<?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-16640936</id><updated>2012-02-13T12:50:49.914+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Zubaidah Arshad</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>419</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5399601606431963060</id><published>2012-02-13T00:25:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-02-13T12:50:49.925+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18P47C4cFv0/Tzfn0r0tgSI/AAAAAAAAALQ/Q0d7EuKD9uE/s1600/shepherd%27s+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18P47C4cFv0/Tzfn0r0tgSI/AAAAAAAAALQ/Q0d7EuKD9uE/s320/shepherd%27s+pie.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I reached there, the road was barren - it was so long and deserted, the end of the road was a tiny dot from an infinite perspective. Reality is like a bed of roses - the petals are so red, but there are thorns that will make you crazy. A week ago, I received a notification from Facebook telling me that Custard wanted to befriend me - once again. It took me three days before I hit that Confirm button. Never thought it would be easy, I knew that, but I didn't want to hold grudges in my life. Why should I keep the personal vendetta when there are too much hatreds already in the world? So the old stories flooded back in, like a tsunami of memories, swept through from the ocean floor up to the highest waves. I befriended him for two days before I removed him from my friend's list. One does not befriend her ex, I told myself. But that just another excuse to make myself feel better. I tell that later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it was Sunday, the second week of February. Memories are everywhere, from the Club Med to the secluded beach that I reigned territory before. I just had to run away, I just had to forget, I just had to dissolve myself into a relaxing Sunday, the normal Sunday that most normal people do. This place has been my hideout. I jogged here, I slept here, I screamed here, I drew here, I wrote my entry here, I had my lunch here, I once dated Custard here, I once had my happy moment with Liam here. Of any other places that I had been, this is the place where I found my solace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For once, I got to see how almost clear the sky was, how blue was the ocean, how pretty the clouds in front of the blue canvas, how free the white seagulls were looking for the fish in the open sea, how asymmetrical the rocks that crashed the wave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For once I got to open my camping chair, sit down, and forget. And for once, after many weeks of struggle, I get to plan what's for lunch tomorrow. I know it won't be Shepherd's Pie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&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/16640936-5399601606431963060?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5399601606431963060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5399601606431963060&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5399601606431963060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5399601606431963060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/02/pie.html' title='Pie'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18P47C4cFv0/Tzfn0r0tgSI/AAAAAAAAALQ/Q0d7EuKD9uE/s72-c/shepherd%27s+pie.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5432684259969457164</id><published>2012-02-07T00:38:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2012-02-07T00:38:10.385+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Going Stealth</title><content type='html'>True. You are being constraint in your own thoughts, and you dwell too much on it, and you think you are right all the time. Sad that you have lost a few good moments cherishing what you are doing and what you have done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5432684259969457164?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5432684259969457164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5432684259969457164&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5432684259969457164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5432684259969457164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/02/going-stealth_07.html' title='Going Stealth'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4728647604469438150</id><published>2012-01-25T19:03:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T19:54:46.519+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Move On!</title><content type='html'>I don't cling to past memories (well, sometimes), that's why I changed my blogger template. I care not if you hate it, but I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4728647604469438150?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4728647604469438150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4728647604469438150&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4728647604469438150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4728647604469438150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/move-on.html' title='Move On!'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1516383392573848613</id><published>2012-01-25T14:36:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T14:36:50.806+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hidden</title><content type='html'>Don't google me. Zubaidah Arshad is only my pen name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1516383392573848613?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1516383392573848613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1516383392573848613&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1516383392573848613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1516383392573848613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/hidden.html' title='Hidden'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7562007689379885751</id><published>2012-01-25T01:17:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T01:17:09.254+08:00</updated><title type='text'>An Ex</title><content type='html'>It all turned mundane since the day he came back from Hungary. It wasn't quite the same. I didn't attend to his requests, I didn't go to his table for nothing, I answered his questions with hums, it spun like in a spiral of time. Of when you know things wouldn't get better anymore, and you wanted to end this up because you have wakened up from your day dream that this was all wrong, and all you ever wished that this never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To whom should you place your blame when all those sweet time are now nothing but a stretch of awkward silence and stale conversations? I caught his glimpse once in a while, but that's all, nothing major. Surprisingly after two months, things are getting better between us. No feelings involved, and we don't go jog out together anymore. There's a lot of sayings that you couldn't befriend your ex, well, it is true. And I am stand by it. Why should go befriend someone that used to make you feel special? Certainly there will be a lot of unresolved things, something that you have been holding on for quite a long time and you couldn't find a right moment to tell all of that because all this while you have been dodging and ducking under the table not wanting to bring up the old memories back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People around me realized that, that there is no more nudging, poking, stupid jokes, banters that he used to throw at me. Stupid me if I don't realize that, but I am happy he is acting that way because I believe that is the way it supposed to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was wrong in the first place, and he has been wrong all this while. It is true that our eyes are being blinded when we are in love, the sights were blocked by the confetti of stupid emotional feelings, our senses were grayed by the temporary happiness it gave. When it was over, I had a good look at him, and then I saw what I didn't see when I was so affectionate by his artificial love. Well, let's that buried with all the times that have been wasted spent on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we are moving, and we are colleagues. We work together, as if nothing ever happened between us. We couldn't tell lies that it happened. But at least we tried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the strive is showing some results. I don't know if I should feel happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7562007689379885751?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7562007689379885751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7562007689379885751&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7562007689379885751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7562007689379885751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/ex.html' title='An Ex'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4164365249971468870</id><published>2012-01-20T19:39:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-23T21:32:37.264+08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Okay</title><content type='html'>Too long been gone makes you being forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need my black umbrella. It's raining cats and dogs outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4164365249971468870?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4164365249971468870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4164365249971468870&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4164365249971468870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4164365249971468870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-okay.html' title='It&apos;s Okay'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8906903047076889003</id><published>2012-01-19T11:55:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-19T11:55:16.964+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love How We Can Be Humans Sometimes</title><content type='html'>Forget hatred, let off your vendetta, loosen your muscles, and just smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love it when we can be humans sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8906903047076889003?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8906903047076889003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8906903047076889003&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8906903047076889003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8906903047076889003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-love-how-we-can-be-humans-sometimes.html' title='I Love How We Can Be Humans Sometimes'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3206205603918157455</id><published>2012-01-17T23:37:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T23:37:41.358+08:00</updated><title type='text'>KL</title><content type='html'>Imagining things would go the way that I dreamt. And laughing to the old jokes that make who am I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This can go on so long that it will never end. It just that we do not give it a chance to grow. It just that life is much easier that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps this comfort you live in make you forget?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3206205603918157455?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3206205603918157455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3206205603918157455&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3206205603918157455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3206205603918157455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/kl.html' title='KL'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3707964886134040501</id><published>2012-01-10T13:22:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T13:22:37.959+08:00</updated><title type='text'>It May Take Some Time, But I Am Absolutely Recovering</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3707964886134040501?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3707964886134040501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3707964886134040501&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3707964886134040501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3707964886134040501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-may-take-some-time-but-i-am.html' title='It May Take Some Time, But I Am Absolutely Recovering'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1681983279927479371</id><published>2011-12-26T02:20:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-26T02:20:56.961+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gone Going</title><content type='html'>Pardon me for my hiatus. I will be back soon. I promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1681983279927479371?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1681983279927479371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1681983279927479371&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1681983279927479371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1681983279927479371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/gone-going.html' title='Gone Going'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4458843042275948919</id><published>2011-12-16T00:07:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-16T00:07:43.482+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Can't Go</title><content type='html'>It must be so frustrating when all the hard works that you have done, now being treated like a pile of dung.&lt;br /&gt;It hurts. So much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4458843042275948919?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4458843042275948919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4458843042275948919&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4458843042275948919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4458843042275948919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/i-cant-go.html' title='I Can&apos;t Go'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3499279042469725283</id><published>2011-12-07T23:00:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T23:00:39.642+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love On Interest</title><content type='html'>Please. Don't take my sunshine away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3499279042469725283?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3499279042469725283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3499279042469725283&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3499279042469725283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3499279042469725283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/love-on-interest.html' title='Love On Interest'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8116217494526459160</id><published>2011-12-07T01:17:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T01:18:36.971+08:00</updated><title type='text'>On The Crossroad</title><content type='html'>After much ado, I got him a present. A designer item that I bought online. But I contemplate. Should I give him something when all this while he treats me like a trash?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8116217494526459160?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8116217494526459160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8116217494526459160&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8116217494526459160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8116217494526459160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/on-crossroad.html' title='On The Crossroad'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7696737388439361093</id><published>2011-12-05T23:49:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T00:49:07.004+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Out Of Reach</title><content type='html'>"Pumpkin!"&lt;br /&gt;"Pumpkin!", Liam called me from his desk, tried to call as loud as he could, but turned out as low as a hiss. I turned over. He smiled. The curvy line that his lips made when he smiled was somewhat tantalizing - that you really wanted to hate it but you couldn't because it spelled some charm into your mind by only a glance of his face. The island of four tables that I sat in was empty. Each of them fled somewhere else, perhaps to some urgent meetings, or to the field, preparing templates before setting up the new benzene tank. If he really wanted to say something, that was probably the best time to talk without any intervention from other people, or at least it would save him some explanation to explain to the other lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The laptop screen was full with numbers and parameters. The question Gianni asked me the day before whether to proceed turbine shaft balancing with 6.3G or 2.5G was left unanswered. The hissing amplified. I looked at him again, and his fingers made a semblance of a rough wave, asking me to go to his place. Hesitating, I walked to his desk and stood still beside him. There was a silence, but in every silence that we endured, there was always a smile. And that's the case again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He reached his hands to his second drawer, slid it open, and took out a box. A wooden box. And brown in color. The box was pretty with a carving of an unknown font at the top of the lid. The wordings that were carved on it were unreadable, but it was beautiful nonetheless. He reached out for my hand, brought it over close to him, asked me to flat out my palm, and he put that box onto it. He grabbed my fingers and closed it over. His fingers were warm, and I haven't touched them in weeks, and when it hit mine, I knew that I missed him so much. The wood veins were fantastic, spiral at the four-wall, and a gallery of almost straight deep black lines at the lid. The smell was between oak or imperial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smiled at him. It was the hardest thing by far that I had done on that day. Trying to smile to someone that I tried to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you", and I walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I told Nina later that day of what happened, she said he did that perhaps just to make up the silent treatment that I had been giving him in the past few days. Because, she said, if he really really wanted to give me the brownish little box, he should've given me right the day after, not a few days late. I tried to reason with her explanation, and I saw where she's going with that. She was right. Or she was right until then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have you opened the box?", the words she made was mumbled along with the beef lasagna that I brought over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. I don't think I am going to open it"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After all what he did to me, this was not another episode of me going into the same pool of shits all over again. When all the numbness started to subside, the pain now emerged again. Nina quick to intervene and told me to take it with a grain of salt. I told Nina that I refused to dwell in the same old memories all over again, so I was thinking to move on. She was happy, and so did I. But who we are to lie to ourselves when the real happiness that we are looking for is never exist?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Later that day, I whispered something to Aaron. Something that I thought the whole day. Something that made me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is okay if one person makes you feel sad, when there will be another ten persons that will make you feel happy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaron quickly baffled and asked me whether he heard it right, and I told him that he heard me right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I think you are wrong. You got the sentence all wrong", Aaron looked at me in my eyes.