<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078</id><updated>2012-01-04T15:46:41.561+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions of a Capri</title><subtitle type='html'>A place where I post my short stories, poems and other writings for the public's vewing pleasure. Please do comment; I'll appreciate your valuable feedback. Do watch this space for updates!! :)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Renaissance Publishing</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='14' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Uem6gFPcqps/SFiG-cXjIII/AAAAAAAAAAM/ent7LMCf8nw/S220/renaissancelogo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-3925901697876963266</id><published>2009-04-19T15:21:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T15:21:48.722+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beginning to an End</title><content type='html'>This hole that I'm falling into&lt;br /&gt;Is it for real? Or just a lie?&lt;br /&gt;This sea that I'm sinking into&lt;br /&gt;Is it the truth? Or a false cry?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The silence I had&lt;br /&gt;That precious piece of treasure&lt;br /&gt;Is now slowly breaking up&lt;br /&gt;My lips are forced to form words&lt;br /&gt;Now thoughts are spilling out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lo behold!&lt;br /&gt;My heart's fixed up&lt;br /&gt;It's back in the right spot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wherenever I cry&lt;br /&gt;The tears that fall&lt;br /&gt;Are pearls, not mere drops&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The twilight eludes&lt;br /&gt;The darkness parts&lt;br /&gt;My life is on the dot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now when I look at my own reflection&lt;br /&gt;I finally see myself&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-3925901697876963266?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/3925901697876963266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=3925901697876963266&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/3925901697876963266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/3925901697876963266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2009/04/beginning-to-end.html' title='Beginning to an End'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-3342198451809497976</id><published>2009-02-07T22:54:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T22:59:02.122+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lover</title><content type='html'>Cold&lt;br /&gt;Deceit&lt;br /&gt;Hunger&lt;br /&gt;Fast&lt;br /&gt;Your lips against mine&lt;br /&gt;My clothes on the floor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anger&lt;br /&gt;Greed&lt;br /&gt;Treachery&lt;br /&gt;Need&lt;br /&gt;Your hand on my thigh&lt;br /&gt;My body flushed with heat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Torture&lt;br /&gt;Sin&lt;br /&gt;Pain&lt;br /&gt;Pleasure&lt;br /&gt;Your teeth on my neck&lt;br /&gt;My cries of ecstasy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loss&lt;br /&gt;Hurt&lt;br /&gt;Betrayal&lt;br /&gt;Emptiness&lt;br /&gt;Your leaving my bed&lt;br /&gt;My tears on my pillow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love&lt;br /&gt;Lost&lt;br /&gt;Suicide&lt;br /&gt;Peace&lt;br /&gt;Your silence to my calls&lt;br /&gt;My answer to your game.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-3342198451809497976?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/3342198451809497976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=3342198451809497976&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/3342198451809497976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/3342198451809497976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2009/02/lover.html' title='Lover'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-4067211048499196892</id><published>2008-12-26T15:09:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T15:20:49.062+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Work of Art</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hey guys! Sorry for the 2 months hiatus, had work piled up in camp. Anyways, this was a poem I wrote a few days ago as I was musing over the artworks of my best pal Kelvin Atmadibrata who is by the way an excellent origami artiste. His latest exhibition is now on at the Forth Gallery, Pagoda Street at Chinatown until the 30th of this month. This is dedicated to him (even if he is not the paintings sort of guy...) Enjoy!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The paint flirts in a subtle language&lt;br /&gt;Of pride rather than prejudice&lt;br /&gt;Of sense rather than sensibility&lt;br /&gt;Blushing through the colours of the conversation&lt;br /&gt;Red for desire&lt;br /&gt;Blue for love&lt;br /&gt;A myriad displayed rather than voiced out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The brush caresses the canvas&lt;br /&gt;Stroke by stroke by stroke&lt;br /&gt;Eliciting a tender shudder&lt;br /&gt;As marks of passion are made&lt;br /&gt;Permanent as sin&lt;br /&gt;The brush withdraws; the canvas sighs&lt;br /&gt;An affair of mutual contentment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The beauty's veil is lifted&lt;br /&gt;Unmasked to the gaping world&lt;br /&gt;Naked to the naked eye&lt;br /&gt;Stirring the feelings of onlookers&lt;br /&gt;A good of value she becomes&lt;br /&gt;To the passionate who &lt;em&gt;must&lt;/em&gt; have her&lt;br /&gt;Her price rises&lt;br /&gt;Her fame widens&lt;br /&gt;The braveheart pursues her still&lt;br /&gt;Finally, her price is fixed&lt;br /&gt;Sold to the highest bidder&lt;br /&gt;Who carries his prize home&lt;br /&gt;And shares her beauty with one and all&lt;br /&gt;A pretty little picture.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-4067211048499196892?