man0kpox...
ade sesiape yg pnah dgar man0kpox nie?
mgkin juge ade yg pnah, n mybe not yet...
man0kpox or nma lain nya ialah..Chickenp0x...
ya...man0kpox nie la yg tlah myerang aku tika dan saat ini...
hr ini hr yg ke-7 aku dserang wp aku xnak man0k nie serang aku..(wat to do)..
syukur aku panjatkn krn pyerangan die xbksan, knape aku ckp xbksan?
KERANA...muka aku hanya dsrang 8 bintik mrah jer dmana skrg ini hanya tggl SCAR yg ingin aku buang sbentar nanti..kat blakang aku pulak, ada 13 (if im not mistaken)...n kat kaki sdikit shj...
s0, oleh sbb itulh aku mgatakn bhw pyrangan man0kpox ini xbksan sgt..(wp sblm nie aku merana giler..huhuhu..)...
apa yg i h0pe skrg nie ialah..SCAR kat muka n blakang aku tue hilang n lenyap dr hdup aku...
hahaha.....
Oktober 07, 2009
i'm back...
after a long time...
i menjenguk blog i nie..
huahuahuhua...
speechless...
xtau nak ckp ape..
over this period, byk yg tjd dlm hdup aku ni..
ada yg dtg dan pergi..
ada yg sedih dan gumbira..
ada yg mrajuk dan mrajuk balik..
ada yg memujuk dan dipujuk...
hahaha...
smestinya aku bkn lh seorg penulis wp tringin nak jd mcm sape erkk..
aku juga bkn novelis spt aisya sofea wp aku mminati novel die esp Adam Dan Hawa..
sebuah novel yg mgasyikan dan mgkhayalkn dunia realiti aku buat seketika cuma..
aku juga bkn pyair atau pyajak spt A. Samad Said..(ntah bt0l ntah salah nama die yg aku taip nie)..
sesungguhnya, aku hanyalh Christina yg ingin mcuba mgindahkn bl0g aku ini..
huahuahua....
i menjenguk blog i nie..
huahuahuhua...
speechless...
xtau nak ckp ape..
over this period, byk yg tjd dlm hdup aku ni..
ada yg dtg dan pergi..
ada yg sedih dan gumbira..
ada yg mrajuk dan mrajuk balik..
ada yg memujuk dan dipujuk...
hahaha...
smestinya aku bkn lh seorg penulis wp tringin nak jd mcm sape erkk..
aku juga bkn novelis spt aisya sofea wp aku mminati novel die esp Adam Dan Hawa..
sebuah novel yg mgasyikan dan mgkhayalkn dunia realiti aku buat seketika cuma..
aku juga bkn pyair atau pyajak spt A. Samad Said..(ntah bt0l ntah salah nama die yg aku taip nie)..
sesungguhnya, aku hanyalh Christina yg ingin mcuba mgindahkn bl0g aku ini..
huahuahua....
Februari 27, 2009
fleeing away...
Fleeing Away
MY thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,
Higher and higher on soul-lent wings;
But ever and often and more and more
They are dragged down earthward by little things,
By little troubles and little needs,
As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.
My purpose is not what it ought to be,
Steady and fixed, like a star on high,
But more like a fisherman's light at sea;
Hither and thither it seems to fly--
Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,
Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.
My life is far from my dream of life--
Calmly contented, serenely glad;
But, vexed and worried by daily strife,
It is always troubled and ofttimes sad--
And the heights I had thought I should reach one day
Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.
My heart never finds the longed-for rest;
Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,
Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest
Who sometimes sought me in days of old;
And ever fleeing away from me
Is the higher self that I long to be.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
MY thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,
Higher and higher on soul-lent wings;
But ever and often and more and more
They are dragged down earthward by little things,
By little troubles and little needs,
As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.
My purpose is not what it ought to be,
Steady and fixed, like a star on high,
But more like a fisherman's light at sea;
Hither and thither it seems to fly--
Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,
Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.
My life is far from my dream of life--
Calmly contented, serenely glad;
But, vexed and worried by daily strife,
It is always troubled and ofttimes sad--
And the heights I had thought I should reach one day
Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.
My heart never finds the longed-for rest;
Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,
Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest
Who sometimes sought me in days of old;
And ever fleeing away from me
Is the higher self that I long to be.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
in the l0ng run...
In the Long Run
IN the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.
In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.
In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.
In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Governemnt above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
IN the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.
In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.
In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.
In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Governemnt above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
IF....
If
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Februari 26, 2009
life....
Life
LIFE, believe, is not a dream,
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.
What though death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though Sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell,
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfuly, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell dispair!
Charlotte Brontë
love and friendship....
Love and Friendship
LOVE is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
Emily Brontë
LOVE is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
Emily Brontë
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