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Then what's the right one?", I looked him back in his eyes. His hair was a mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It should be okay if ten people make you feel sad, when there will be one person that is going to make you feel happy", he smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I don't have that one person, unfortunately", my heart sank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh honey. You have me right?", he grinned and laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned my head to Liam, and saw him stared at me. His stares deep with jealousy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that time, I knew that my heart floated all over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7696737388439361093?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7696737388439361093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7696737388439361093&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7696737388439361093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7696737388439361093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/out-of-reach.html' title='Out Of Reach'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6933573691045856042</id><published>2011-12-03T00:30:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-03T00:33:29.016+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eyes Half Opened</title><content type='html'>He handed me a present, and he waited so long and only gave me when no one was around. Why did he take more than two days to do so? I thought, he was just making up for the silence that I've thrown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hard for me to do so. But I have to. The life I have chosen hasn't treated me fairly these few days. Forget sincerity, this is payback time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6933573691045856042?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6933573691045856042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6933573691045856042&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6933573691045856042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6933573691045856042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/eyes-half-opened.html' title='Eyes Half Opened'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8263987436010368094</id><published>2011-12-01T10:10:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T10:11:28.368+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dark Lily</title><content type='html'>You really want to touch, but you are afraid of befallen into the same dark pit all over again. Don't lie. Your eyes tell well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8263987436010368094?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8263987436010368094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8263987436010368094&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8263987436010368094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8263987436010368094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/12/dark-lily.html' title='Dark Lily'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4489464627609862212</id><published>2011-11-27T10:05:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T10:30:05.305+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Next Tuesday</title><content type='html'>His Captiva, X7 and Land Cruiser were nicely parked in his porch. The grill was neatly locked, and the sliding door was closed shut. The house as if being left to be looked for to a neighbor because the owner was left for a long vacation somewhere in Nepal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that was not the case. He got home on Friday from Hungary and he has been locked up inside the house with Sarrah for the past two days, trying to make up the celibacy period they had to endure for the one week. The meeting that was scheduled for two long weeks had been shortened to one, so I guess there was not too much 'misses' to reconcile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since the day I sent him that email, I was more than reluctant to repeat the utter stupidity all over again. I have to admit that there was not a hint of feeling of longing to be with him, to look him at his face, trying to search for the sincerity that he actually loved me. That time has flown away. I could not take any risk anymore, so I left my feeling inside an unknown territory somewhere in my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He'll get to work on Tuesday. I can't say that I am excited. In fact, I really wished that he got stranded in Hungary and got detained and never able to get back here in Malaysia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't want to see his face again. When I thought at first that I could not endure the weeks without him, I was dead wrong. In fact I was happy. In fact it was the happiest 6 days of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam, you told me you want to quit. And I told you not to. But I regret that. You can quit. I won't hold your back. I won't tell you that you are needed here anymore. You are not needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not even a second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4489464627609862212?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4489464627609862212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4489464627609862212&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4489464627609862212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4489464627609862212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/next-tuesday.html' title='Next Tuesday'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2562555608462195131</id><published>2011-11-19T23:10:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-19T23:41:44.267+08:00</updated><title type='text'>In Two Weeks Time</title><content type='html'>He will be leaving for Hungary tomorrow. With another guy. For two long weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am alone. He doesn't care about me anymore. When I sent him a text wishing him to have a safe journey, he replied with only an 'OK TQ'. Probably he was having some fun with his wife, thinking that this perhaps the longest they wouldn't see each other. In fact, I heard he told Wilson that he's going to spend the whole Saturday with Sarrah, with a little raised voice - hoping that I would hear it and making me jealous. Ironically, I did not feel a thing. It was his business with what he wanted to do with her. I was not included in the picture, and I had no business interfering with his sex and married life. He wished what he could do, then he had what he wanted to do. Wilson was naive. He did not know that Liam did that just to torture my feeling. Bravo. He executed it quite well, because I saw he took a glimpse at me when he said that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty sad that he had to do that just to grab some of my attentions. He noticed the changes in me, I thought. Because the past few weeks, I have been spending some time flirting with Kurt and Bryan. Kurt did it best when he called me 'Sayang', when he grabbed my waist in front of Liam, when he smiled the way Liam never smiled at me. Liam noticed this, and perhaps that's the reason why he smacked my butt with a roll of paper yesterday, or when he did again his signature remark of playing with my ear lobes. It all came back when Kurt paid more attention to me. It all came back when I stopped sending him emails telling him that I missed him and what not. It all came back when I kept business as business, I didn't go to his table without any solid reasons anymore, and the most important thing of all, I didn't cook his meals anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's the reason I am having such a huge regret right now, that I wish I never sent him an email this morning. Reading back what I wrote, sent a torrent of shivers down my spine. I hope he'd delete that once he saw my name in his inbox. I really hope so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if he ever tells me to fuck off, then I have no other place to go, other than to keep my face thick and pretend that this never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&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/16640936-2562555608462195131?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2562555608462195131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2562555608462195131&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2562555608462195131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2562555608462195131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/in-two-weeks-time.html' title='In Two Weeks Time'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8528468723407171066</id><published>2011-11-16T22:10:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-17T10:21:05.218+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Something to ponder</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;A Message by George Carlin:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George Carlin&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/16640936-8528468723407171066?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8528468723407171066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8528468723407171066&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8528468723407171066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8528468723407171066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/message-by-george-carlin-paradox-of-our.html' title='Something to ponder'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2784230847625831330</id><published>2011-11-12T23:26:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-12T23:26:21.847+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Give me your love, and I'll make you happy forever</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2784230847625831330?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2784230847625831330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2784230847625831330&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2784230847625831330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2784230847625831330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/give-me-your-love-and-ill-make-you.html' title='Give me your love, and I&apos;ll make you happy forever'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1487479099859614154</id><published>2011-11-10T12:51:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-10T12:53:21.885+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Independence?</title><content type='html'>Words of God supersedes human rights, bar none.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1487479099859614154?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1487479099859614154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1487479099859614154&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1487479099859614154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1487479099859614154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/independence.html' title='Independence?'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5790331847317223665</id><published>2011-11-09T01:02:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-09T01:02:44.116+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Crazy Pills</title><content type='html'>Being sick and emotionally depressed teaches me one good thing — no one is going to care you on the rainy days. You are always on your own. So these realities check has shaken my view on the comfort zone. The comfort zone of being surrounded by distant good friends. The thought that you will have their supports when you need them the most, because personally I don't go drown my mom and my dad with my troubles because why should I when I can go tell friends that had swore they would be my lifeline when I am in distress?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, so you and I both clearly know the fact that those can be said on an idle Tuesday evening just like that. I can say that, you can say that as well, but the truth is I committed to what has been said, but you dodge them like you never heard of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not crazy, it just the sleeping pills soothed my night. You never know how bad my nightmares are, you never know that I am struggling every night just to get a decent sleep, you never know how do I wake up in the middle of  my sleep and can't be able to resume it back. You never know. You won't know. Because you have distant yourself when I told you that I was on sleeping pills, that the doc prescribed me with meds to keep me sane during the days that I had too much to endure and it led me astray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny when I called you and told you about that, you ditched the call and told me you have something else to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny when I sent you messages through Facebook, and I didn't get any reply thereafter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny when you told me that I am your best friend but you never acted like one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all the reasons that perhaps you have in your bags, I am giving you the benefit of the doubts. Well, I love all my friends, but after what had happened, I imagined the circle won't be the same again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for that, I thank you Zaleha for being such indeed a best friend for me. You will always be. I truly appreciate that. Thank you for not ditching me because of those arid pills. You understood, and I need someone who understands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you too Nina. Thanks a lot. I really mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all these episodes, now I get to see the true you. Thanks for the revelation. It is truly refreshing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for being my best friends. You guys had been great. Well, someone got to budge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5790331847317223665?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5790331847317223665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5790331847317223665&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5790331847317223665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5790331847317223665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/crazy-pills.html' title='The Crazy Pills'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5783322942690912488</id><published>2011-11-06T13:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T13:36:37.045+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Matryoshka Dolls</title><content type='html'>No one wants to befriend a dead weight. It stays within logic. Why should we chase for troubles when happy moments with other people are there await you with open arms?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;History tells us to learn something from them, at least a fraction from a pool of unimaginable size of lessons. Instead, we ignore because we think we can reinvent the history, or tweak the lessons they have for us according to our likings. Mistakes are repeated endlessly and being committed all over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One part inside us really wants to share what is happening around. Because sharing at least elevates some weight off the shoulders. Sharing doesn't mean we want to trouble the other party, instead we need a living thing to listen, to absorb some emotions, to nod at the appropriate moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sharing to inanimate objects are farther stretch the depression. I will leave you with your own meandering imagination to picture the difficulties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At times, friends come handy. At times, friends are nothing but a herd of Chinese opera actors that the real themselves are hidden under the thick white make up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5783322942690912488?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5783322942690912488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5783322942690912488&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5783322942690912488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5783322942690912488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/matryoshka-dolls.html' title='The Matryoshka Dolls'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5954102470708383709</id><published>2011-11-05T15:57:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-05T15:57:43.459+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Withering Sneers</title><content type='html'>The usual stream of water was non existent when Carrie turned open the faucet. It was a series of weak droplets, the sound it made when it hit the tile floor bounced against the walls, the waves reverberated - almost harmonic. The alley was dark (or sullen), those lights that used to brighten the wall and made the texture of imperfect finishing embossed were now a copy of colorful flickering light at Joe's. She has never been to any place quieter than this, that the quietest place that she had been to was her room, during the absence of Kayla. But at least, the range of quietness was bearable - with screeching scream from the worn out bushings of Henry's aging wheel (his white '55 Thunderbird was a steal!) or from the lawnmower across the streets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carrie watched the water now slowly crawled to the ditch, like a centipede that elongated on the forest's floor. It moved so slowly down the slope, looking for a place to settle down. There was still no sound, except the plops from the droplets of leaking faucet. It wasn't the sound Carrie was looking for, she needed something else, some sounds that were more assuring. Like the sound of distant steps, or the hums from the engine at the nearest road, or the shout of Dean calling for her name. At times like this that Carrie suddenly missed all the screams and yells and fights she had with him. It all seemed more prevalent right now that she missed him more than she could tell she would. It all seemed right now that the fights she had with him were menial, stupid and most importantly, childish. When everything could be settled and calmed down with talks like two adults should talk, they instead resort to scream and yell. And now when she's alone, she realized how much times had been wasted when those times could be spent on the bed, cuddling, exchanging sweet talks, nibble his ears, stoke his chest hair and make the world theirs'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Carrie!"&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/16640936-5954102470708383709?