<?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-31523445</id><updated>2012-02-16T02:58:20.148-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Drama Diarrhea</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-6041809465675656688</id><published>2011-07-13T08:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-13T08:19:27.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Telos</title><content type='html'>It was over a year ago when we reconnected. I saw him online and we started talking that night. He gave me his number but I didn't text him until a month later. By then, he was already seeing someone. It's my fault. I only contacted him because I wanted to have fun at the time. We talked anyway. A lot. Until things got&amp;nbsp;unexpectedly&amp;nbsp;out of control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By August, they had broken up. No, it wasn't because of me but I sure was there a lot for him. Every time he talked about that guy it hurt like hell. It wasn't until that fateful night up to dawn of September 3 when I confessed everything. The feeling was not mutual but he wanted to give it a chance. From then on, my perspective changed drastically. It's like I was morphing into someone else, better I hoped. I considered everything to be part of growing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The months to come were far from easy. He's very difficult to figure out. One moment he's there, he's gone the next. The good times were good but the bad times were really bad. I don't think I've ever cried over someone as much. Then again, this is someone whom I've thought of spending the rest of my life with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We tried. In fact, we tried and we tried and we tried. Hard. Unwavering. Stubborn if you want to put it that way. The last 10 months or so, I was either really crazy or was only being faithful. My hopes outweighed the odds, the doubts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, we're giving it a shot yet again. I wonder though, if I can do it. "Genuine friendship." I never thought I'd dislike such words. He said we should start fresh. I don't know what to feel really. What I know though is I have to completely get over him and perhaps myself too in order to really "start fresh". And I can't wait to do just that. I can't wait to see his name and not feel anything. I can't wait to be able to pass up a chance of seeing him. I can't wait to feel and do much better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-6041809465675656688?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/6041809465675656688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=6041809465675656688' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/6041809465675656688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/6041809465675656688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2011/07/telos.html' title='Telos'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-4021942087990104551</id><published>2010-11-01T07:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-01T07:47:34.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not You Too</title><content type='html'>Don't blame me if I've been holding on for this long. It happened to be so much worth it.  You're worth it. You made a promise and I look forward to the day you fulfill it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss you so much. There's no hour in a day that I don't think about you. I miss you eventhough I have doubts. I think of you wondering if you're thinking about me too. It's painful, yes. But I'm not losing my faith now. I'm not losing you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-4021942087990104551?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/4021942087990104551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=4021942087990104551' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/4021942087990104551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/4021942087990104551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2010/11/you.html' title='Not You Too'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-1898797630850277302</id><published>2010-09-12T06:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T06:20:54.847-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sad Sunday</title><content type='html'>I feel like I'm going to burst into a full breakdown any moment soon. I feel so alone. Do you know how it feels to have many friends but not one can be with you when you need them the most? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there's that person whose word you have but not his presence. The person who can make it all better or make it all worse. The one who's supposed to be different. I want to be inspired, not pressured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when tears fell from my eyes, the phone rings. My folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope tomorrow is a better day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-1898797630850277302?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/1898797630850277302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=1898797630850277302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/1898797630850277302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/1898797630850277302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2010/09/sad-sunday.html' title='Sad Sunday'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-759366889964388336</id><published>2010-07-27T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T09:05:20.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Losing Myself</title><content type='html'>This is good. I'm caring less. Like what I said to a good friend, I can't keep believing in something that always fails me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All this time I've been patient. I've been hopeful. But at this point, I'm too tired to even care. I'd be lying if I say it makes me happy though. In fact, the thought that I'm now getting used to this kind of disappointment is extremely sad. It's tiring. It really is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-759366889964388336?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/759366889964388336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=759366889964388336' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/759366889964388336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/759366889964388336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2010/07/losing-myself.html' title='Losing Myself'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-7049914881333586322</id><published>2010-02-24T06:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T06:15:41.659-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Like A Broken Record</title><content type='html'>They come. They Go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good thing is I'm getting used to it. I'm starting to learn to not expect too much. The bad thing is this may go on, and on, and on, and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They Come. They go. Rinse. Repeat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-7049914881333586322?