%2529.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I have been in a melancholy mood. I have been unmotivated, wishing that I don't have to go to work.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Although, I try to be the type of parent that is practical and always encouraged my children to be independent and self-sufficient, I guess I've always wanted to be there for them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Now, there is this realization that my eldest daughter, doesn't need me anymore.&amp;nbsp; Sending her to college last Sunday, it suddenly occurred to me that she will, from now on, be spending more time away from us. This is what has put me in a pensive mood. And, in a couple of years, my eldest son will leave us and then my other daughter, then finally, my youngest son.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I look back at the last 17 years of raising her, I wish I had been a better parent. I wish I was had shown more patience and compassion rather than anger and edginess. I wish I had shown more composure than agitation. Maybe, that is why I find it hard to let go. I have this feeling that I haven't done enough, that I must hang on to her to make right all those wrongs that I have shown her and her siblings. The wrongs that I can only hope will not have an impression on them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, this feeling of remorse and regret will be lost on them, as it was lost on me when I was growing up and fail to understand why my parents treated me like a child when I thought I was a man. There is no way to teach a child about parenthood, except by being parents. Maybe the techniques of raising a child can be read from books, but the pride that you feel when you see them happy and the sadness that strangles your heart when you see them disappointed, can never be put into words.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I will probably get used to this "empty-nest" syndrome. I will have to. Because, I predict by the end of 2013, only my youngest son will still be with us. My eldest son will have gone off to college and my second daughter seems intent to leave her present school and go to a boarding school.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Rummaging through my wallet today, I found baby pictures of all my children and tears welled in my eyes. I wish I was a better father, I wish I had given them more of my time. One part of me wants them to stay babies, and another part is so proud of what they've become.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I do know one thing.... I want to be with them forever... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-1643748210045536718?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;li&gt;Set a goal and draw out a path - if you want to be a Pilot or a Doctor or an Engineer.... set your goal and map out your route. Follow that route. Everything else is just distractions.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;You can't please everybody, so don't bother.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Everybody thinks he/she is an expert - everybody likes to give advice. Their intentions are good but, always weigh what is said against your your set goals and the map to that goal..... Listen to as many opinions as you can... but remember they are just that... opinions not fact.... Take everything with a pinch of salt....&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;There's no such thing as "I have no choice" - life is full of choices. Even if it's between life or death... When you do something, it's your choice. If things don't go as you planned, it's your fault. Do not blame others.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Life is short, do not dwell on things that should have been. Learn from it.. and move on.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Humans cannot think logically.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Having pets only break your heart.....&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&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/9120633172850222459-5923705233047654436?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iL93OnqtJDW4VMJlCL6tSMIT16E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iL93OnqtJDW4VMJlCL6tSMIT16E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/yTUK61EGnhY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/5923705233047654436/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/05/somethings-i-wish-i-learned-when-i-was.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/5923705233047654436?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/5923705233047654436?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/yTUK61EGnhY/somethings-i-wish-i-learned-when-i-was.html" title="Somethings I wish I learned when I was younger...." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/05/somethings-i-wish-i-learned-when-i-was.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIGQH0yeSp7ImA9WhZWGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-3847899099868586216</id><published>2011-05-19T12:21:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-20T10:28:41.391+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-20T10:28:41.391+08:00</app:edited><title>Paradox of the day: I successfully failed in life.</title><content type="html">&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;“You are the same today that you are going to be in  five years from now except for two things: the people with whom you  associate and the books you read.” Charles Jones.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;I remember the first time I read this quote, emblazoned high on one wall of a training room.&amp;nbsp; It was an orientation session for new agents.... unit trust agents. I quit my job a couple of months earlier, after reading Robert T. Kiyosaki's book Rich Dad Poor Dad, and the thing that got stuck in my brain from that book is that you are at risk when you are employed. You are at the mercy of the business owner... your employer. He can choose to retain you or get rid of you as he pleases. He may just decide to fire you because he doesn't like the way you look at him....