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5954102470708383709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5954102470708383709&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5954102470708383709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5954102470708383709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/withering-sneers.html' title='The Withering Sneers'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2260054170218482515</id><published>2011-11-05T13:11:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-05T15:58:55.863+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Before Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>For some strange reasons, I dreamed about baking a choc cake for you last night. And I placed a slice on your table, so early in the morning when everybody didn't come in as yet. And a tiny black box with a brown leather wallet just sat nicely on a crumpled silky smooth white satin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I opened up your middle drawer, in between papers and books, and I saw my card that I gave to you were still there, hidden underneath your bills. I couldn't find anywhere more appropriate to hide it, so I put it in there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dream was halted while I was waiting anxiously for you to come over, I was dreaded to see you. I was dreaded to see you beaming with excitement or at least to witness a splash of happiness on your face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that didn't materialize. Abah woke me up for Subuh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sat on the bed, with eyes still glued like I hadn't had my sleep for years, my mind wandered on the dream that was just gone stopped. I knew that I didn't think about him as much. I knew that. Perhaps I suppressed my feeling under my state of incongruity? I couldn't tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some strange reasons, I think I miss you too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2260054170218482515?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2260054170218482515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2260054170218482515&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2260054170218482515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2260054170218482515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/11/before-tomorrow.html' title='Before Tomorrow'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3757582866933733197</id><published>2011-10-27T18:55:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-27T18:55:19.738+08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Owe Me An Explanation I</title><content type='html'>What would you do if you have a tad too many things to do, and don't even have time for your social life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't figure out. Because I don't any social life, in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sad. How sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3757582866933733197?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3757582866933733197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3757582866933733197&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3757582866933733197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3757582866933733197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/you-owe-me-explanation-i.html' title='You Owe Me An Explanation I'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3546744967012636007</id><published>2011-10-23T18:04:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-23T18:04:22.525+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love You</title><content type='html'>Told him that. So, when did the last time you did something for the first time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3546744967012636007?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3546744967012636007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3546744967012636007&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3546744967012636007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3546744967012636007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-love-you_23.html' title='I Love You'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-982349111605423852</id><published>2011-10-21T20:00:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-21T20:00:27.232+08:00</updated><title type='text'>At The Airport</title><content type='html'>Waiting at the gate to the down under. Should be happier there. I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-982349111605423852?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/982349111605423852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=982349111605423852&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/982349111605423852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/982349111605423852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/at-airport.html' title='At The Airport'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7810845157758445282</id><published>2011-10-16T22:07:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-16T22:08:02.620+08:00</updated><title type='text'>16th</title><content type='html'>I couldn't remember the day I was born, I just knew the date, and it was exactly the same as today, October 16th. Gone were the days when I was more than eager to write, gone were the days of me and my pens. The only moment that I have right now, is me and the dimmed lights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spent the morning of becoming a year older jogging near the berth. With Liam. He sent me a text a night before, asking me to go out. I am okay. I just need friends to run together with me, but in this case, he isn't a friend. He is someone to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was hoping to get a kiss on my cheek, but stupid me that was the least thing that I wanted. It went okay. It went okay. It went just okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow's another day. As I always say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7810845157758445282?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7810845157758445282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7810845157758445282&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7810845157758445282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7810845157758445282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/16th.html' title='16th'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2014737401882720350</id><published>2011-10-07T15:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-07T15:08:45.444+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt; 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It just this feelingcame by like the sound of train from afar - you know it was coming, and it wasnearing, and the pinnacle of the happiness was when it passed by you, leavingyou with a stream of pass-by wind that made you forget for a while the worriesyou had on your shoulder, and when it's gone, all you had was nothing but acomplete quietness and utter silence, making you wanting more, making youcraving for more trains. Perhaps at the other platforms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5th October 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept that in draft, trying to steal some time to write, but I couldn't.When I said it was temporary, it was indeed temporary, with nothing much tosalvage on the sleeve, with almost zero hopes for another ride of joy to makeyou feel like somebody to someone again. Funny how these things work, funny howall these make you realize that you are alone, funny how all these stupidemotions swirl and in the end stuck in limbo. The incoherence of my emotionshas made my life gone bonkers. Often I would lay on a huge rock at the berth witnessingsplashes of waves being hit on the asymmetrical rock, wondering what if I wereto afloat in the open sea – alone – without help. Maneuvering life unaided isperhaps the hardest thing one would forgo.But don't you think, its the beauty of shaping your own life without the undesirable intervention from unwanted parties that make your life as beauty as it is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pursuing things beyond normality always end up with total misery. I am trying to dodge it out, but sometimes, bullet can hit the target - bull's-eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/m:defjc&gt;&lt;/m:rmargin&gt;&lt;/m:lmargin&gt;&lt;/m:dispdef&gt;&lt;/m:smallfrac&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2014737401882720350?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2014737401882720350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2014737401882720350&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2014737401882720350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2014737401882720350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/alone.html' title='Alone'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5530957956309910982</id><published>2011-10-06T23:54:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-06T23:54:57.142+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love You</title><content type='html'>It wasn't intentional, in fact I was hesitating to tell you that, but who we are to constraint our own feeling and being left felt sorry for the rest of our life because we did not take the chance when we had one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not care much, because I know for a fact that this was wrong and it would not last, as this happy feeling just another episode of temporary jolly that could be easily forgotten. What's the fun in life when all the things that you want to do are trapped inside your own made up insecurity?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I had let him know. At least I could tell to myself that I tried, that if I die tomorrow, I know that I have given my best to get a share of your love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regret is for the chickens. For once I felt satisfied. I felt complete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. I do not feel complete until you tell me that you love me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then, world is huge and never run out of love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5530957956309910982?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5530957956309910982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5530957956309910982&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5530957956309910982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5530957956309910982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-love-you.html' title='I Love You'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7022588668333075462</id><published>2011-09-30T22:26:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-30T22:26:43.055+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Options</title><content type='html'>You can't change who you are, for what you want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7022588668333075462?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7022588668333075462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7022588668333075462&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7022588668333075462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7022588668333075462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/options.html' title='Options'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-60832483625173121</id><published>2011-09-29T07:56:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-29T07:56:15.692+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell Me</title><content type='html'>It always comes to the question why. But I can't always answer them, when. It just how, and whom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-60832483625173121?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/60832483625173121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=60832483625173121&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/60832483625173121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/60832483625173121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/tell-me.html' title='Tell Me'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2427240498492580399</id><published>2011-09-27T21:35:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-27T21:35:03.133+08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's cold</title><content type='html'>..but I have him to keep me warm (with laughter). Sleeping in the office tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good night &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2427240498492580399?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2427240498492580399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2427240498492580399&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2427240498492580399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2427240498492580399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/its-cold.html' title='It&apos;s cold'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8294014113189886004</id><published>2011-09-26T18:11:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T18:11:06.818+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Saying?</title><content type='html'>Liam: I just called to say I Love You&lt;br /&gt;Yours Truly: I just called to say how much I care&lt;br /&gt;Liam: I just called to say I Love You, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8294014113189886004?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8294014113189886004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8294014113189886004&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8294014113189886004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8294014113189886004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/just-saying.html' title='Just Saying?'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-894103984937666837</id><published>2011-09-25T20:39:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-25T20:40:11.168+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life Has Gone Bonkers</title><content type='html'>Like the flood after heavy rain. In December.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-894103984937666837?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/894103984937666837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=894103984937666837&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/894103984937666837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/894103984937666837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-life-has-gone-bonkers.html' title='My Life Has Gone Bonkers'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-86378882391289368</id><published>2011-09-24T23:42:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-24T23:42:01.446+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nina's Concern</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;A mini window popped up just on the down right corner of the screen. Nina shot a quick glance, brows all curled up, forehead deep with furrows, hissing once in a while, trying to signal me to check my interoffice messenger dialog box. &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh now you cook his food, make his drinks, do your job as his engineer, all of this from 9 to 5 and when he let you down, he won't look at you, and you are okay with your rights being denied?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gazed deep down into the screen, as if trying to look for an error in a mathematical formula. It all started this morning when Liam really wanted to have a turkey sandwich, he said it since the day before. And when he casually asked me to get him a cup of hot choc, I knew that there was something wrong going on. In him, and perhaps in me. Nina being told about this when I met her at her table, but she couldn't afford to comment further, what with the crowd in the office at that time. Her words struck me as unprecedented, never thought that she could muster all her courage to tell me that, right on my face.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You probably understand me, because you yourself have a husband at home. It's always nice to see the person that you love looks so happy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you realize that he is taken, with a bond so legal, it only can be broken by a divorce pronouncement?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;― something wrong with blogger. Wrote a super lengthy entry, and now it has gone. Couldn't be bothered to write again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-86378882391289368?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/86378882391289368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=86378882391289368&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/86378882391289368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/86378882391289368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/ninas-concern.html' title='Nina&apos;s Concern'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3488508998356854398</id><published>2011-09-23T09:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-23T09:46:04.839+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Somewhere at Teluk Kalong, Kemaman</title><content type='html'>"Lies hurt. You know that, don't you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know. But I chose to lie to you. Because I couldn't keep on humming sweet words to make you feel that you are the most important person in my life. Because sincerely, you are not. You never will"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What has happened to the promises that you have made. To me, to our past memories, to the box we buried underneath the tree over that hill? What has happened to your oath to be loyal, to be the one who would push my back when I lost my strength to move?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You better find a new one. This has taken too much on me. This has made me a different person. When I met you five years ago, I believe that you knew me as a different person. I notice that, because you will notice the changes that are happening inside you. I try to distant myself, I try to put some gap between us, I want you to breathe, and I need some air to breathe. It is harder than you thought but believe me I think this is the best decision that I have ever made in my entire adult life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Seriously you are mad. I don't know who the fuck that has ruined your brain. I used to know someone that was crazy over my headache. I used to know you who were restless when I didn't pick up your call. And now, you have changed in a split second. What the hell is that? You tell me. What the hell is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can't tell you. Because this is me talking. I have been hiding the true me just to make you feel happy. And God knows how do I suffer when I have to deal with your stupid tantrums, when you were going loony when you knew that I went out with a friend of mine. Oh come on honey, I have given you too much. And I still can't get over when I remember the moment you intruded my precious privacy. This shouldn't be the way we should live honey. I guarantee you that you have my respect for your privacy, and please I expect the same thing in return"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Am I too much a person to handle?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Five years ago, you were this sweet midgety petite person. With huge heart. But over time, you changed. You turned to someone that's beyond comprehension. I wish you were the guy that stole my heart like it used to be. The one who was so nice, so true in being yourself. I want you your old self back"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't really know how am I going to be a better person for you. I have been trying my best, giving my best shot to satisfy your needs, to be there when you need me the most, now you tell me that I am no one, that I am not going to be any special to you, that I am just another passerby in your life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have explained enough. It is up to you to try or not to try understand"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're cruel"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have to. For the benefit of both of us"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fuck you"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3488508998356854398?