<?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-15780166</id><updated>2011-04-21T15:05:30.596-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sya-lala</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>sya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10763396946902308969</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>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15780166.post-113656075914389279</id><published>2006-01-06T06:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-06T10:30:26.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unrequited</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;The seat under him was cold, as cold as his insides felt. The air around him was choking him, squeezing the very air out of his lungs. The snow that he used to love so much felt wrong on the top of his head and on his shoulders. He shuddered, hugging himself tighter than before. His fingers gripped his legs so hard they hurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;He stared into the darkness he created, simply by hiding his head between his knees. He couldn't remember where he was, he couldn't remember what he was doing. But a voice deep in his head told him over and over again to sleep... just sleep...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Seconds might have passed, minutes, hours, he certainly had no idea. All he saw in front of his eyes was pure darkness, so pure he started wondering if he had fallen into a deep hole. He sucked in a hasty breath, frost blowing out of his lips when he exhaled. Something was clogging his throat, making him feel extremely uncomfortable and sick.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;In the deep dark hole, he saw images that jolted his memory. Images of a certain long haired girl with a charming smile. Yes... They were at school when he decided to snap himself a photo of her. In the darkness, his lips twitched into a smile as he remembered how she turned deep red and turned her head away quickly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Yes, yes... He remembered clearly now. She had been the only one for him, the only girl he had liked so much it resembled how he imagined love would be. Had he told her how he felt? A snicker rose in the darkness. Of course he had told her how he felt. And her reply was she already had strong feelings for someone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15780166-113656075914389279?l=sya-lala.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/feeds/113656075914389279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15780166&amp;postID=113656075914389279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/113656075914389279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/113656075914389279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/2006/01/unrequited.html' title='Unrequited'/><author><name>sya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10763396946902308969</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15780166.post-112782411645016966</id><published>2005-09-27T19:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T05:49:43.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Short Story 1.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I remember clearly being a witness of a suicidal attempt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It was a guy, with long bangs that covered one of his mysterious grey eyes. He was good-looking, and it was easy for him to have become one of my life-long crushes. My crush on him started when I was 10, and I am now 13. But that’s completely beside the point. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It was a Friday afternoon, and it was recess. My best buddies had gotten themselves into a school field trip to some boring museum, and I had to spend my time eating curry bread all by myself on school roof, where no one was brave enough to venture, since rumours had started to spread that a ghost of a dead lady lingered there. But it was nonsense of course, all nonsense, and the roof had become Maki's, Yuka’s and my favourite place to hang out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It was much more fun sitting in a deserted place with your friends. When you’re alone, the place seems so… well… deserted. But the air was fresh on the roof, and I stayed even after the bell rang, watching everyone else head towards their classrooms.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I was just about ready to leave when I heard rustling noises to my right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Yes, the dead lady ghost was just a made up story, but cut me some slack. I was just a girl, and I was very much alone. So it drove me nuts, the rustling. But I was too scared to even move, much less investigate. No one besides me and my friends stayed on the roof during recess! So yes, I thought it was the ghost. But it was only for a while, and my imagination vanished when I heard a small cough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It sounded like it came for someone very much alive, so I peeped, hiding behind the plants or bushes that the janitor seemed to be so proud of, since he was the one who watered them in their pots everyday. Though honestly, I can’t find out why. The plants smell bad, and they look sort of dry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I was surprised to see Kyou, a pack of cigarettes in his hands. I didn’t know he smoked, and for a minute I thought he really did before he threw it over the railing and watched it fall. I found his actions very peculiar, so I decided to watch. Ok FINE. I was watching him because he’s my crush, and he was looking incredibly cute. But his actions did become peculiar when he pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and slid the blade out before pointing it towards his wrist.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“What are you doing?!” a cry came from somewhere near me, and I watched him turn at my direction in surprise before realising foolishly that the cry came from me. By then I had crawled out of my hiding place, and stood facing him directly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I stared as his surprised expression turned into a look of pure anger. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“It’s my business what I was doing. What were you doing?” he demanded harshly, his tone icy cold. I was completely taken aback. I had never seen him this angry before, and I noticed that he was actually TALKING to ME. Even if he was angry at me, he was still talking. To ME. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;"I was… well, watching you. You were just acting so weird! Put that knife away!” I was speaking so fast, it was a miracle I didn’t choke on my words. I desperately searched for things to say. I watched this kind of things happen on TV everyday. People kill themselves because they feel useless. Although I couldn’t understand why Kyou of all people would feel that way. He was good at academics and was an awesome athlete.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“Uh- You might think you’re useless, but I think you’re awesome! I mean, you’re a straight A student, and you’re really fast when you run, and you’re really good-looking!” I babbled, unable to find anything else to say. “Besides, if you kill yourself, I’ll be the saddest person on earth since I’ve liked you for a long time-” I was babbling so much, and I couldn’t stop. But thankfully I did, when Kyou held up his hands and waved them desperately.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I turned to him and frowned. After all, I was giving good enough reasons for him to keep on living. But the guy was smiling! Not that I was actually complaining. I’ve never seen him smile up close before, and my insides started melting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“You’ve liked me for a long time?