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/4067211048499196892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=4067211048499196892&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/4067211048499196892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/4067211048499196892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/12/work-of-art.html' title='A Work of Art'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-2508279963010689348</id><published>2008-09-27T10:24:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T16:28:13.958+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evolution</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wrote this short story back in secondary school. It's one of my favourite pieces because it was the first time I ventured to portray Chinese sensitivity through the customs and prejudices that rule Asia till this very day. This piece was set in the 1920s-30s Shanghai period although not stated explicitly, a time when girls just started to step out of their social boundaries to educate themselves during the fight between nationalism and communism. I love this period mainly because of the elegance and sophistication of the fashion in those days and also due to the struggles that people had to face between westernization and Maoism. Hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I did.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There she was again. Coming in our direction, staring at us with a little hesitation and tugging at her coarse skirt. She was a picture of frail hope and sorrowful dreams, a waif wanted to be accepted by all. She was Youth, about to be carved in murderous stone and be ignored. By us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The leader of the pack, Li Mei, sneered at the fragile maiden. We followed suit. Afterall, Li Mei was the daughter of the wealthiest merchant in town. No one would like to be prey to her volatile temper. No one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello Xue Hui. How are you today?" enquired Li Mei with her familiar tone of malicious sarcasm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Xue Hui looked at us again with that very hesitation that seemed to be entwined with her eyes. Her eyes. Those profound wells were clearly windows to her troubled soul. They quivered and shook like watchful lights which were more used to dim espionage, not startling revelation. She brushed her raven locks with her miniature fingers, clearly not ready for a confrontation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He...ll...o, Li Mei. He...ll...o, every...body." Her reply revealed her ghostly fear pounding in her thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Li Mei tacitly read her face as some people would a book without moving their lips. Her thoughts were as quiet as thunder; fierce and upright like sinister lords with narrow eyes and lipless smiles. I knew what she was going to do. It was so evident. And now her laughter, suffused with mockery, confirmed my suspicions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So Xue Hui, how is your father? The bankruptcy must have been hard on him. What does he do for a living now? Wash dirty plates?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That did it. Li Mei had suceeded in hurting Xue Hui yet again. In acknowledgement of her victory, we all giggled like a pack of hyenas. We had no choice. To feel sorry for Xue Hui spelled doom for us. We had to save ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Xue Hui cringed and faltered in her willowy frame. She staggered a little, not able to bear the impact of the snake's words. A wounded fawn, seeking a hiding place, finding anything but that. Tears. Pearl-like tears streamed down her cheeks, igniting a guilty flame within me. Her emotions were seeping into me like hidden water finding its path through secret passages. I could do nothing but be a spectator to the ongoing torment of an unfortunate nymph. She could not go to the woods for comfort; no mask of illusion to hide her features. Her pitiful state was beyond omparison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brushing her tears aside, Xue Hui peered at us cowards with genteel yet uncertain tranquility. However hurt she must have been feeling, she still looked as subtle as the mouth of a river merging with the sea. With a sudden jerk, she fled with difficulty; a lamb escaping from the clutches of a ravenous winter wolf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could still hear the lonely sounds of her fleeing heels while Li Mei and the rest of the girls left the spot. I was ashamed of myself for cavorting with the group. My conscience stung me like a rapier full of venom. What could I do? I was helpless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; One. Two. Three. Four. I counted my nimble steps as I made my way to Mr Tan's mansion. My hair was tied up, restrained as if I had it on a leash. And my dress, a faded navy blue, clung so tightly to me, threatening to become one with my skin and suffocate me to death. I had to be meticulously neat, or else risk the possibility of being fired by Mr Tan. He was a hot-tempered dragon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I arrived at the mansion without fanfare, I was greeted by the sight of a lady dazzling in a cheongsam of pure white, embroided with firebirds of ivory threadings. The mistress of the household, I presumed as I tottered closer to take a better look at her. It turned out to be more than just a mere glimpse. Her tresses cascaded down her hips like lustrous waves of the night when she let them loose. She played with a lock of her hair, winding it like silken threads around her slender fingers. Like a sylph come to earth, she possessed elegance and an ethereal beauty unmatched. Her brows were delicately arched and her rosy lips pleasingly bow-shaped. However, something about her eyes was familiar. They reminded me of someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That is a beautiful cheongsam you have."