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3488508998356854398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3488508998356854398&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3488508998356854398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3488508998356854398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/somewhere-at-teluk-gong-kemaman.html' title='Somewhere at Teluk Kalong, Kemaman'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2019757420885781044</id><published>2011-09-21T00:13:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-21T10:12:30.841+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost In The Light</title><content type='html'>"It is because of the strong wind that brushes my face and ruffles my hair"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why would you go wandering pointlessly looking for something that you don't even sure?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's the wind, fuckhead. The wind makes me happy. As if it lifts all my worries out of my brain. Do you know how happy I am to have a brief moment of burden-less shoulder? Do you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Perhaps I understand. I don't want you get high on something so temporary, something that won't last. Once I went through this horrid episode when Brian dumped me for someone better, then I reconciled with life that this shouldn't be the end, that if I tried to be the one that I wanted to be, then I would excel nonetheless. Such constraints are unavoidable but at times you have to learn to pass your feet off the hurdles. The time will come albeit your incongruity towards life"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It has been 20 weeks since Greg's departure to afterlife. And it has been 20 grueling weeks of finding the fucking blessings that are disguising in the fucking incomprehensible forlorn. You tell me how should you paddle your life alone without someone that has been given you directions to places, to territories that you never imagined you would be? Tell me of losing someone that has been co piloting everything from finding the right clothes, to wipe you your tears on the day your boss decided to fuck up with you, to hug you on the night of lightning and storms? You tell me. I have been trying to reason my life with what future might hold for me, but who am I to foresee my own destiny? This is crazy Craig. Crazy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here. Take my hands. To your and my losses"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I miss him Craig"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know. I miss Brian too. It just that I believe he is better out there, with someone better. That should be suffice to me"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Give me your courage. I really need them pronto"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Everything will change"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2019757420885781044?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2019757420885781044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2019757420885781044&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2019757420885781044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2019757420885781044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/lost-in-light.html' title='Lost In The Light'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4274305325229081188</id><published>2011-09-19T23:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T23:24:47.334+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holes Inside</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/zCPlkVgMUDw/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zCPlkVgMUDw&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zCPlkVgMUDw&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if we hold tight, shadows will be lost in the light&lt;br /&gt;Cos sometimes fate and your dreams will collide&lt;br /&gt;So don't walk away from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please don't walk away from me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4274305325229081188?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4274305325229081188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4274305325229081188&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4274305325229081188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4274305325229081188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/holes-inside.html' title='Holes Inside'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6508519410210665106</id><published>2011-09-19T18:28:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T18:28:56.173+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Like You. I Wish</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/NAc83CF8Ejk/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NAc83CF8Ejk&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NAc83CF8Ejk&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6508519410210665106?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6508519410210665106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6508519410210665106&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6508519410210665106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6508519410210665106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/someone-like-you-i-wish.html' title='Someone Like You. I Wish'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6653559998245062702</id><published>2011-09-16T14:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T14:59:23.948+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Over Lunch</title><content type='html'>I hate you. You broke your promises, all over again&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6653559998245062702?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6653559998245062702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6653559998245062702&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6653559998245062702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6653559998245062702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/over-lunch.html' title='Over Lunch'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5358177459412312732</id><published>2011-09-14T09:16:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-14T09:16:38.053+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid is as a stupid does</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5358177459412312732?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5358177459412312732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5358177459412312732&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5358177459412312732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5358177459412312732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/stupid-is-as-stupid-does.html' title='Stupid is as a stupid does'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8674360079131445433</id><published>2011-09-12T01:24:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T01:24:12.312+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Before Sleep</title><content type='html'>Liam, slide onto me and unlock my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Yijz5qlyplA/Tmzuu0-CHdI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/OiUL0rFMb70/s640/blogger-image--975509798.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Yijz5qlyplA/Tmzuu0-CHdI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/OiUL0rFMb70/s640/blogger-image--975509798.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8674360079131445433?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8674360079131445433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8674360079131445433&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8674360079131445433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8674360079131445433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/before-sleep.html' title='Before Sleep'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Yijz5qlyplA/Tmzuu0-CHdI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/OiUL0rFMb70/s72-c/blogger-image--975509798.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8383891223953412954</id><published>2011-09-12T00:27:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T00:27:29.281+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Conversation</title><content type='html'>"Dump your worries. What else do you want than having me inside your arms?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your loyalty. I have given my trust, and please don't let me take it back. You have gone. Along with our fond memories"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You don't understand. Perhaps you're jealousy is taking over your mind"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My sanity is intact. I know what is going through your mind"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What you want me to do? Eloping and leave her alone?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There, you still don't understand. I think you don't want to understand. Why can't you at least for once try to delve deep down my problem and take a look yourself what I am going through each day? I am building my life. I am trying to be the one that is the best for you and also the best for her"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I never loved someone like I love you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know. I can see that"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then what else can we do to live together?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We can't. But we can choose to be together discreetly forever"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I want more"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You can't always get what you want. I love you Sayang"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8383891223953412954?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8383891223953412954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8383891223953412954&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8383891223953412954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8383891223953412954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/our-conversation.html' title='Our Conversation'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4933936905653685880</id><published>2011-09-11T17:32:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-11T17:32:07.328+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Post Liam</title><content type='html'>I want to stop the moment you touched my lips with yours, the moment of intimacy we've created. The magic you've made. The soothing warm breath that touched the back of my neck, the jovial arms that enclosed my torso and that magnificent chain of words you've lullabied&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4933936905653685880?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4933936905653685880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4933936905653685880&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4933936905653685880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4933936905653685880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/post-liam.html' title='Post Liam'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1491287296354242231</id><published>2011-09-10T22:07:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T22:07:42.452+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hanging</title><content type='html'>I don't favor being treated like your mistress. Come clean. Or else just leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1491287296354242231?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1491287296354242231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1491287296354242231&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1491287296354242231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1491287296354242231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/hanging.html' title='Hanging'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4769944517813257192</id><published>2011-09-10T13:46:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T13:46:23.827+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturday Noon</title><content type='html'>Getting out of bed really really needs a lot of courage. Because on my bed, I just can sleep off my worries, and out of it would mean a spin off between cries and woes and a pool of fuckeries.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4769944517813257192?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4769944517813257192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4769944517813257192&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4769944517813257192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4769944517813257192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/saturday-noon.html' title='Saturday Noon'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3593849099431229306</id><published>2011-09-08T08:35:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T08:36:02.507+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Human Resources Development At Its Worst</title><content type='html'>Argument is healthy. But not up to the point it makes you feel confuse and lost&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3593849099431229306?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3593849099431229306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3593849099431229306&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3593849099431229306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3593849099431229306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/human-resources-development-at-its.html' title='Human Resources Development At Its Worst'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8844353193326828747</id><published>2011-09-06T23:03:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-06T23:04:26.604+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Post Hiatus</title><content type='html'>When you are 'this' close to forget, he comes by and starts sending you emails that make you forget that you are in the process to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being fragile isn't fun. It's just an excuse for you to feel that you are being loved again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ala.. Jangan la merajuk. Nanti kita lunch sama sama ok?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam, help me to understand you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8844353193326828747?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8844353193326828747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8844353193326828747&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8844353193326828747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8844353193326828747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/post-hiatus.html' title='Post Hiatus'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6243766970301427939</id><published>2011-09-01T08:59:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T08:59:26.783+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Thought</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;living alone could be bland and tasteless. like a cup of insipid coffee. likewise, when you have found the perfect one, the caffeine will drive you to get a cup after another. how else can you describe this complex human interaction?&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;ZA &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/16640936-6243766970301427939?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6243766970301427939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6243766970301427939&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6243766970301427939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6243766970301427939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/09/thought.html' title='A Thought'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1825518891183385476</id><published>2011-08-31T15:12:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-31T19:38:06.553+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Made-up Amnesia</title><content type='html'>Funny how people are so busy ‒ spraying self with the most expensive perfume in possession, chatting and planning to which house to go, to what food to eat the next ‒ I am confined in my room here at the kampung doing nothing except putting Lifehouse's Storm on loop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should have clubbed my head hard so as still trapping self in being forlorn. I should have learned on how to overcome my socially inept skill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zaleha is bound to HK to further her study in Economics (this is her second PhD, can you believe that?). And I didn't make myself available to meet her even yesterday. Today when I did not receive anything (text, email, call) from her, I knew that she probably mad at me due to my absence. She'll be leaving in 4 days, I should have dug some time for her, shouldn't I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's three in the afternoon and people are now reduced in number in the house. Dispersed to the other houses that they need to pay a visit. I should gather myself, and start looking for the nicest pair of kurung that I will wear to meet her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope she's OK with my 'Shit I forgot that today is the day' excuse. Let's pray that she'll eat that up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how has Raya been treating you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1825518891183385476?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1825518891183385476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1825518891183385476&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1825518891183385476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1825518891183385476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/made-up-amnesia.html' title='Made-up Amnesia'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3609010704991634701</id><published>2011-08-30T09:22:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-30T09:22:58.248+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Raya Dish</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mJzYkv5hIbE/Tlw62Nk7I-I/AAAAAAAAAJE/u6wc7Kr9ClQ/s1600/mango+raya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="209" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mJzYkv5hIbE/Tlw62Nk7I-I/AAAAAAAAAJE/u6wc7Kr9ClQ/s320/mango+raya.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Glutinous rice with mango in coconut sauce is running fast. Hurry while stocks last!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3609010704991634701?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3609010704991634701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3609010704991634701&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3609010704991634701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3609010704991634701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/raya-dish.html' title='Raya Dish'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mJzYkv5hIbE/Tlw62Nk7I-I/AAAAAAAAAJE/u6wc7Kr9ClQ/s72-c/mango+raya.