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I could feel my cheeks heating up, and I started to hate myself for letting that slip out. I bit my lip, blinking hard to stop from blushing more. He stared at me, still with his eyebrow lifted.&lt;br /&gt;“Well… I guess. I don’t know.” I said quickly, trying my hardest to stop myself from turning beat red. He lifted the knife, and again pointed to his wrist. I was about to scream at him to stop when I noticed his wrist was bandaged. He used the knife to easily cut it off, and I stared at the writing on it. It was a tattoo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;K+K &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“I’ve liked you for a long time too.” he said, glancing up at me with his amazing eyes, and again, I started to melt. My blushing doubled, and I could feel butterflies fluttering in my belly. It seemed so real, to I was absolutely sure that if I burped, a cute butterfly would fly out…&lt;br /&gt;“The other K stands for your name. I hope you don’t mind.” he said, sounding almost shy. It took all my self control not to shake my head fiercely like a dumb fool. Instead, I smiled. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;He smiled back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It would have been so embarrassing if I babbled about my secret crush on him, and he had laughed at me. Even embarrassing enough for a suicidal attempt maybe. Hehe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;So that was it. My experience of being a witness to a suicidal attempt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Even if it wasn’t Kyou, it could have been me. =P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15780166-112782411645016966?l=sya-lala.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/feeds/112782411645016966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15780166&amp;postID=112782411645016966' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112782411645016966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112782411645016966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/2005/09/short-story-1.html' title='Short Story 1.'/><author><name>sya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10763396946902308969</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><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15780166.post-112502424865257084</id><published>2005-08-25T19:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T06:09:12.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pageee - 1.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;It was one of those tiring days; the ones that drain your energy, no matter what you do. Even if you simply sit on your sofa, or read, or even when you just simply think. I happen to get many of these tiring days, and I find myself almost wanting to stay home and just sleep sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;I never knew sitting on a bus could be so… well, &lt;em&gt;tiring&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;The old woman who sat beside me turned to glance at me, and I gave her a smile. She returned my smile, and turned to stare ahead.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;She was a sweet old lady, one of those who wear proper attire just to visit their grandchildren. I found myself hoping I had a grandmother just like her. I’ve been sitting next to this old lady for several days, and I never found any need to talk to her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;But today, maybe because I didn’t manage to talk to my mom this morning, I felt suddenly &lt;em&gt;very&lt;/em&gt; lonely.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I cleared my throat, opening my mouth to greet her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“Good morning, dear.” she cut me short, smiling kindly.&lt;br /&gt;I smiled back. “Good morning, &lt;em&gt;oba-chan&lt;/em&gt;.”&lt;br /&gt;Smile, smile, then silence again when she turned away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;I turned to the mirror beside me and discreetly rolled my eyes behind her back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;God… So much for not being lonely. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;My mind wandered elsewhere, and I started to wonder how it would feel like to be old like her. She must have a good life, for her to be smiling kindly that way. But what if I grew old and married some drunken maniac who’ll beat me and my children? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Then they’ll grow up all nasty and depressed, and marry other drunken maniacs and they’ll say, &lt;em&gt;“My husband will never turn out to be&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;like dad, mom. Don’t be so worried.”&lt;/em&gt; But their husbands will probably turn out &lt;em&gt;exactly &lt;/em&gt;like my useless man of a husband.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;And they’ll get children who’ll think like them, who'll taste of men will be just like them, and marry useless men like their grandfathers and fathers and so on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;God… I’m getting tired thinking about this. After all, I'm still only 15. I’ve got lots of time to make sure I won’t get a husband like that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;A hand brushed my shoulder, and I turned. The sweet old lady was trying to reach for the bell at the top of my head. I smiled again at her, and pushed the red button. A small bell rang in the bus, and the driver slowly pulled over at the next stop.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;“See you tomorrow, dear.” she said gently to me, before slowly getting up to exit the bus. I waved at her, and she waved back, before the door closed behind her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15780166-112502424865257084?l=sya-lala.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/feeds/112502424865257084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15780166&amp;postID=112502424865257084' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112502424865257084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112502424865257084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/2005/08/pageee-1.html' title='Pageee - 1.'/><author><name>sya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10763396946902308969</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15780166.post-112496299755646836</id><published>2005-08-25T02:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T06:13:08.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Da begining</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;uhhhh...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;a place to dump my thoughts since my mind's so cluttered with ideas.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;hmm...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;hard to stuff school-based knowledge into muh friggin head.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;hmm..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ff33;"&gt;-END-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15780166-112496299755646836?l=sya-lala.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/feeds/112496299755646836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15780166&amp;postID=112496299755646836' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112496299755646836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15780166/posts/default/112496299755646836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sya-lala.blogspot.com/2005/08/da-begining.html' title='Da begining'/><author><name>sya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10763396946902308969</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