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And your phoenix would represent..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rebirth." Yet another monosyllabic reply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello, I'm Shi Hua and I am supposed to meet Mr Tan regarding office matters..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The signs of displeasure were clearly evident on her face as her lips turned into a slight frown as if she had tasted sour milk. Her tender fists were clenched tightly and her eyes pierced into me with stinging arrows of hate. I did not, and could not, comprehend the cause for her reaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Shi Hua. The one who always went after Li Mei," she added with ultimate scorn. And distaste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sudden realization struck me.A cold dread gripped my heart like a vengeful vice. Feelings of anguish and guilt pounded me like hammers striking at a single sheet of metal. She had not forgotten Li Mei, and her lecherous tongue. She had not forgotten any of the hurt she had endured; any of the emotional struggles that she had so often battled with no hope. No, the hatred had not been forgotten, only suppressed. She was Xue Hui. The sorrowful nymph we used to bully back from college. Or rather, the sepia shade of her former self. Hatred would not fade with time, but become deeper entrenched, like a shard lodged in a maiden's breast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could not defend myself. And I had no right to do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Anyway, how are you?" Xue Hui asked in a tone feigning concern and care. She had discarded them long ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remained silent. Speechless would have been a better word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How about your father? How is he now? Still trying to avoid the loansharks?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That did it. That certainly did it. Her questions threshed and lashed at me like the incoming tide. I could not answer them. My father had lost all his fortune to gambling; my family, its honour and dignity. I was now the sole breadwinner. Xue Hui had suceeded in hurting me, just like the way Li Mei had always suceeded twenty years ago. Little did Xue Hui know that Li Mei was already dead. Buried as an orphan. Retribution, many supposed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Xue Hui stood tall, a she-dragon. Her eyes danced like demons below the lowering clouds, screeching with parched voices for carrion. Mine were like cowering daughters, veiled in indignation. Her emotions came to me from the shadows, drooping with age as her sharp tongue drew more blood than was required. The gentle and defenceless young girl I had known had now evolved into a cold and composed woman. She was indeed stronger. Much stronger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my heart, the white of her cheongsam was the shade of mourning, heavy with lilies of the grave, and her tresses were spiked with bleached bones. She was the bride of time, set upon to protect herself from fiends. I forced myself to regain my composure, putting aside my hurt. My tears could not flow freely. They were trapped by her icy stare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without a word, I turned back and staggered away from that place. No salve or lotion could heal the wound that scarred me with inscrutable emotion. For the second time in my life, I could not help Xue Hui. Her chracter had been moulded of something. Freindship, I reckoned. Something which I should have extended, but did not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a play of fate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her name had been intended for her to be intelligent, and possessing the frailty of a snowflake. A snowmaiden. Instead, it now carried a twisted meaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had become the Ice Queen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Through the endless nights of winter&lt;br /&gt;I travelled in search of warmth&lt;br /&gt;A bride of the cold beckoned me&lt;br /&gt;Her touch filled with cold hate&lt;br /&gt;I spread my wings and flew away&lt;br /&gt;The snow hailed till dawn..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-2508279963010689348?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/2508279963010689348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=2508279963010689348&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/2508279963010689348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/2508279963010689348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/09/evolution.html' title='Evolution'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-7133063511915640340</id><published>2008-09-20T20:34:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T20:36:26.397+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Illiterate Shame</title><content type='html'>Yes, her looks, her scornful looks&lt;br /&gt;She shuns us with her scornful looks&lt;br /&gt;Maybe she read too many books&lt;br /&gt;While we never had a single look&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-7133063511915640340?