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6287157921220686134</id><published>2011-08-29T20:27:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-29T20:27:44.839+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>So the usual uncle announced that we are going to celebrate Eid Mubarak tomorrow. Grateful, the announcement is backed up with the sound of thunderclaps, more crackers and more booms. I am at kampung right now - with mom, dad, the families and close relatives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should feel happy, shouldn't I? But I just feel bland, feel nothing in particular.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;This is another episode of me trying to get through a torrent of questions from siblings, families and the relatives. They should know the answer by now that I am not seeing anyone for the time being. This gash is too deep, it does not have scar, it bleeds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. Who cares?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salam Aidilfitri&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&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/16640936-6287157921220686134?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6287157921220686134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6287157921220686134&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6287157921220686134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6287157921220686134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/tomorrow.html' title='Tomorrow'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-248299896382900015</id><published>2011-08-28T23:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-28T23:31:54.920+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Never Stop Trying</title><content type='html'>What if they try for the second time, and fail all over again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They must set a cushion deep down there to bounce them back should this gone bonkers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Achieving (possible) dreams is hard, because there is no reason to stop trying when there is so much time in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish the very best for you Liam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-248299896382900015?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/248299896382900015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=248299896382900015&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/248299896382900015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/248299896382900015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/never-stop-trying.html' title='Never Stop Trying'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6382782995447267340</id><published>2011-08-28T11:10:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-28T11:10:05.018+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bristol, 2009</title><content type='html'>Many couldn't tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you said you wouldn't go that long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you never came back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you said Don't Come Look For Me Because I Know I Will Be Fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not going to be fine anytime soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6382782995447267340?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6382782995447267340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6382782995447267340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6382782995447267340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6382782995447267340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/bristol-2009.html' title='Bristol, 2009'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5192103824311582754</id><published>2011-08-25T13:16:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-25T13:16:12.436+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Fuckin' Face</title><content type='html'>Wanted to write you an email. Wanted to let you know that I have been hurt with what you have done. Wanted you to understand how did I feel. Wanted this to end, wanted this to go on and on like an ocean of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you didn't even care, as if the question of how bad did you hurt me was never exist. As if should I leave, the world would be brighter. As if this place is going to be a better place, filled with colors and cotton candies when I was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to be oversensitive, but this has stretched me to be another person that you may not know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop my bleed&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5192103824311582754?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5192103824311582754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5192103824311582754&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5192103824311582754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5192103824311582754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/your-fuckin-face.html' title='Your Fuckin&apos; Face'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8548617976820024340</id><published>2011-08-24T16:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-24T16:24:15.316+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mungkin Nanti</title><content type='html'>They were happy. But now they are pretending to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dah tak ada rezeki.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;InsyaAllah. Cuba lagi.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8548617976820024340?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8548617976820024340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8548617976820024340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8548617976820024340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8548617976820024340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/mungkin-nanti.html' title='Mungkin Nanti'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5097972216793458691</id><published>2011-08-21T12:05:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-21T12:05:33.425+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Over You</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/5KiD-QXyuQM/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5KiD-QXyuQM&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5KiD-QXyuQM&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know everything wouldn't be all right.&lt;br /&gt;It's okay if I have to drown.&lt;br /&gt;You don't have to catch me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know everything wouldn't be all right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5097972216793458691?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5097972216793458691/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5097972216793458691&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5097972216793458691'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5097972216793458691'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/over-you.html' title='Over You'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7897059257058820072</id><published>2011-08-14T23:40:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T23:40:09.375+08:00</updated><title type='text'>14th</title><content type='html'>Out of 30 days of Ramadhan, almost two third of it were filled with iftar invitations. That was the case last year. Invitations were flowing in, untapped. I was more than glad to accept them - for business, for leisure, for knowing more people out of my common circle, for finding someone that could make me happy. When people were busy prepping selves for once-a-year tarawih, I was out of hand taking calls and entertaining the likes (of me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have some kind of revelation this year. I don't understand where it comes from, or how it comes into me. It just me wanting to recuperate from my misdeeds and my wrongdoings. I almost forget about the men that I chase, about the person that I thought could make me happy. I was wrong. I was dead wrong. When I see a deep black gaping hole inside my heart, I resort to find a man (sometimes some men!) to plug it back. How stupid I didn't see that that wasn't the answer.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;So this year is a little bit different. At least the difference is comparable to last year's. I had declined to date a total of 12 invitations. People did question why. I answered honestly that I just don't want to. I had no better explanation for that. Perhaps the closest answer that I could give was I Just Want To Be At The Place Where I Can Find My Solace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I respect my own decision. And I hope people around will do so too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just had enough. I hope this will never end. And to continue even after Ramadhan bids its goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA &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;&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/-9fDPnioBPFI/Tkfr5kfDTbI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0P4x2zBtRvc/s1600/squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9fDPnioBPFI/Tkfr5kfDTbI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0P4x2zBtRvc/s320/squid.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Squid and spring onion before stir fried with salted egg. That was my iftar tonight.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7897059257058820072?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7897059257058820072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7897059257058820072&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7897059257058820072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7897059257058820072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/14th.html' title='14th'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9fDPnioBPFI/Tkfr5kfDTbI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0P4x2zBtRvc/s72-c/squid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3440401717168939317</id><published>2011-08-14T12:33:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T12:33:51.501+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dill</title><content type='html'>Early this morning, right after Subuh, I took a stroll along the beach in front of my house. I call it the morning of self reflection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ramadhan has brought too many things for me. It comes in a ship so huge, loaded with surprises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alhamdulillah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cGL8pk8ZQDI/TkdP4GpKaHI/AAAAAAAAAI8/J51iQv9I1zU/s1600/morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cGL8pk8ZQDI/TkdP4GpKaHI/AAAAAAAAAI8/J51iQv9I1zU/s320/morning.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just thought that the sun is scenic. It was cold. And green. And nostalgic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss mom and dad back home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3440401717168939317?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3440401717168939317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3440401717168939317&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3440401717168939317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3440401717168939317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/dill.html' title='Dill'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cGL8pk8ZQDI/TkdP4GpKaHI/AAAAAAAAAI8/J51iQv9I1zU/s72-c/morning.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6210479957180918788</id><published>2011-08-11T17:11:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T17:12:15.267+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Null</title><content type='html'>And today, a different set of situations emerged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May god's love be with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zubaidah Arshad&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6210479957180918788?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6210479957180918788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6210479957180918788&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6210479957180918788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6210479957180918788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/null.html' title='Null'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2368651225714895553</id><published>2011-08-10T13:11:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-10T13:11:05.664+08:00</updated><title type='text'>1309 hrs</title><content type='html'>You finally found your way back home.&lt;br /&gt;But alas, you're not going back anytime soon.&lt;br /&gt;You know, but you just won't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is as simple as wanting or refusing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish you the very best luck. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2368651225714895553?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2368651225714895553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2368651225714895553&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2368651225714895553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2368651225714895553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/1309-hrs.html' title='1309 hrs'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2244207464670373756</id><published>2011-08-10T09:27:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T07:57:06.269+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trivia</title><content type='html'>Puzzle, whether with three words or a paragraph-long sentence, is meant to be solved. Either logically, or illogically. It possesses answers that sometimes make sense, and sometimes just out of the imaginative mind. It holds mysteries that screams to be untangled, to let go the yarn of interconnected pieces that in the end would give the definitive answer to its own predicament. Sometimes the puzzle is so difficult, it takes a huge amount of time just to understand the sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Puzzle is fun if you know that the answer in the end has nothing to do with your life. It is perfectly fine to kill some time on a hot and breezy Sunday afternoon. It is such a nice feeling to know that your brain is finally working to its best state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But how does it make you feel when you know the puzzle actually does not have a definitive answer. Answers. We are looking at a swarm of uncertain hypothesis, that perhaps fits the best. Like when you are given a set of situations, a set of different situations. Say situation A, B, C, D and E. Situation A, B and E hold some similarities. Correction, they possess identical similarities. Human tends to link one situation to another situation that has the physical link. This is how logic is explained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the case with these situations is, even with its remarkably similarities from one situation to another, it results in different and incoherent outputs. Situation A results in output Y, situation B results in output Y2, situation C results in output XY. All three situations have its own similarities i.e. output Y, but observe the odd parameters that are coupled with every output Y.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the case with him today. I don't understand. Because he gave me a puzzle yesterday that was thought can be solved, but ended up with a crazy output this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When things go bad, I remember that line. About chocolates in the box. And I will just keep on smiling. Because smiling heals pain and misery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p/s: Don't start with situation A and C. You really don't want to know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2244207464670373756?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2244207464670373756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2244207464670373756&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2244207464670373756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2244207464670373756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/trivia.html' title='Trivia'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7704287527602625795</id><published>2011-08-09T17:54:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-09T17:54:11.751+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Grim</title><content type='html'>I swear, if you ever try to read me, you would fail. Because you will see a deep black gaping hole - so dark it is like staring into the darkest black imaginable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People don't change overnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is for sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7704287527602625795?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7704287527602625795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7704287527602625795&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7704287527602625795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7704287527602625795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/grim.html' title='Grim'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5103497976898024115</id><published>2011-08-08T07:55:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-08T07:55:35.016+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning Of Retrospection</title><content type='html'>The mood is not right. I meant him, not mine. There isn't any jolly teases or banters, but a cold gesture, as cold as mid winter morning in Sussex. He doesn't even look at me, as if I am a dead cow in a soft black leather chair waiting to be noticed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wild guess always goes around of him being let down by not seeing any emails coming into his inbox. Emails from me. But perhaps that is not the case. Well if it does, why should I write him something when all my emails are never being answered?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not a dead cow. Cow does not know how to write emails. Well, at least response. With a few words, if not a 4-line paragraph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he has set a tone today. Moody, gray, unhappy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouldn't play along. I should just live my life as it is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why should I go into his sick fragile emotion?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouldn't. That's the reason why that I think he should just eff off and being just who he should be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Ramadhan everyone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5103497976898024115?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5103497976898024115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5103497976898024115&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5103497976898024115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5103497976898024115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/08/morning-of-retrospection.html' title='Morning Of Retrospection'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5263883923664149584</id><published>2011-07-28T13:21:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-28T13:21:15.036+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Now</title><content type='html'>When I heard that Sarrah has something growing in her womb from a dear colleague, the world all of a sudden the color of gray. Gloomy that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took me a while to regain my sanity back. I am recovering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not going to write anytime soon. Perhaps not anytime sooner. This is just another bad episode to go through all over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5263883923664149584?