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;The business owner, as I understood from the book, is less at risk as he is the master of his own destiny. His is in charge of the business and therefore, the success or failure is his own doing or undoing.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;So I quit my job, and explored every avenue that may lead me to be an entrepreneur.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;I failed, miserably.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Looking back, I now question my motives for quitting gainful employment. maybe, I was tired of taking orders. There always somebody telling you what to do. Now I know, you can't get away from that. You will always have that obligation to fulfill somebody else's wishes. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;But, for now, I have decided to attribute my failure to one major factor.... I don't really know what I want. That's the key, to know what you want out of life. If you don't know what you want, then you have achieved your goal in life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Hmm... that makes me a success then....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-3847899099868586216?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
The older boys, those in standards (they them "year" now) 5 and 6 goes for interval (now known as "recess") after we the younger boys in standards 1,2, and 3 have finished ours. But, we are not to play in the vicinity of the older boys classrooms.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, as fate has it, one of my friends had accidentally kicked the fruit a little too hard and it rolled the the basketball court that we used as our playing pitch. Chasing the little green fruit...I didn't realize that I have encroached the into forbidden area.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Luckily, I the prefects were in a good mood and ignored me. After I caught up with the fruit, I turned to see where I was, and realized I had a clear view of a standard 5 classroom. In it, I see several boys (it was an all boys school) were standing with their hands behind their backs. The teacher, walked from one standing boy to another asking something I cannot hear. One unfortunate boy did not give the correct answer... and the teacher, grabbed the back of the boy's neck and brought it down on to the desk, hard. There was a loud bang... and I thought I saw blood trickling onto the boy's white school uniform.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I went home after school that day and told my mother that I wanted to change schools. Mother and father both agreed without asking me why...., probably because I wasn't doing very well in school and by then Mother was already 50 and Father was 60. I suspect that they've had enough of my bratty attitude, hoping some time away would do me good.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In 1975, I started school in standard 5 in Sekolah Rendah Alam Shah, Petaling Jaya, Selangor....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, no.. it didn't do any good... I think I only matured when I touched 35...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-1157299949476572348?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q1WC3o-le6uehFcaq8vjUk4o1Bg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q1WC3o-le6uehFcaq8vjUk4o1Bg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/aQa_1PgibBw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/1157299949476572348/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/05/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/1157299949476572348?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/1157299949476572348?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/aQa_1PgibBw/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html" title="Things that actually happened to me but I never told anyone.... Episode 3" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/05/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUARno6fCp7ImA9WhZQGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-2632775530126206746</id><published>2011-04-26T19:27:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-26T19:27:27.414+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-26T19:27:27.414+08:00</app:edited><title>Cables</title><content type="html">I am a little afraid.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are so many straight As student, my daughter may not be able to get into the college of her choice. She didn't get straight As. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What I am really worried about, is when those who do not deserve it, but have good connections, are the ones who get through.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One of my acquaintances whose daughter did really well in PMR, said her daughter couldn't get into a boarding school and she does not know why. While another friend whispered to me that his daughter got in because his cousin is a somebody in the Education Department. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
God only knows how these kids who got in via parental connections will do in the future. I hope they do well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, given the chance. If perhaps at a wedding of some distant relatives, I was introduced to a higher ranking officer in the education department who can shuffle around the papers, will I go down that path? It's justifiable, my daughter didn't too badly in her exams. It's not I'm asking him to push through a stupid kid. This girl is good, her grades are good and given the chance, she'll do great!! Is it wrong for me to get assurance of her admittance? Will it bother me that, given the limited placements in public universities, her admittance may well mean a lost opportunity of another non connected, but high performing SPM holder?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Frankly, I'll do it. In a test I took while studying for my degree many-many-many moons ago, I was to be a Hi Mac person. The Mac is short for Machevallian index. A low mac is an person who will always care about the means to an end, but a high mac, the ends will justify the means.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes... I'll do it, but discreetly, since for some reason, my daughter is a low mac....