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/7049914881333586322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=7049914881333586322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/7049914881333586322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/7049914881333586322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2010/02/like-broken-record.html' title='Like A Broken Record'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-4944879192414702636</id><published>2009-12-10T02:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T02:36:39.703-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hopeful</title><content type='html'>The problem with me is I always want the things that I cannot get. It’s like I constantly challenge myself to a losing game. It’s probably because no matter how naïve, cynical and jaded I seem to be, whether I admit it or not, there’s always that hopeful little kid in me who firmly holds on to the thought of happy endings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-4944879192414702636?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/4944879192414702636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=4944879192414702636' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/4944879192414702636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/4944879192414702636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2009/12/hopeful.html' title='Hopeful'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-6757614078365788277</id><published>2009-07-25T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T09:57:47.039-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blueball Dating</title><content type='html'>Why does this always happen? Just when you thought everything is going fine, it goes kaput all of a sudden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are people just being nice to me and I'm just vulnerable or am I just really that unlucky? Seriously, it's tiring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They always say it'll come when you least expect it. Does that mean that my time will never come if I do expect or anticipate for the rest of my life? Now that's just depressing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It never happens does it? How you imagine it to be. So I don't know why I'm still here waiting for your response.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-6757614078365788277?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/6757614078365788277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=6757614078365788277' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/6757614078365788277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/6757614078365788277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2009/07/blueball-dating.html' title='Blueball Dating'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-3864792289058845158</id><published>2009-04-19T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T11:20:06.759-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coincidence</title><content type='html'>It really is funny how fate plays a practical joke sometimes. Don't you just hate it when someone (who loved, hurt and left you) from your past has practically died in your book and suddenly gets resurrected?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact that I'm still glad to hear from you makes everything worse. Why am I even talking to you when three Christmases ago, your special &lt;a href="http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2006/12/xmas.html"&gt;present&lt;/a&gt; for me was a river of my own tears coupled with pain and sadness? Do you even know the kind of devastation I was when you left?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A part of me wants to raise numerous unanswered questions but another wants to just forget and start anew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You tell me you miss me and I believe you. I miss you too. But what now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-3864792289058845158?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/3864792289058845158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=3864792289058845158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/3864792289058845158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/3864792289058845158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2009/04/coincidence.html' title='Coincidence'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-374224222010869879</id><published>2008-07-12T21:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T21:11:22.908-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Love with Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div id="yiv1534754188"&gt;         &lt;div class="Section1"&gt;                    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;It’s been three years and counting! Yes, I myself cannot believe it. I mean, can you believe it? Because I can’t. Imagine me, the most single person in the world, managed to be in a serious romantic, not to mention amazingly happy, relationship? It really is unbelievable. After 3 years, I still can’t believe it. Hahahah... It’s like a dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel very blessed to have someone who I know will always be there through thick and thin, no matter what. There’s a comfort in knowing that whenever your world crumbles, there’s someone you can run to. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like no matter how bad day your day becomes, everything seems to fall back into place the moment you talk to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, we were talking about silly things and laughing our hearts out. Then out of nowhere, he suddenly told me how happy and lucky he is in a very serious manner while looking straight into my eyes. Normally I’d be creeped out but this time, I faked a slight chuckle while holding my tears back. He just smiled and held me close very tightly. I know it’s really cheesy but when you’re in that situation where you’re in a trance and intoxicatingly in-love, you’d never want it to end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;     &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-374224222010869879?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/374224222010869879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=374224222010869879' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/374224222010869879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/374224222010869879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-love-with-love.html' title='In Love with Love'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-2346607349506074111</id><published>2008-05-04T18:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T18:52:42.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Boy Blue</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qDZ7ATvl0t0/SB5j_HgIGkI/AAAAAAAAAfw/7bYr2gkjUC4/s1600-h/You%27ll+be+fine.edited"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 279px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qDZ7ATvl0t0/SB5j_HgIGkI/AAAAAAAAAfw/7bYr2gkjUC4/s320/You%27ll+be+fine.edited" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196700956028836418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Rise and shine, it’s a new day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;It’s time to put on your happy face and pretend everything’s okay.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Now don’t give me that look, you know how it’s done.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Just keep on trying until all hope is gone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="Section1"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;                        &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Just walk the walk and talk the talk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Act like you’re a pro, as if you’re never hurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;So wash off the frustration, and put on your best.