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5263883923664149584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5263883923664149584&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5263883923664149584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5263883923664149584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/not-now.html' title='Not Now'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7695115470283560589</id><published>2011-07-17T20:39:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-17T20:40:29.516+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seattle</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia,Utopia,'Palatino Linotype',Palatino,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;I mourn and lament, and I see drips from your eyes fall to the ground, swept away with the rush of endless rain. I understand. And I know its hard. Stay strong. Because, deep inside you, there's a little me to be there when you need a shoulder to cry on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia,Utopia,'Palatino Linotype',Palatino,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;ZA &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7695115470283560589?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7695115470283560589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7695115470283560589&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7695115470283560589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7695115470283560589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/seattle.html' title='Seattle'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6138608108452460111</id><published>2011-07-16T22:35:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-16T22:35:12.349+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Kind Of Wonderful</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/0WForqqD_FA/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0WForqqD_FA&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0WForqqD_FA&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pardon my fascination on pasting over YouTube videos here in the blog, but this is something that amuses me for the time being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pak Mat, don't tell me that you don't listen to them. Grand Funk Railroad is such a band of heroes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6138608108452460111?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6138608108452460111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6138608108452460111&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6138608108452460111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6138608108452460111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/some-kind-of-wonderful.html' title='Some Kind Of Wonderful'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-9117223818995106041</id><published>2011-07-16T12:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-16T12:20:07.137+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gallagher</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/4fLR3FRaFsQ/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4fLR3FRaFsQ&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4fLR3FRaFsQ&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam Gallagher is the best interpretation to my day-to-day Liam. He had himself a brand new sunglasses the other day. He had everything new, much to my expectation, the other day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did not have someone new, someone that was so accustomed, he saw everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some might say. Some might say. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-9117223818995106041?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/9117223818995106041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=9117223818995106041&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/9117223818995106041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/9117223818995106041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/gallagher.html' title='The Gallagher'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2111456421934939948</id><published>2011-07-14T07:53:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-14T07:54:36.426+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Better Together</title><content type='html'>And all of these moments&lt;br /&gt;Just might find their way into my dreams tonight&lt;br /&gt;But I know that they'll be gone,&lt;br /&gt;When the morning light sings&lt;br /&gt;And brings new things,&lt;br /&gt;But tomorrow night you see&lt;br /&gt;That they'll be gone too,&lt;br /&gt;Too many things I have to do,&lt;br /&gt;But if all of these dreams might find their way&lt;br /&gt;Into my day to day scene&lt;br /&gt;I'll be under the impression,&lt;br /&gt;I was somewhere in-between&lt;br /&gt;With only two,&lt;br /&gt;Just me and you&lt;br /&gt;Not so many things we got to do,&lt;br /&gt;Or places we got to be&lt;br /&gt;We'll sit beneath the mango tree now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack Johnson&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2111456421934939948?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2111456421934939948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2111456421934939948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2111456421934939948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2111456421934939948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/better-together.html' title='Better Together'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7794081074922720586</id><published>2011-07-11T13:31:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T13:32:07.176+08:00</updated><title type='text'>No, You Are Not Wanted</title><content type='html'>I shouldn't tell you this. I shouldn't make you feel that you are wanted. I shouldn't go paste around to tell the whole world that you mean a universe to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the thing is, I am falling in love with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That, I can't tell lies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That, I am sure, you know, from the bottom of your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7794081074922720586?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7794081074922720586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7794081074922720586&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7794081074922720586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7794081074922720586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/no-you-are-not-wanted.html' title='No, You Are Not Wanted'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3998899484552806989</id><published>2011-07-11T00:47:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T09:26:59.927+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Awakening</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-09qne_BmB7w/ThnXR1j0e6I/AAAAAAAAAI0/fsQdjLukOtE/s1600/P7010026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-09qne_BmB7w/ThnXR1j0e6I/AAAAAAAAAI0/fsQdjLukOtE/s320/P7010026.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I fled to this place, trying to reason things that have been going in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I flee again, will Liam get mad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I care none. This is my life, and I have my full control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3998899484552806989?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3998899484552806989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3998899484552806989&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3998899484552806989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3998899484552806989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/awakening.html' title='Awakening'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-09qne_BmB7w/ThnXR1j0e6I/AAAAAAAAAI0/fsQdjLukOtE/s72-c/P7010026.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3550881955496835887</id><published>2011-07-08T17:41:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T17:43:36.065+08:00</updated><title type='text'>To Nina</title><content type='html'>To the hell with self inflicted misery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holding to the long gone memories are torturing, might as well keep the grudges, and keep on living with your own personal vendetta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is easier like that. Believe me. I've done that myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Custard is nothing than a piece of dung.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I host free tutorial if you want to learn how.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me. You know how to get&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3550881955496835887?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3550881955496835887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3550881955496835887&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3550881955496835887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3550881955496835887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/to-nina.html' title='To Nina'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-7735318775817248949</id><published>2011-07-08T12:48:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T12:49:47.514+08:00</updated><title type='text'>This Afternoon</title><content type='html'>Please don't let me go. Please don't let me go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No I don't want you to let me go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olly Murs&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-7735318775817248949?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/7735318775817248949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=7735318775817248949&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7735318775817248949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/7735318775817248949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/this-afternoon.html' title='This Afternoon'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6066943750282898572</id><published>2011-07-07T18:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T18:31:39.671+08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Left, Unnoticed</title><content type='html'>Ten years from now, on this very evening, hands sprawl on the sand, overlooking the golden descending sun, I might still wonder the reasons why didn't I meet you earlier, when the chances were so astronomically enormous, when you were so fragile and when I was so in need of hands to cling onto. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years to savor are shrinking, and yet there are still too many grounds that I need to give footprints. For all I know, I have been longing to travel with you, someone that is dear to my heart, perhaps you, the only person that I want right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I told you that I love you yesterday, and this very evening, the hesitation was humongous. I couldn't tell whether what I did was right, but I know, at certain points in my life, I have to let you know how do I feel towards you. I refuse to be trapped in the emotions that I created myself, and I refuse to recreate your images that in the end were the pure imagination that were created in my subconscious mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, how should I know how do you feel about me. I mean, I have given you what I should give you, I have given you the callsigns that I think were so clear, you should grasp in seconds. Am I loony going for something that is not going to materialize? Am I too absorbed in this stupid hook-and-reel that I am actually stuck in limbo?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, over time, this will end. Horifically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, when everything has faded, when the feeling is as weak as a broken bulb, another saga of Custard's trilogy will happen again. Except for this time, the actor is you. And me. And certain other people that I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This story is going to end soon. Liam is another figment of imagination that will disperse like a bubble in the thin air. Like water that is going to dry under the hot sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All that I know, that I have spent much of my time thinking about you. And one thing that I don't really know, whether you are thinking about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are an imagery. So vivid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for that, I think I should leave the space that fills with your images alone. Alone, unattended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will be dark, but at least, I know that I won't put too much hope anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6066943750282898572?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6066943750282898572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6066943750282898572&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6066943750282898572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6066943750282898572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/you-left-unnoticed.html' title='You Left, Unnoticed'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1826982290323620467</id><published>2011-07-06T16:52:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-06T16:53:55.126+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aporia</title><content type='html'>Imagine going back home from a long tiring day, just to be greeted by an empty sofa, paintings of the cats and the deads on the wall, dimmed chandelier hung on the ceiling, vases filled with multiple colors of drying flowers, huge windows with rattan blind rattling on the window's frame occasionally when being hit by the wind from the full speed fan above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is an enormous space, but filled with emptiness. The only scent is from the lavender aromatherapy candle, and from the thin smell of the take-home Chinese food. The senses are longing for something. The sight and sound filled by flickers and the scream from the TV and the only living thing in the house, is the wife, legs stretch on the sofa, getting so deep in drama, she's almost inanimate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden, I hear a lot about couples who are trying to conceive a baby. Like this morning when I heard over Prem and Nadia on the radio, there was a couple in China who hold PhD and been trying for a baby for almost three years, but to no avail. They went to see a doctor and was shocked to find out that the couple thought they could get a baby by sleeping side by side. I know Liam is not that stupid, I know Liam's knowledge on reproductive system is far more advanced and they have been trying for quite some time now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were times when Nina and I cheekily teased him over Sarrah's slothfulness of not being able to cook him dinner, or when Sarrah tried to cook and Liam brought it to the office and he couldn't finish it off because perhaps it was so suck, it makes me wonder of a lot of things. When I drove home, I wonder what was she doing at home. Facebooking with friends? Reading books? Because all I know is that Liam is spending his time outside, going out with friends for futsal, badminton and sometimes go for a jog with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is there to cherish in a home where the scream and the pungent smell of baby's piss is ripped away from a family? What holds them together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't tell. Because right now, I think what fills him in is the fact that we are actually together, in silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1826982290323620467?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1826982290323620467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1826982290323620467&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1826982290323620467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1826982290323620467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/aporia.html' title='Aporia'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3750587851192175835</id><published>2011-07-05T17:44:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T17:44:54.022+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Keep On Trying</title><content type='html'>Josh shared a link yesterday on Facebook. Coca Cola 2011's ad was just mesmerizing and inspiring. I remember one line from the ad and it was Liam that came into my mind when I saw that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of couples are trying. Like one of my friends in one of the gas processing plants here at Kertih, they found mercury in his blood. And he is still trying. Keep on trying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Liam is given a baby, it's godsend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question that needs to be answered, is when.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3750587851192175835?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3750587851192175835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3750587851192175835&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3750587851192175835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3750587851192175835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/keep-on-trying.html' title='Keep On Trying'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-515541577417396160</id><published>2011-07-05T17:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T17:37:48.899+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cracked Lips</title><content type='html'>The day is pretty hot and dry. It's just I don't really know where to find a shade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone has taken a spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone has taken two steps ahead and it's just me being left behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-515541577417396160?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/515541577417396160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=515541577417396160&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/515541577417396160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/515541577417396160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/cracked-lips.html' title='Cracked Lips'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5680907701981367474</id><published>2011-07-04T12:16:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T12:16:12.807+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ironic</title><content type='html'>The sea, amidst its crystal clear blue water, bears an unfriendly welcome gesture in its saltiness, and its waves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ironic that I love the sea, but I hate the water that makes the definition of a sea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ironic. But it is beautiful. With its beautiful people. And its beautiful life it gives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll come back soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5680907701981367474?