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/7133063511915640340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=7133063511915640340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/7133063511915640340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/7133063511915640340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/09/illiterate-shame.html' title='Illiterate Shame'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-1196788932422188483</id><published>2008-09-06T19:58:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T20:01:02.741+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Desert Illusion</title><content type='html'>Her eyes spoke into mine&lt;br /&gt;A touch of tenderness, a lot of malice&lt;br /&gt;Dreams are not for real&lt;br /&gt;Such were her ways, never to be noticed&lt;br /&gt;Flames rise higher and higher&lt;br /&gt;My feet weaken with every thirst&lt;br /&gt;I didn't think she would be gone&lt;br /&gt;Just like the wind, gone and lost&lt;br /&gt;Will she come again&lt;br /&gt;To release me from eternity?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-1196788932422188483?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/1196788932422188483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=1196788932422188483&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/1196788932422188483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/1196788932422188483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/09/desert-illusion.html' title='Desert Illusion'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-6047229878355955198</id><published>2008-08-24T14:44:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T14:51:54.044+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Regret</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I was watching the music video of Christina Aguilera of her song, 'Hurt' about a year ago and I was struck by the melancholy of the scene which she holds guilt about her father whom she didn't cherish and only realised too late after he's long gone. The song thus inspired me to write this piece about the regret a guy has for the futility of the love he bears for a cold-hearted girl.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the love that couldn't be mine&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the need that has hurt my soul&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the pain that I've caused my heart&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the emotions that are inside of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the hate you have for me&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the tears that I've shed for you&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the fears that I've had of this world&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for the anger that I have for myself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so sorry&lt;br /&gt;For ever thinking about you&lt;br /&gt;Which I still do,&lt;br /&gt;As always&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-6047229878355955198?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/6047229878355955198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=6047229878355955198&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/6047229878355955198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/6047229878355955198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/regret.html' title='Regret'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-8347655840015805195</id><published>2008-08-24T14:41:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T14:44:23.627+08:00</updated><title type='text'>First Flight</title><content type='html'>My wings are clipped&lt;br /&gt;My heart is locked&lt;br /&gt;Nothing is there to comfort me&lt;br /&gt;I run across the meadow with open arms&lt;br /&gt;Only to find the sky threatening me&lt;br /&gt;Yet I hold on to hope so dear&lt;br /&gt;My dreams and visions are very clear&lt;br /&gt;One day I'll find the laughter I seek&lt;br /&gt;And then my wings will be free&lt;br /&gt;I'll fly through the skies with liberty&lt;br /&gt;My soul will shine in eternal light&lt;br /&gt;I'll stand tall on wings of flight&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-8347655840015805195?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/8347655840015805195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=8347655840015805195&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/8347655840015805195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/8347655840015805195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/first-flight.html' title='First Flight'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-7427193309869348063</id><published>2008-08-16T22:16:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T22:23:20.468+08:00</updated><title type='text'>God's Gift</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was one of my earliest poems when I first started out writing in secondary school. At that time, my Christian friend was just relating to me the story of Adam &amp; Eve and how he wished that they didn't eat the apples so that he could be immortal! Although it was meant to be a joke, it got me thinking and thus the poem was born.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flowers of Eden&lt;br /&gt;Beautiful as they may be&lt;br /&gt;Are cursed, yes cursed&lt;br /&gt;For they cannot bloom after sunrise&lt;br /&gt;Where art thou, Adam and Eve?&lt;br /&gt;One a man, the other a woman&lt;br /&gt;Accursed they have been, yes accursed&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-7427193309869348063?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/7427193309869348063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=7427193309869348063&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/7427193309869348063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/7427193309869348063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/gods-gift.html' title='God&apos;s Gift'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-365979454946693915</id><published>2008-08-16T14:40:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T14:41:02.449+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Growing Tree</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I was just wondering about how people express the joys of falling head over heels in love so openly, yet become silent when the same joy turns to despair when their love life doesn't go the way they planned it. That's when the idea of this poem came to mind as an expression of the pain of falling in love instead of the usual joy as my satire for those who keep their sorrow in the dark.