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Even though it’s just the start of the day and yet you already want to rest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;You do the same things, hoping it will turn out well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;But you constantly fail and end up feeling like hell.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Don’t scream now, hold back the tears,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Because nobody likes a lonely person, and perhaps, nobody really cares.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qDZ7ATvl0t0/SB5ms3gIGnI/AAAAAAAAAgI/FLBlEzSOJSg/s1600-h/Right.edited"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 260px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qDZ7ATvl0t0/SB5ms3gIGnI/AAAAAAAAAgI/FLBlEzSOJSg/s320/Right.edited" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196703941031107186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="Section1"&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;*sigh*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-2346607349506074111?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/2346607349506074111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=2346607349506074111' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/2346607349506074111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/2346607349506074111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2008/05/little-boy-blue.html' title='Little Boy Blue'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qDZ7ATvl0t0/SB5j_HgIGkI/AAAAAAAAAfw/7bYr2gkjUC4/s72-c/You%27ll+be+fine.edited' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-8342280515950187941</id><published>2008-05-02T20:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-02T20:44:27.615-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rinse. Repeat.</title><content type='html'>I am tired. Tired of running around in circles. Nothing's working out. Work is hell and I feel so empty. Each day, I wake up forced to do things I don't enjoy. I am not anticipating anything, no excitement, no love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I've been looking for inspiration so hard and yet I'm constantly let down. It's all the same, all the fucking time. It's really very exhausting. How the hell am I supposed to go on like this completely uninspired and downtrodden?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alone. Depressed. Confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate it. I badly need to get away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-8342280515950187941?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/8342280515950187941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=8342280515950187941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/8342280515950187941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/8342280515950187941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2008/05/rinse-repeat.html' title='Rinse. Repeat.'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-3288240532305372582</id><published>2007-07-20T10:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-20T10:34:21.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lonely Planet</title><content type='html'>The world is full of lonely people. Lonely people looking for love, most of the time, in all the wrong places. We're all running around in circles chasing each other. Happiness comes when the person you're after waits for you and you both collide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been running for too long. I'm getting so exhausted. It's either I'm running after the wrong people or looking in the wrong places, or both. It's amazing how much non-sense, B.S. and stupidity we tolerate when it comes to romance. I wonder if I'm ever going to learn and finally experience the collission.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-3288240532305372582?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/3288240532305372582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=3288240532305372582' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/3288240532305372582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/3288240532305372582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2007/07/lonely-planet.html' title='Lonely Planet'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-116704541243913901</id><published>2006-12-25T03:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-25T03:16:52.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Xmas</title><content type='html'>Chistmas is a drag, and I have "love" to blame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is christmas, the 25th, the day. This afternoon, I cried rivers and oceans. All because of an insensitive prick. I give up. I'm tired of covering up. This christmas is far from being merry. I'm giving up on having a "good" christmas, and I'm giving up on my hopes of reviving a relationship that's long dead. It's seemingly beyond repair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so fucking tired of hoping, of expecting, of praying (yes, praying), of waiting. I'm sick. Gawd. I'm of being sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave up too much. I believed too much. Now, I'm left alone. All because of somebody out there who probably doesn't even think of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so fucking hard living your life while your mind is constantly haunted by your past and your heart seems to be pierced thru by a double-edged sword everytime you're reminded of everything. God, listen to me. Who would've known I'd be this way. I mean, I intended to be single my whole life. AND THEN, someone came along... and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great. Fucking great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-116704541243913901?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/116704541243913901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=116704541243913901' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/116704541243913901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/116704541243913901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2006/12/xmas.html' title='Xmas'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-116084115360940546</id><published>2006-10-14T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T06:35:10.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*Sigh*</title><content type='html'>This life is bittersweet. But sometimes it’s just so hard to taste the sweetness when your insides turn because there’s just too much bitterness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-116084115360940546?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/116084115360940546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=116084115360940546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/116084115360940546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/116084115360940546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2006/10/sigh.html' title='*Sigh*'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-115953522219980452</id><published>2006-09-29T06:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-29T06:07:02.