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5680907701981367474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5680907701981367474&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5680907701981367474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5680907701981367474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/ironic.html' title='Ironic'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1004539514462359044</id><published>2011-07-02T20:02:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T12:09:16.730+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Somewhere Out There</title><content type='html'>Traveling alone (for holiday, not business!) is like dissolving self in intoxicating ice, it gets you high at one time, and the next time you open up your eyes, you are lying inside a ditch with bruises all over your head. We never know what we could get, we never know the chances that we are going to end up in the country so bizarre, so unfamiliar, and yet you feel like there is one little piece that connects you to this place. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am somewhere outside Malaysia right now for a little vacation that I did not plan. You know how I cried the other day in the office, standing in between two roads that were so different, it was like seeing black and white. Booked a ticket, no hotel reservation, no nothing. Brought along with myself a backpack, and a few hundreds of ringgit in the purse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little did I know that this is going to make me happy, in fact I do not feel happy, I do not feel content, I just feel bland. A lot of (good looking) people don't help apparently. Was thinking to get self an escort, or a toyboy, or a man to accompany me for the next 5 days. I didn't tell my boss, and no one actually knows where I am right now. Just emails, and facebook messages. From bosses. From vendors, from colleagues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am off the course. I just need a little time for detachment. Instead, I sculptured your name beside the pool, on pebbles. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just can't forget you. The way that you can't forget me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love you, Liam&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1004539514462359044?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1004539514462359044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1004539514462359044&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1004539514462359044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1004539514462359044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/07/somewhere-out-there.html' title='Somewhere Out There'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-828619053316107026</id><published>2011-06-25T17:35:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-25T17:35:19.681+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Go To Bed At Noon</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;Children never came to Janus Brian and Mary. Somehow, it seemed to Colette, childlessness shaped their lives, gave it its character, its distinctiveness. How could they bear it, she wondered, to know that that was it? That their marriage was just that - two people - and never would be anything else, robbed of the phases growing children give to a family. How could they contemplate old age, tottering together along a lonely path into darkness, with no one to leave their house to but strangers?&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gerard Woodward&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-828619053316107026?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/828619053316107026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=828619053316107026&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/828619053316107026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/828619053316107026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/ill-go-to-bed-at-noon.html' title='I&apos;ll Go To Bed At Noon'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5271807359689992422</id><published>2011-06-24T00:42:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-24T00:42:47.764+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Battlefield</title><content type='html'>I am fighting my insomnia. By running around the housing area, and working out at the gym.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been four months since I had my nice decent sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me what should I do. I just can't take this anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5271807359689992422?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5271807359689992422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5271807359689992422&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5271807359689992422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5271807359689992422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/battlefield.html' title='Battlefield'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-458817619629614419</id><published>2011-06-23T00:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-23T00:36:38.847+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Night</title><content type='html'>There's something wrong happening inside my belly. Something jiggling, something wrong, but yet it feels so right. Oh yes! Now I know! Butterflies, flying, swarming inside my belly! Two? Three? or Five?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my butterflies inside my belly. Tell me, when will you go away?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate you but I need you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh butterflies. Give me your colors, and throw your worries away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-458817619629614419?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/458817619629614419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=458817619629614419&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/458817619629614419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/458817619629614419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/good-night.html' title='Good Night'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2304380075062939238</id><published>2011-06-21T16:06:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-21T16:06:14.701+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rumble</title><content type='html'>I am sorry I have ruffled your feathers. But hold on tight. You may let me go if you can't stand me anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2304380075062939238?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2304380075062939238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2304380075062939238&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2304380075062939238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2304380075062939238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/rumble.html' title='Rumble'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8509706878488258170</id><published>2011-06-21T09:29:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-21T09:29:54.018+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Steps</title><content type='html'>The walk is long. But I believe the end line is somewhere out there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8509706878488258170?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8509706878488258170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8509706878488258170&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8509706878488258170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8509706878488258170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/steps.html' title='Steps'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1435989145280575329</id><published>2011-06-19T23:38:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-19T23:41:35.650+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yesterday</title><content type='html'>It is a few days shy to July and there are projects to monitor, reports to submit, savings to calculate, KPI to measure, exams to sit, courses to attend, FEED to execute, equipment to repair, contracts to review, budgets to justify, work spec to deliver, material list to compile, and if you ask me, the list is never ending. Everybody is crazy with schedule, so does Liam. When I got back from the test witness a few days ago, he wasn't at his seat. In fact, when I questioned Trevor about Liam's whereabouts, he said that he has been busy with meetings and internal investigations that his presence was only during lunch, and still working.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember a few weeks back, when he got back from an urgent meeting with the UK counterpart, he came over to Derek's table and started looking for crackers. From one table to another. People didn't ask, but people knew that he didn't even have time to take his lunch and up until today, I never seen him bring something from home. Something that has been prepacked from home. But what I saw was only sandwiches from the cafe. That's all. Ed once told me that I lacked empathy. You should stand corrected Ed, because when I heard that Liam got back home at 9pm, and all he had was an instant noodle (prepared by himself!), I couldn't help to feel sorry for him. Well maybe Sarrah wasn't that well at that time, so he had to cook by himself, who knows?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday, at the time when I had to submit my bid contract review, he walked in into the office, looking worn out as never before. It was almost 6 and I was about to get up from my chair when he did his usual thing - nudging my chair. It felt like being wanted. Like being someone who is being longed by someone from afar. That couldn't be reached. When I looked around there were only Brandon, Liam and me in the office, and Brandon as cold as ever, never going to look nor hear what were we going to say. He was buried in his works, like most of us do. In between stockpiling files and vernier calipers, I snatched a look at him. He glanced at me, and he smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turning around, took his jacket, and slowly he got off from his black leather seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let's go home"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His stubble was so sexy, his cheeks were thinning, the jawline couldn't get any hotter than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"After you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he walked straight to the door, waited for me at the hall while I put my boots on. When I was in the hall, he was already walking towards the exit door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You didn't wait for me"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I wait for you. See, I am walking like a sloth"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are sloth, you know that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Am I?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wait!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took my hard hat, put on his head backward, and squeezed his cheeks. He was a charmer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK. How does the meeting go?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So and so. Don't want to talk about it"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun on the far horizon was descending, leaving the sky with the thin clouds in dusky yellowish trail. Breeze was subtle, swaying my hair that were falling beneath my helmet. He didn't say a word, I didn't say a word. But I caught his glimpse once in a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The parking lot was almost empty when we reached there. Except at the other end of the hood, two trucks were parked side by side. Rayyan was warded, so I stole his spot just beside Liam's. When he started his engine, I got into the passenger seat, sinking self into his beemer. We stared into each others' eyes, and at the expense of breaking the silence, he brought out his phone, showing to me cars and what not. It came as a surprise that the wallpaper wasn't Sarrah, but a concept car from Nissan. Perhaps married men all like that, pasting picture of someone they love on the phone could reveal their vulnerability.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the very last minute before I leave, I pinched his cheeks all over again. He smiled. Cute as ever. And when I was about to get out, he spanked my butt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smiled at him. He smiled at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam, you know I miss you. And you miss me too. But how on earth are we going to move?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zQIbDKBHSVs/Tf4YYA6IRuI/AAAAAAAAAHU/V4isztp2sU0/s1600/kuantan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zQIbDKBHSVs/Tf4YYA6IRuI/AAAAAAAAAHU/V4isztp2sU0/s640/kuantan.jpg" width="640" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Kuantan still as gorgeous as I seen it for the first time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1435989145280575329?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1435989145280575329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1435989145280575329&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1435989145280575329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1435989145280575329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/yesterday.html' title='Yesterday'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zQIbDKBHSVs/Tf4YYA6IRuI/AAAAAAAAAHU/V4isztp2sU0/s72-c/kuantan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3832094903479552330</id><published>2011-06-17T01:08:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-17T01:08:58.048+08:00</updated><title type='text'>An Early Suprise</title><content type='html'>It was a deliberate thought whether to get him something to wear, or a book, or perhaps a full board vacation to one of the islands in Philippines. A month before his birthday, I decided to get him a wallet. Rest assured, I had bad time rolling in the bed, trying to weigh one present to another. Nina once suggested to give Liam a wallet, because he would touch it, and of course, would glance at it every time he takes it out from his back pocket. So the idea was seeded from there, and I got Abah a new leather wallet.&amp;nbsp; Dark, brown, soft, and leathery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave it to him two weeks before his birthday. It came as a surprise, but knowing my crazy schedule and I couldn't come home for dinner on his birthday, he nodded and smiled. It touched me when I saw his eyes, it was glimmered with a thin film of tears. I know that the wallet is nothing, and undoubtedly he could get it online, or perhaps drive to the city and get it at some fancy shopping mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being in the family of five, I am the closest to them all. The other four are either too busy with business, patients and personal affairs, or do not remember it at all. When I was in the departure hall, waiting to board the flight a couple of days ago, I called him, wishing him good health and the sorts on his birthday. It was at 8pm, 20 hours behind the time I should call him. A few seconds after we ended our conversation, I scrolled for my brother's number, and text him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;"Have you wished Abah's birthday?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Today?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fucktard. You don't even know?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I wasn't sure. Thought it was last week"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fuckball. Can't you for once appreciate him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah I know"&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It might not be a Beemer. It might be nothing. But the thought is what matters the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday Abah. May ladyluck always be by yourside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p/s: Happy Father's Day to you too! Mmuahh! I'm going back soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3832094903479552330?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3832094903479552330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3832094903479552330&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3832094903479552330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3832094903479552330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/early-suprise.html' title='An Early Suprise'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6049383919762601933</id><published>2011-06-14T19:13:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T19:13:52.812+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I find cursing someone you love is a great therapy for detachment. And apparently, to forget.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6049383919762601933?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6049383919762601933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6049383919762601933&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6049383919762601933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6049383919762601933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-find-cursing-someone-you-love-is.html' title='I find cursing someone you love is a great therapy for detachment. And apparently, to forget.'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-4989915936126067276</id><published>2011-06-11T12:11:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-11T12:11:40.642+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unfortunately you are married and we will never be together</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-4989915936126067276?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/4989915936126067276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=4989915936126067276&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4989915936126067276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/4989915936126067276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/unfortunately-you-are-married-and-we.html' title='Unfortunately you are married and we will never be together'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-8747614628923105179</id><published>2011-06-08T19:30:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T19:30:56.979+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reprise</title><content type='html'>The melody was mellow. I remember suddenly the world isn't over as yet. Just dark. &lt;br /&gt;The world isn't over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-8747614628923105179?