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-2632775530126206746?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z3aHYQl841GSA4Xw6cQ2VPRh5JU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z3aHYQl841GSA4Xw6cQ2VPRh5JU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/LV_qijwWXqQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/2632775530126206746/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/cables.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2632775530126206746?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2632775530126206746?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/LV_qijwWXqQ/cables.html" title="Cables" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/cables.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkANRn88eyp7ImA9WhZQFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-2169046033920605623</id><published>2011-04-22T23:06:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T23:06:37.173+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-22T23:06:37.173+08:00</app:edited><title>Tun Dr. Mahathir in my eyes...</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-15K3svksF84/TbGYpRH_ygI/AAAAAAAAAS0/WZaUtX44V0E/s1600/tun1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-15K3svksF84/TbGYpRH_ygI/AAAAAAAAAS0/WZaUtX44V0E/s200/tun1.JPG" width="164" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;When was the last time you hear Tun Dr. Mahathir apologized? Did he ever?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't think he ever did and rest assured he never will.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In 1993, the Australian Prime Minister Paul Keating called Dr. Mahathir a recalcitrant. It was the first time I ever heard the word. It was the first time for a lot of people that the newspapers actually had to put the meaning of the word in their articles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It means stubborn, having an obstinately uncooperative attitude toward authority. Australia seem to think they are the authority in this region. And, I hated Mr. Keating for defaming my Prime Minister. Looking back, however, perhaps recalcitrant is the best word to describe Tun. Dr. Mahathir.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I do not idolize anybody, because I am not an idolater. But, I cannot help but admire Tun Mahathir. He is a man of vision. He saw what others do not see. He thinks out of the box. While other only sees their games confined to the chess board, Tun Mahathir sees that there are solutions off it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not all of his vision became a reality. We know that Proton is a failure, but Tun will never say he made a mistake. It has become the favorite reference of his detractors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, it was he who put us on the world map. Before him, people knew Bangkok, people knew Singapore, but nobody knows where Kuala Lumpur is.... He envisioned a world class airport, a formula one racing track, a light rail transport system, a monorail system, and many mat salleh come to KL and say that Malaysia is a developed country.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he stepped down as PM, he did voice out one regret, though. He said he is sad that he cannot change the attitude of the Malays.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That, Tun, would require a miracle....&lt;br /&gt;
&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/9120633172850222459-2169046033920605623?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oNYZdQNOBP5O2WnXSaKFmrlYNs4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oNYZdQNOBP5O2WnXSaKFmrlYNs4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/gXIr1Vy_rr8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/2169046033920605623/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/tun-dr-mahathir-in-my-eyes.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2169046033920605623?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2169046033920605623?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/gXIr1Vy_rr8/tun-dr-mahathir-in-my-eyes.html" title="Tun Dr. Mahathir in my eyes..." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-15K3svksF84/TbGYpRH_ygI/AAAAAAAAAS0/WZaUtX44V0E/s72-c/tun1.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/tun-dr-mahathir-in-my-eyes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIFSH06fip7ImA9WhZXEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-2947353878163711272</id><published>2011-04-13T11:11:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T09:28:39.316+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-29T09:28:39.316+08:00</app:edited><title>Things that actually happened to me but  I never told anyone....  Episode  2</title><content type="html">There was a wedding, I think, because that's the only time we all get together, other than a death. But, I distinctly remembered the happiness and joy in the air.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In those days, catering was unheard of. All adults we assigned duties, and children were to make ourselves scarce. "Main jauh-jauh!!" was the only response we can get from the elders to any questions we asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, my cousins and I (about 5 of us) went on walkabouts around Muar town. We ended up in Muar Plaza, a two storey complex of shop lots (now demolished and replaced by Wetex Parade), the business center of Bandar Maharani.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As we were walking aimlessly, Aboy, my cousin from Johor Bahru came running and told us, excitedly, about the toy shop up ahead. He said he met the towkey and the towkey invited us to come to see the toys in his shop.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We were greeted warmly by the skinny balding shopkeeper and told us to have a look around.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was admiring a remote control car, when I felt the shopkeeper put his hand on my shoulders.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You like?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I nodded.