<?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-9119757051092183975</id><updated>2011-08-02T15:14:10.111-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i used to like pho</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lampokini7.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9119757051092183975/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lampokini7.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>lampokini7</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16165896842567144270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9119757051092183975.post-7388533939916501083</id><published>2011-03-20T05:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T05:35:50.247-07:00</updated><title type='text'>would you like cream, ice cream or butter with that?</title><content type='html'>Remember when we were in grade six, and twice a year our form teacher would test us on literacy and numeracy in accordance with the victorian education policies ? There were a total of 50 words we'd have to be spell out for the teacher. I'd do fairly well for the first forty words and then my teacher will start saying words I had no idea what they meant at the time, let alone what alphabets they were composed of. "Conscientious" was one of those words. Seriously unless you were some child prodigy book worm, you'd have absolutely no idea. If you put that word on a piece of paper and asked all the first generation migrants to this country, I'm willing to bet with all my manliness (because there's so much of it) that perhaps only 1 in 10 can actually pronounce it. Its definition according to dictionary.com is one's inner sense of right and wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to think I'm quite the conscientious human being, in fact I know I am. However, I admit my judgements follow an unorthodox thought pattern. Hence it's not often people are on the same wavelength as me; those who are, I adore with every atom in my body. One's inner sense of right and wrong is an abstract notion - the good and bad for me will be different to others. Everyone's moral compasses are unique. Lately, I've acted upon on my judgements. Actions. Confrontations. Gone are the days of sugarcoating and people pleasing. Succinctly, my tolerance for utter bullshit is no more. Reasoning is pointless because my logic is hard to empathise with. People are strange creatures. In a perfect world, everyone would live in harmony with one another. But this isn't a perfect world - its fractures make human interactions so much more entertaining. Invest more time into the worthwhile people in our lives - spend those moments well. There are no right or wrongs; the winner is the conscientious one making a stand for they believe in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Defining the word conscientious for grade six pupils wouldn't register a pulse in their psyches nor will it help them to spell the word any more efficiently. The true meaning of that word will be understood in time, through life's incredible journey ahead of them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: why is it frowned upon to take the laptop/phone into the toilet?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9119757051092183975-7388533939916501083?l=lampokini7.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9119757051092183975/posts/default/7388533939916501083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9119757051092183975/posts/default/7388533939916501083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lampokini7.blogspot.com/2011/03/would-you-like-cream-ice-cream-or.html' title='would you like cream, ice cream or butter with that?'/><author><name>lampokini7</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16165896842567144270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9119757051092183975.post-2538132393900193305</id><published>2011-03-17T16:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-17T17:53:04.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's that girl</title><content type='html'>It's funny how every so often I come back to this blogsite. In a sense, it's a metaphor for many things in life that you can't seem to live without for very long. The longing will always be there, and sooner or later, one shall succumb to such temptation. My blogsite account will always be available to me and despite my reluctance to share my thoughts over the internet, I've found myself here again, typing away into this box. Temptation satisfied. Longing fulfilled. For my avid followers (if any), yes I have indeed erased all previous posts with the reasoning to deter myself from reading the episodes/events in the life of yours truly which would sure incite some uncessary nostalgia. I've yet to reach quarter of a centry and its ensuing crisis for me to start reminiscing about the past, albeit at least over blogger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I'm actually here. What's new you ask. I'm happy - by every defintion of the word. I wake up in the morning with a purpose. I seldomly sleep in anymore - life is busy. Busy often comes with negative connotations. I beg to differ. Busy keeps one alive. There will be plenty of sleeping once you're dead. But for the time being, life is to be experienced at full throttle. Go hard or go home, right? There was a person who entered my world around 11 months ago. Rather than change me, she made me better. The significance of leading a busy life, which will only get more turbulent and chaotic, is knowing at the end of the day, there is someone on this planet waiting for you to come home. Your existance means more to them than you will ever fathom. And that's the most beautiful part of it. Consequently, that leads to the betterment of one's life - living not just for yourself but for them too. She has taught me that the minute details will always matter most. She gives me reasons to day dream on the bus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9119757051092183975-2538132393900193305?l=lampokini7.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9119757051092183975/posts/default/2538132393900193305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9119757051092183975/posts/default/2538132393900193305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lampokini7.blogspot.com/2011/03/whos-that-girl.html' title='Who&apos;s that girl'/><author><name>lampokini7</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16165896842567144270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