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/8747614628923105179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=8747614628923105179&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8747614628923105179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/8747614628923105179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/06/reprise.html' title='Reprise'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-2477437068323499397</id><published>2011-05-31T00:36:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-31T00:41:11.748+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Supernatural</title><content type='html'>There wasn't anyone behind when I left the office just now. It was pretty dark, and the walk to the main gate was quite far. The street lights decided to go dead tonight, and no one on the night shift was in the smoking shed. I was literally walking alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I walked back from lunch with a dear colleague a few weeks ago, stories about the haunting came out of nowhere. Like when he worked in the previous company which performed servicing to the boilers and screw compressors, one of his colleagues found a kid in a vessel. What on earth did a kid do in a vessel, and where the hell did he come from. So his friends fled away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So does another story in one cracker plant where there was always a white figure at the top floor near the distillation&amp;nbsp; tower. Or my friend at one compounding plant who saw a little kid playing with a plastic curtain near the extruder area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't help but to think all of this when I walked just now. Perhaps something or someone following at my back, so I frequently scan if there's any anomalies to the shadows on the pavement. Sometimes when I am too tied up with my fright, I run. Trying to run from my own shadow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is stupid, but I feel safe doing that. At least that is what my mind tells me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the contrary, I feel scared when I try to run away from you. If you were a ghost, perhaps I can just chase you away by reciting Quran. But you are not a ghost, and I don't know how to chase you away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sorry. Am I making sense?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-2477437068323499397?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/2477437068323499397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=2477437068323499397&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2477437068323499397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/2477437068323499397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/supernatural.html' title='Supernatural'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6517745626587125834</id><published>2011-05-28T16:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-28T23:16:01.017+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Liam's Biggest Concern</title><content type='html'>The construction of Lynas is on halt. What worries me the most is the construction of another plant, the sulfuric acid plant, that will supply H2SO4 to Lynas for leeching purposes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I just move to Italy and have a baby there?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6517745626587125834?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6517745626587125834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6517745626587125834&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6517745626587125834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6517745626587125834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/liams-biggest-concern.html' title='Liam&apos;s Biggest Concern'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-3130890123731820136</id><published>2011-05-24T01:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-24T01:00:25.772+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Apprehension</title><content type='html'>I can't sleep. It is one right now. When I close my eyes, I see your images, so vivid. Like in HD. I don't know whether this is appropriate. Can you just go away? I really really need my sleep. Long flight tomorrow. Please go away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good night.&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-3130890123731820136?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/3130890123731820136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=3130890123731820136&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3130890123731820136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/3130890123731820136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/apprehension.html' title='Apprehension'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-1736115969841645758</id><published>2011-05-20T01:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-20T01:13:58.018+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Stars Over The Moon</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--T6eqyCK2ag/TdVOHf7OM9I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/m54KW8xkK1w/s1600/19052011098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--T6eqyCK2ag/TdVOHf7OM9I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/m54KW8xkK1w/s320/19052011098.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I long to touch your fingers, and smell the perfume on your arm, and how your hug is keeping me warm. Hush hush, don't say anything, let's sail away in our dreams tonight. Because I don't want to remember how restless I am in this emotional fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam, good night. Meet you in my dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-1736115969841645758?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/1736115969841645758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=1736115969841645758&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1736115969841645758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/1736115969841645758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/little-stars-over-moon.html' title='Little Stars Over The Moon'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--T6eqyCK2ag/TdVOHf7OM9I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/m54KW8xkK1w/s72-c/19052011098.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-6851774342108742369</id><published>2011-05-20T00:49:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-20T09:48:14.215+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Know Everything Would Be Alright</title><content type='html'>"I have recovered"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nina said nonchalantly this afternoon when we had a coffee break in the pantry. Nina had recovered, that is what she claimed. I don't believe her most of the times when she said she had dumped him somewhere out of her box of memory. The remnants hurt. Jared has left nothing anymore for her to treasure. When Jared walked in into the meeting room for a mini discussion with dear colleagues, Nina was standing with me. At the pantry. I can tell when people are tailing someone, the eyes show. Nina exactly did that. Tailing Jared with her eyes, hoping for something ridiculous to resurface.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has been hoping that Jared would forget, and make everything like it used to be. Way before they ventured into this useless emotion. She doesn't know what he thinks. Perhaps he harbors quandaries to the course of this forbidden mutual affection. Jared was right when he decided that he would forgo being in the infidelity, and Nina was never wrong to not further go down the betrayal alley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But couldn't Jared just play pretend that nothing was actually happened between him and Nina? I truly understand the emotional torture that she's going through right now. All she ever asked that he treats her just like he treats anybody else. She couldn't tell lie. She is still hoping for something but she hides it underneath her smile. When they passed shoulder to shoulder, Nina was trying hard to reconcile by passing him a friendly gesture - as a colleague - but what she got in return was an annoyed look from Jared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I had let go everything. Let bygone be bygone. I understand that he has Ashley at home, and so do I. I have my own Zachary, and of course my kids. But why can't he just be my friend? Be my colleague? At least please be professional. I don't need that obtuse look every time he passes by me. I am deeply hurt and insulted"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tried to smile. Tried to remain her composure. This is the woman that listens to my crappy Liam and Sarrah thing, so I should be the one who will listen to his Jared crappy thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You read my blog right? I wrote there somewhere, the only way to get out, is to forget. Case in point, Custard and I. I don't talk to him anymore, nor look at him. We do work together, so I couldn't avoid him. But he has been giving thousands of fuckeries for the past months, why should I reconcile? So do you. If he can do what he is doing right now, so do you. You don't have to be angelic all the times. Why on earth you have to be angelic when you are being kicked on your head, every single day? Pretending to be angelic doesn't save you from your emotional wreck. Come on Nina. Wake up. You have such a loving husband at home. You were the one who told me that you can't find anybody else that is as good as him. He is beyond fantastic. So stick with him. Dump all these cry shits and the efforts to resurrect what you have gone through with Jared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember Nina, the last thing you want to do, is to hurt Zachary"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gasped for air. Looking around, to hide her face. Her eyes started to water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I love my husband. He is the best. I love the kids. They are the best thing that happened in my life. Jared might make me happy for a while, but I know, that was so artificial and I was a fool. He was a fool. Zachary and my kids are where my loves at. I love my husband"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Great. Chant the mantra when Jared does shit all over again to you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Liam passed by, shot a quick glance to me, and smiled.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-6851774342108742369?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/6851774342108742369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=6851774342108742369&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6851774342108742369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/6851774342108742369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-know-everything-would-be-alright.html' title='I Know Everything Would Be Alright'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5103376360475771703</id><published>2011-05-19T01:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-19T01:24:33.716+08:00</updated><title type='text'>UPenn</title><content type='html'>I regret of being stupid. I wish I am a little wiser. So that I won't get rolled down. Perhaps being stupid is written somewhere in my genotype?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5103376360475771703?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5103376360475771703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5103376360475771703&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5103376360475771703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5103376360475771703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/upenn.html' title='UPenn'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-5163764423260341559</id><published>2011-05-18T14:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T14:15:57.890+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday Afternoon</title><content type='html'>The stall was unusually jam packed with people today. Customers in blue, yellow, dark green coveralls were frolicking the table, just like the flies that swarming over leftover fishes on the unattended plates. I was alone, clad in red coverall, having lunch while observing the surroundings.The heat from the tarmac a few feet away was uninviting. The breeze from the sea, however, made it soothing albeit the noise from the chatters. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While sipping the soup, my mind was flown back to the office. Works on the table have been mercilessly piling, with numbers, projects, contracts to review. And just two days ago, a multimillion project now sits comfortably on my shoulder, waiting to be engineered and executed by next year. I barely have any space to breathe. Not that I'm complaining, but my time for myself has been cut to its minimum hours, sometimes just eight hours left for me to salvage whatever excitement that I supposed to have in a day. Eight hours usually goes to my sleep. I am worn out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. I should stop doing this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a bowl of soup to finish off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-5163764423260341559?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/5163764423260341559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=5163764423260341559&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5163764423260341559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/5163764423260341559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/wednesday-afternoon.html' title='Wednesday Afternoon'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-156456801078221070</id><published>2011-05-18T00:27:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T00:27:41.810+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spin</title><content type='html'>Nina's email that I received this late afternoon was a pretty non shocker. When I posted on Facebook of what Nina had told (and apparently saw), Ed immediately made an assumption that he adopted a baby. Stitching all the events, and put them in sync, Ed's wild assumption was actually has its basis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liam and Sarrah have been trying for quite some time. Since they were married five (six?) years ago, there was not a single hint that Sarrah was carrying a life in her womb. They were just getting help these few months back, and I knew it because he told me, secretly. Of all the people that he trusts. I am just a stranger, not even know him well. Oh well, of all the people that he trusts, and knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were times when Liam called to the office that he couldn't come because he felt unwell, and the day after when he came in, he gave us some ridiculous excuses such as 'the doctor was more than delightful to give me a day off but I refused, so I guess I just take an emergency leave instead'. When he said that, I knew that he was busy at home, doing things to make babies. To try. To make babies. And I assure you, I did feel nothing. He can do it anywhere that he wants. In the bathroom, on the tabletop, at the kitchen counters, in the garage, underneath the sofa. I don't care, because there isn't me, there isn't us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today when Nina broke the news, I was literally numb. I wanted to cry, but I don't have any solid reason why should I do so. I resumed my work, on public holiday, up until 9pm. I felt nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ed says that this isn't going anywhere, that even if this unknown relationship materialize, it will become another episode of me and Custard. The ending is technically the same. I am going to get stuck in a loop with no way out. The only way out, is to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was writing this, I realized that even if I am such an important person to him, I would be nothing. And I realized that I would never be such an important person to him, because this is not about me alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is about me, him, his wife, and his future babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That if he does not resort for adoptions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ZA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-156456801078221070?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/156456801078221070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=156456801078221070&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/156456801078221070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/156456801078221070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/spin.html' title='Spin'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16640936.post-674721399135737850</id><published>2011-05-17T00:07:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T00:46:05.907+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Turning Circles</title><content type='html'>When I created this blog shy to 6 years ago, my intention was to only write. My very first entry was about me moving to a new pad, and moving along the first few years, I wrote what I had in mind. Being alone for most of my entire adult life, I finally found my solace, writing something that is understandable by me only, for this blog is written for myself, not to some random people I met on the flight back home, or to friends that barely recognize my existence, or to siblings that don't even care what I had gone through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because writing makes me feel calm, and feel as if I am wanted by someone that I want, and secured because it is easier to write than tell - I created a few more blogs. These blogs are active, some with daily updates, some with random pictures of the places I have been, some with itineraries of places that I about to visit, some with my favorite songs on the loop. And some are privatized, and some are public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Zubaidah Arshad is the place that I treasure the most. The place where I fell and scraped my own knee. This is my turf where once I laid down hands spread up looking at the sky up above, head freed with worries because I knew that I just could toss everything in without having to think what others might perceive. This is my home where I saw H, F, Y, and Liam, Harper and many other alphabetical muses that used to color my walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I appreciate you, my dear readers to have me in your feed, to follow me in your blog list, to read me whenever you have time to do so. How glad I am, I am just out of words. There is no adjective that is able to justify my gratefulness for you and your valuable time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just that I am so afraid that reading my daily entries - my rantings, laments, my turmoil, my constant grieves - will make you think that I am such a cheap drama queen that scavenge people's sympathy through my writings. I am never like that, and having said that, perhaps that is the sole reason why I don't go tiptoeing other people's blogs and comment or even leave a trail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part of me wants to be invisible, another half just wants to pursue what has been done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe, not to be seen is easier than to being judged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just give me some time to think. I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16640936-674721399135737850?l=zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/feeds/674721399135737850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16640936&amp;postID=674721399135737850&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/674721399135737850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16640936/posts/default/674721399135737850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com/2011/05/turning-circles.html' title='Turning Circles'/><author><name>Zubaidah Arshad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15338271198127900026</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/-O6ermYwjpsU/TyCpqRTa12I/AAAAAAAAAKg/0rOdjabzQv8/s220/405359_3120812506281_1443616292_3199712_269844942_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