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You come back later, by yourself, then I'll give you any toy you want...." he whispered in my ear. His other hand was groping my crotch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was petrified. He wasn't letting me go until I promised to come back. His mouth was so close to my face, I was breathing in his cigarette smelling breath.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Ok... I'll come back later..." I said.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He held on to me for a few more seconds. Then, he let me go. My other cousins were oblivious of what transpired between me and the shopkeeper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I told them I wanted to go home, they were disappointed. I walked out of the shop and never looked back.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For a long while thereafter, I kept a distance from skinny balding men.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-2947353878163711272?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/POTBH-UVrePiPaNm8XqAuyKmU1g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/POTBH-UVrePiPaNm8XqAuyKmU1g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/FBBVMfOQcYA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/2947353878163711272/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but_13.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2947353878163711272?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/2947353878163711272?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/FBBVMfOQcYA/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but_13.html" title="Things that actually happened to me but  I never told anyone....  Episode  2" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but_13.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcMRH4zcCp7ImA9WhZREk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-8545076111037871898</id><published>2011-04-08T12:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T12:48:05.088+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-08T12:48:05.088+08:00</app:edited><title>Things that actually happened to me but  I never told anyone....  Episode  1</title><content type="html">My friend and neighbor, Azman Imran both went to the same kindergarten. After school, around 11 in the morning, the kindergarten bus would drop us off at the junction of the main street (Jalan Khalidi) and we would walk about 1 kilometer to our respective houses from there. It was 1970.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Each day, without fail, we would stop by at the sundry shop on our way home, just to window shop, because we do not have any money. We called the shop "Kedai Tengah" because (we imagined) that it is half way between the main road to our houses.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One day, on a beautiful morning, as usual, Azman and I stopped at the shop. As we browsed and ogled at the many jars of sweets and biscuits and other confections, there was one box in which there were packets of chewing gum shaped like cigarettes&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Smoking was really cool in those days and I told Azman that we must have those gums.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I took one packet, held it up in the air, and asked the shopkeeper, a big burly Chinese man, how much is it. He said it was 20 sen. In all my innocence, without having the slightest inkling what his possible reactions might be.I asked him, "Hutang boleh?" .... I was 6 years old.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The shopkeeper grabbed the packet from my hand and shouted at me to get the hell out of his shop...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Azman and I ran home crying....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I reached home, my ever loving sister, Kak Besah was shocked to see me crying. She asked me why? I just shook my head, and pointed towards the shop. Kak Besah looked in the direction and saw a couple of cows grazing on a patch of green not far from my house.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Did the cows scared you?" Kak Besah asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I nodded.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-8545076111037871898?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HxScAdNpPya7hV3PUvCSbAH6Z6M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HxScAdNpPya7hV3PUvCSbAH6Z6M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/eOg_z8_ZiJQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/8545076111037871898/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8545076111037871898?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/8545076111037871898?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/eOg_z8_ZiJQ/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html" title="Things that actually happened to me but  I never told anyone....  Episode  1" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/04/things-that-actually-happened-to-me-but.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcGQH47fyp7ImA9WhZaFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-4544857901081054228</id><published>2011-03-28T16:51:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T14:40:21.007+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-30T14:40:21.007+08:00</app:edited><title>Almost F**king Perfect</title><content type="html">I realized last night that I had made a mistake.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I make mistakes all the time. But this is one of those that will cost me my goals for the year and perhaps, some embarrassments. I can't elaborate what it is.... not that, a million people will be reading this, but, it's too embarrassing. Although, I know what they'll say, if I tell them...... "That only, ahh? Not the end of the world, meh?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's no big deal when I think about it and look at it from their point of view. That's the problem, I don't want to see it from their point of view... I want them to see it from MY point of view. Only then will they see the magnitude of the deal!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then again, what am I expecting? A pat on the back, and a sympathetic "it's going to be alright"? It's such a huge thing for me that nothing that can be said or done will take away this burden weighing heavy on my heart.