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The leaves are turning blue&lt;br /&gt;From the autumn's frost&lt;br /&gt;And then they fall, brick by brick&lt;br /&gt;Chips of an old block&lt;br /&gt;The stem shrivels&lt;br /&gt;Bereft of its functions&lt;br /&gt;And slowly crumbles to dust&lt;br /&gt;Burning to ashes&lt;br /&gt;The flowers have no home left&lt;br /&gt;Abandoned; Ruined&lt;br /&gt;Fly they do as lost wanderers&lt;br /&gt;Drained of their possible colours&lt;br /&gt;That's how a whole/part&lt;br /&gt;Of the tree leaves bare&lt;br /&gt;The living's disinterest&lt;br /&gt;In the season of grief&lt;br /&gt;My youth in the throes of love&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-365979454946693915?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/365979454946693915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=365979454946693915&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/365979454946693915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/365979454946693915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/growing-tree.html' title='The Growing Tree'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-1522657391654089481</id><published>2008-08-16T14:40:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T14:40:35.397+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Widowhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I was reading "Fasting Feasting" by Anita Desai over the week when the thought of Indian widows and the sufferings they underwent in pre-modern times came to my mind. That's when it occurred to me to write this poem so as to express my perspective on this issue. What is your take on widowhood?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She stands there, arms akimbo&lt;br /&gt;Staring at the window&lt;br /&gt;Glancing at the nightsky&lt;br /&gt;A mirror she'll rather avoid&lt;br /&gt;Now she combs her bleaching tresses&lt;br /&gt;As she scowls at the moon&lt;br /&gt;A crescent beam hurting her eyes&lt;br /&gt;A bright scar she'll rather deny&lt;br /&gt;She tugs at the end of her sari&lt;br /&gt;That tattered, wilting fabric&lt;br /&gt;Hugging her shrunken form&lt;br /&gt;Stiffling her inner self&lt;br /&gt;Those wrinkled hands she curses&lt;br /&gt;For exposing her sorry state&lt;br /&gt;And yet she reaches out...&lt;br /&gt;For one last look&lt;br /&gt;At her waning reflection&lt;br /&gt;Before she closes&lt;br /&gt;Vanity's gates&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-1522657391654089481?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/1522657391654089481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=1522657391654089481&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/1522657391654089481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/1522657391654089481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/widowhood.html' title='Widowhood'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-5164101604517904165</id><published>2008-08-16T14:39:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T14:40:07.351+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Metamorphosis</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The following short story, "Metamorphosis", was a piece I wrote and submitted to Renaissance Publishing last year for a competition which won me a 2nd prize and a chance to be published with other award winning entries in a compilation called Romance Vol 1. The book is now sold at Borders, Kinokuniya, Popular and all other major bookstores. You got to buy this cool book right now!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The smooth breeze caressed my cheeks and laid its soothing arms over me as my gaze met those of the young birds chirping merrily away. Flowers bloomed everywhere under my feet as the glorious sun rose yonder to share the air that was so full of love... Yea, like whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love is so full of rubbish, I thought as I shuffled along the pathway leading to my high school. I mean, all anyone gets are a few presents which are always disguised as sweet and a lot of "I cannot live without you." It's just too much soap opera for a cool dude like me. Puke-worthy. I'll rather do my homework, thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was all before I saw her. Yes, a She. A member of the opposite and not necessarily fairer sex that I would usually keep ten feet away from. Except for my mum, but that can't really be helped much. Ok, I digress. What I meant to say was that I never knew that I could go haywire upon seeing a girl just like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she walked past me as I was approaching the school gate. Not much, but enough to make my jaw drop, plus my superbly heavy Physics textbook which placed excruciating pressure on my tender feet. Dismissing the pain, I stared right at her wondering whether she was Venus in a school skirt, Mona Lisa with a yet cuter smile, Cleopatra without...ermm...the Egyptian stuff. You get the idea. Her hair, her eyes and everything else just became so fixed in my mind. And bham! That was it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A snowy dove trooping with crows, have you not seen beauty till tonight?" Oh I certainly have. In broad daylight trooping with butterfly hairpins. By the way, was that Shakespeare or someone else that my English teacher always babbles about? Whatever it may be, the one thing that's confirmed is that I, Jackie Lee, have the hots for this particular lass. Soccer is going to be so jealous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How was I supposed to know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The clock strikes one. My head is on the pillow, but I'm wide awake like an owl. I turn right. Cannot sleep. I turn left. Cannot sleep. I toss and turn and bang my head against the stupid pillow but I still cannot sleep. Instead, I have these funny sensations in my stomach like small little butterflies fluttering around my insides. It reminds me of her hairpins. Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Audrey Lam. Class of 3A1. New exchange student from Hong Kong. Science and Maths scholar. Jay Chou fanatic. All these details were on my fingertips by the end of third period. Don't ask me how; it's a very complicated process called social networking involving SMSes to my friends who happen to be her classmates while dodging the cunning eyes of my vicious teacher. See? I told you it was complicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just couldn't keep my mind off her the entire day, including these few restless moments in bed. I mean, its hard not to think of her when she is so...so...so... Oh I got it. She's so perfect. Like as if a beautiful wish just came true. This feeling I have right now is way too cool to even describe with words. Her name is so stuck in my head, like a song that I can't forget. And she is something that I think I'll never forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Audrey. Audrey. Audrey. Audrey. Audrey. Audrey. Audrey. Audrey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crap. I totally forgot about my Physics test tomorrow. Better get up and start revising then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time seems to be a little too relative for me nowdays. It passes so fast in school, and drags on after. Mucky love ballads and sappy romance novels suddenly seem so, right. Even the bad weather takes on a different light as I dreamily stare at the rain as if its a blessed sign from the One. Usually, I'll be cursing it for spoiling my soccer plans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't have a single clue about what I'm saying right now, then here's the full scoop for you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Audrey and I have met a few times in school. That is, after I pleaded with my friend and almost strangled him in order to get him to make the introductions. We hit it off quite well, considering our lack of comprehension for each other's accented speech. So far, we have exchanged our likes, dislikes, handphone numbers, email addresses and Friendster requests. Hopefully, our hearts will come later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surprisingly, I find it very easy to open up and talk to Audrey about anything under the sun unlike the way my tongue danced through a dozen knots the first time I saw her. She is such a good listener which is a quality I haven't found in a lot of people, and seriously takes me for who I am. Not because I am such a cool-punk-with-the-attitude or anything like that, although I've wished that I was one. But because I am simply me. Myself. No false fronts, no attitudes, nothing. That is what matters to her most. And I like that, plus her of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's nice being with her. Beside her. Behind her. Three-sixty degrees around her. Spending all those times just looking at her eyes, seeing them sparkle with the light. Checking out her cheerful smile that never fails to brighten up my day, etcetra, etcetra. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ewww. That was just way too mushy even for a love-sick cow like me. Which I'm not. No, stop sniggering, I'm serious. I'm only in love, not obsessed or crazed or erratic or senseless or anything like that. I'm sorry, it must be my nerves overworked from all the academic stress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, why can't I just ask her out already???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi Jackie."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Audrey."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Listen, there's a Jay Chou concert this Saturday and I was wondering if...if you would like to come with me to watch it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silence as my mind goes blank like a cuckoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ermm...it's ok if you're not free...I mean...I just thought..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, no, of course I'm free. I have nothing on schedule anyway." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liar. I just conveniently let slip the information that I'll cancel my weekly soccer game to follow her anyway that she commands. A mega-watt smile flashes across her face as I stand dazed in full-cuckoo mode.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's great! I'll see you this Saturday then. Call me. Bye!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my God. Did that just happen? Let me pinch myself just in case. Ouch. Ok that confirms the fact that it wasn't just my self-induced day dream due to heightening insanity. I finally did it. I've really got a date with her! Yes!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only sad part though is that I was not the one who asked. I mean, I practised and rehearsed my lines all weekend just so that I would not seem like a jerk when I ask her out. And she did it like a breeze. Bummer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, who cares? I'm going out with my dream girl and that's all that matters. Better start saving up my allowance from this instant to make sure that I'm financially secure for the date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm now up in bed with a pen and paper writing something random. Actually it's a poem. Ok, stop feeling so triumphant that I have succumbed to full blown puppy love behaviour because it's just something that I'm experimenting with. Nothing really deep. Come on, just read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Youth bloomed in stages within&lt;br /&gt;The shell,&lt;br /&gt;Hardening it, making it tough.