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I’m in hell and I haven’t even died… yet.</title><content type='html'>September 21, 2006&lt;br /&gt;1:55 AM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m so tired. I really don’t know how much more I can take. It’s nice to think that this will pass and I will soon emerge victorious but it seems like I have been down for so long I don’t even know how it feels to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;            As teardrops are streaming down, I can’t help but feel so much pity for myself. I have never been so humiliated in my life. And a big part of it is my fault. Once again, my stupidity and vulnerability got the better of me. I really shouldn’t trust/believe people that easily. Watch my ego, confidence, and self-esteem burn.&lt;br /&gt;            It’s doubly hard when it’s over but you know it’s forever scarred you and you’re losing hope. How do you move on and push yourself up when mental pictures of the devil flash constantly and it’s engulfing you by and by?&lt;br /&gt;            I thought I was strong. I’ve never been so wrong. I’m weak as I ever could be. There’s nobody I can run to, no one to tell my story to. Nothing. I prayed. But I guess something so bad doesn’t come off that easily. I have an open wound that is constantly poked and it hurts so much it makes me numb. Even my whole body is tensed in shock, disbelief and shame.&lt;br /&gt;            This is one of those moments when you ask; WHY? WHY ME? WHY THIS? And end up with no answers. You assume that it might be something for the better. Then you ask another question; do I really have to endure this much pain just to be happy? God, I don’t even know what happiness is anymore. I’ve been struggling to be better but everything is just so gloomy.&lt;br /&gt;            I hate myself. I hate being me. Nobody has a single idea how hard it is to be me.&lt;br /&gt;            Honestly, I’m so sick of being sick, so tired of being tired. I’m so fed up with having to talk about this and having to write this. Haven’t I cried too much already? Haven’t I hurt enough? I do not have that much to be robbed of what’s left of me.&lt;br /&gt;            I wish I never had to care. I wish I never had to let other people affect me. I hope I can stop everything to hurt me like this.&lt;br /&gt;            At this point, it’s like I want to protect myself from myself. This is getting uncontrollable and I’m afraid I might self-destruct any moment. I want to think that tomorrow will be a better day but I’m just so hopeless to entertain that thought. I don’t want get disappointed anymore. I’ve had enough disappointments to last me a very long time and more of that might make me snap. Well, what more can I expect? Even I disappoint myself.&lt;br /&gt;Now tell me I’m going to be okay; that everything’s going to be fine; that I will come out as a better person; that what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger.&lt;br /&gt;It IS already killing me.&lt;br /&gt;I need help but I can’t have it.&lt;br /&gt;Like what I always say, this lifetime is getting too exhausting. I need a new one.&lt;br /&gt;(Shit. I don’t want to end my life miserable but I just can’t avoid thinking of suicide.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-115953522219980452?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/115953522219980452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=115953522219980452' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/115953522219980452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/115953522219980452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2006/09/im-in-hell-and-i-havent-even-died-yet.html' title='I’m in hell and I haven’t even died… yet.'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31523445.post-115362683372345644</id><published>2006-07-22T20:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-22T21:04:23.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Demon Days</title><content type='html'>July 23, 2006&lt;br /&gt;11:50 AM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For weeks now, ever since I've gone back from Manila, my emotions have been eating up my life. My heartaches have gotten the better of me. I feel like I'm dying and I feel so helpless. Self-pity is a bitch and it slaps me hard on the face almost every moment that I wake up in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so painful to lose what you've had for almost a year and a half. Memories linger not only in my phone, my room, my closet, but worse, it's in my heart and mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never cried so much in a long time. What's even worse is that I can't share this to anybody but myself. I feel so alone, and I admit that I have been very lonely these past weeks. There would be moments when I'd laugh my heart out but internally tearing up of so much misery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss the times when I was happy. I miss the times when I 'd share everything to this person. I miss the times when we'd laugh out loud. I miss the times when we'd cry together. I miss the times when we were in each other's hearts. I miss the times when we were together not physically, but spiritually. This is a cheese fest, I know. But I can't help it. I was lured to enter this world of happiness so true, yet so shallow, and sadness so real, and so painful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time that I was ever happy anyway? I don't know, but it was somewhere during the time when this person was still with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had something seemingly so good. Now, I'm doubting if it was even real. Honestly, I'm so sick and tired of crying, of being alone, of being hurt, of giving but not having anything in return but pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've lowered my standards and expectations, broadened my sensibilities, and learned to accept things that normally I won't take. But where am I now? I ended up miserable, feeling awful, longing for things that I will never have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's really shitty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really exhausted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how much more I can take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, if only I can manipulate my emotions and memory, I'll open up my mind and heart, remove all the hazards that have been crippling me and throw it all out to the wind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm full of wrath right now. But mostly, it's really emptiness. And I don't know how to fill that void without hurting myself or others.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31523445-115362683372345644?l=dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/feeds/115362683372345644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31523445&amp;postID=115362683372345644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/115362683372345644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31523445/posts/default/115362683372345644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dramadiarrhea.blogspot.com/2006/07/my-demon-days_22.html' title='My Demon Days'/><author><name>James</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15882630824107031612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMom517HnpQ/Tf4TjHmJR1I/AAAAAAAACig/mc6fF98l5Ms/s220/DSC00025LOVE.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