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The hope that I place upon this endeavor, and then the the realization that the outcome is less than my expectation, is like a black storm cloud descending upon upon me. I need to break something, scream out loud, punch the wall.... But, I can't because it will just make people stay away from me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I have to bear the pain... and the anticipation of embarrassments that I, no doubt, will have to endure...and suffer alone... Because no matter how much I whine about it, and no matter how genuinely caring the person I pour my heart to will be... I will still think that nobody cares.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nobody's perfect...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-4544857901081054228?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6LfOZnWVZI2rRtfVd-PlEm-H-4E/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6LfOZnWVZI2rRtfVd-PlEm-H-4E/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6LfOZnWVZI2rRtfVd-PlEm-H-4E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6LfOZnWVZI2rRtfVd-PlEm-H-4E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/_cXIjXYGr14" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/4544857901081054228/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/03/almost-fking-perfect.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4544857901081054228?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/4544857901081054228?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/_cXIjXYGr14/almost-fking-perfect.html" title="Almost F**king Perfect" /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/03/almost-fking-perfect.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUHRHc_eSp7ImA9WhZSEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9120633172850222459.post-6525691776796657604</id><published>2011-03-09T14:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-03-28T11:50:35.941+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-28T11:50:35.941+08:00</app:edited><title>I can't say NO...</title><content type="html">I hate to answer the phone when I do not recognize the number.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Because, I am afraid that it will be a sales person selling things they think I need.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, what if it's opportunity calling? A lucrative job offer or someone died and left me a fortune, maybe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, after a few seconds of contemplation.... I answered.... and end up listening to some guy or girl telling me about some great products or services that I cannot live without.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I walked into the trap, and, being the weakling I am, I just do not have the heart to cut them off in mid sentence to say... "I don't want whatever you are selling, good bye".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, so I listened patiently for the part that says how much it will cost me..... Then, I try to say no, hoping that I can get back to whatever I was doing before the interruption. Then they ask me why. Why? Why? After all I've done...I mean, I took the call and listened patiently didn't I? I wasn't rude was I? Now I have to justify my refusal? Now, I have to think of a valid argument for saying no??&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Err.... because it's too expensive for me laa".. I said. And, they rambled on for another eternity...countering me with statistics and the vast amounts of money I can make or the savings I get and the great&amp;nbsp; benefits that is so much more than the meager price I have to pay.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At this point, I am tempted to press the end button on my cellphone. Instead, I press the speaker button, because my ear is starting to feel numb. I stopped paying attention to whatever that came pouring out of the speakers. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then, they started to take down my particulars. Eh?...Did I inadvertently say yes? Did I unconsciously agreed to the terms and conditions? Where shall we send the product to, sir? Your house or your office, sir? Inside my head, I wish I can tell him exactly where he should send it. Up his.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, at last the matter is resolved. the sales person finally understood that I don't want the damn thing because I am not giving up my home or office address, much less my credit card number. And, he wished me good luck. Although, I am certain there was sarcasm in his voice... like what he really saying was.. LOSERRR.... &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At long last, I breathed a sigh of relief..... no lucrative job offers, no fortune inherited....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just time wasted, productivity lost.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9120633172850222459-6525691776796657604?l=sbjaafar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BhxME_8FLDBQJO4vo28mOYRnVyo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BhxME_8FLDBQJO4vo28mOYRnVyo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BhxME_8FLDBQJO4vo28mOYRnVyo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BhxME_8FLDBQJO4vo28mOYRnVyo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifesRemains/~4/Y8mkQEB8jog" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/feeds/6525691776796657604/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/03/i-cant-say-no.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/6525691776796657604?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9120633172850222459/posts/default/6525691776796657604?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifesRemains/~3/Y8mkQEB8jog/i-cant-say-no.html" title="I can't say NO..." /><author><name>S.B.Jaafar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16390036647626944790</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NecW3eYNMf4/TjZDrklVuFI/AAAAAAAAAWU/qwTo3lyyBXQ/s220/Picture%2B005.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sbjaafar.blogspot.com/2011/03/i-cant-say-no.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