&lt;br /&gt;But now it seeps through&lt;br /&gt;The cracks anew&lt;br /&gt;To soften the shell and let it fall.&lt;br /&gt;Exposing the being&lt;br /&gt;Fully reborn.&lt;br /&gt;Mists shroud the mind.&lt;br /&gt;Hazy is the way forward.&lt;br /&gt;But nothing is more certain&lt;br /&gt;Now&lt;br /&gt;Than this. Metamorphosis."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not too bad isn't it? I never knew that I had it within me. My English teacher would so do a double flip if she ever saw this. Anyway, why all the mist and haze you ask? Well, I've just realised that I'm no longer sure about what I thought I was sure about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About Audrey. About me. About us. About everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, Audrey is only here for as long the exchange programme lasts. Although she told me that her parents are considering migration to Singapore, there is the slightest chance that she may just go and never come back. What then?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if Audrey finds me a bore afterall? What if she discovers that I'm a good-for-nothing, that I'm a useless boyfriend? That I'm not really worth bothering about. What if?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And coming back to myself. How can I be sure of my feelings? I mean, I know I like her, but is it for real? For all you know, I could have been imagining everything that I've felt so strongly about. It is my first time. And there is the possibility that I may not be tough enough to handle a relationship afterall. How then do I know whether I'm actually ready for this at all? How?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls have it easier; they only have to pick petals from daisies and throw them all over the place to decide. What is a guy supposed to do? I could just about use some divine intervention at this point in time. Or I could just use some common sense that I unwittingly lack of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sit pondering in my bed and looking at the words I have written, I realise that I may just have had the answer all along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Life is full of uncertainties right? We never know what to expect, but we still go through the motions so that we can gain fruitful experiences that we'll cherish. So isn't love supposed to be something like that? I remember reading somewhere about how Life if Love, Love is God, God is Life...wait that's not really it. Let me try again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point I'm trying to make is that we never know anything for sure. And we'll never know anything until we try. According to some well-renowned author whose name I've promptly forgot, Love may be full of thorns and briars, but it also contains the path to self-awakening. So I guess that instead of worrying too much about what may happen, I should just give a chance to the relationship that Audrey and I can create. Taking one steady step at a time, and letting nature take its course. Who knows? We may end up being the hottest couple in school. I mean, an academic genius and a soccer dude do make a cool combo, don't you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just like what my poem says. Eventhough there may be mist and haze, nothing is more certain than the change that has occurred in me. Because of the new person I have become. Because I have changed for the better. Or simply, it's all because of Love.&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-5164101604517904165?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/5164101604517904165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=5164101604517904165&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/5164101604517904165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/5164101604517904165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/metamorphosis.html' title='Metamorphosis'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8846671698320707078.post-8450638848967341812</id><published>2008-08-16T14:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T14:39:37.304+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome!</title><content type='html'>Hi and welcome to my blog where I'll post all my writings up for viewing by interested readers. I hope to publish my own book one day so I hope this will act as the platform to launch my dream with a bang! Please feel free to leave any comments you have about my works whether it be praise or healthy criticism; &lt;strong&gt;just do not use any offensive language please&lt;/strong&gt;. You can leave reviews or ratings or whatever it is that you would like to express about my writings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks once again for stopping by and do come back regularly for more!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8846671698320707078-8450638848967341812?l=confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/feeds/8450638848967341812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8846671698320707078&amp;postID=8450638848967341812&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/8450638848967341812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8846671698320707078/posts/default/8450638848967341812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://confessions-of-a-capri.blogspot.com/2008/08/welcome.html' title='Welcome!'/><author><name>Raj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08705650392111267721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6PB7A7T40CY/SJ0aRawdGVI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8a9JDN81RJ0/s1600-R/19102007(018)-001.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
